One fine evening, as she happened to glance at the road which passed the house, Constance noticed a young woman seated at the foot of a tree, with an infant in her arms; the unfortunate creature was evidently in the last stages of destitution; she was gazing mournfully at her child, and, while covering him with kisses, seemed to be utterly hopeless and desperate.
Constance was deeply affected. At that moment, Monsieur Ménard joined her on the platform.
"Look!" she said; "do you see that poor woman? See how frantically she kisses her child! She seems in terrible distress. Do you see her?"
"One moment, madame," said Ménard; "I can't find my spectacles.—Where in the devil have I put them?"
At that instant the poor woman raised her eyes, and, when she saw Constance, her glance became so expressive, so full of entreaty, that it was impossible not to understand her.
"Oh! she is crying," exclaimed Constance; "wait, wait, my poor woman! I will come down."
She rushed out of the summer-house, while Ménard was still looking for his spectacles.
Not far away was a small gate by which the road was reached. Constance opened it, and soon stood beside the unfortunate creature she longed to assist. As she drew near to her, she was even more touched, for the wayfarer's every feature was eloquent of suffering and despair; but it was for her child, above all, that she implored Constance's pity. She held him out to her, and great tears flowed from her drawn and reddened eyes.
"Poor child!" said Constance; "how pale and thin he is! but what lovely features!"—And she took the child in her arms, saying to the mother: "Come, and I will give you something to restore your strength. Follow me."
The woman walked a few steps, but soon fell to the ground; her strength had failed her.