"Oh, if you like, and if she will come. It is nothing to me, and she is not of an age to have her principles corrupted," said the man, laughing at his own wit.
He went out with a jingle of keys, and in a few minutes the door opened once more, and a serious-eyed person of about five years old staggered in, carrying a very fat, heavy baby, whose sleepy head nodded across her shoulder.
She hesitated a moment and then came in, closed the door, and finally sat down between Aline and Mlle Ange, disposing the baby upon her diminutive lap.
"This is Mutius Scaevola," she volunteered; "my mother washes and I am in charge. He is very sleepy, but one is never sure. He is a wicked baby. Sometimes he roars so that the roof comes off one's head. Then my mother says it is my fault, and slaps me."
"Give him to me," said Mlle Ange suddenly.
The serious Marie regarded her for a moment, and then allowed her charge to be transferred to the stranger's lap, where he promptly fell fast asleep.
"Come here, my child," said the old gentleman in the corner, and Marie went to him obediently.
He had poured ink into his palm, and now held it under her eyes, putting his other arm gently round the child.
"Look now, little one. Look and tell us what you see, and you, Madame," he said, beckoning to Mme de Labédoyère, "come nearer and put your hand upon her head."
"Do you see anything, child?"