Just then the infant began to wail. Ursus fed it with the milk by means of a small bottle, took off the tatters in which it was wrapped, and swathed it in a large piece of dry, clean linen.
When the boy had finished his supper, Ursus asked him who he was, but he could get no answer save that he had been abandoned that night.
"But you must have relations, since you have this baby sister."
"It is not my sister; it is a baby that I found."
Ursus listened to the boy's story. Then he brought out an old bearskin, laid it on a chest, placed the sleeping infant on this, and told the boy to lie down beside the baby. Ursus rolled the bearskin over the children, tucked it under their feet, and went out into the night to see if the woman could be saved.
He returned at dawn; his efforts had been fruitless. The boy had awakened at hearing Ursus, and for the first time the latter saw his face.
"What are you laughing at? You are frightful! Who did that to you?" said Ursus.
The boy answered, "I am not laughing. I have always been like this."
Ursus turned away, and muttered, "I thought that sort of work was out of date." He took down an old book, and read in Latin that, by slitting the mouth and performing other operations in childhood, the face would become a mask whose owner would be always laughing.
At that moment the infant awoke, and Ursus gave it what was left of the milk.