Denise woke at the fretful wailing. "Make a bed for him there, a bed on the seat," she said.
"He might fall off." Esmé held the whimpering bundle in her arms, sat wearily, afraid she might drop off to sleep.
"Feed him then; he wants milk. Oh, what a terrible journey!"
Yet she did nothing on it; for Esmé, curiously silent, saw to the child.
A tall woman, kindly-faced, hurried through the crowd at the Gare; cried out as she saw the baby in Esmé's arms.
"Lady Blakeney, is it not? I am the nurse, Mrs Stanson, engaged for your ladyship. Oh, milady, have you come alone—without a nurse?"
"The nurse was useless, insolent, neglecting baby," said Lady Blakeney, carelessly. "Take him now. He is so naughty. The woman neglected him."
"As those foreigners would do; yet he looks splendid. One moment, milady, while I gather these things."
She put the baby into Denise's arms, turning to pick up some of the tiny traveller's luggage. "Oh, not like that, milady," she cried, for the small head flopped on a stiffly-held arm and the boy wailed fretfully.
"H'm!" Esmé swept the mite out of Denise's hold. "Here! give him to me. H'sh, baby, hush!"