almost savage cry awoke in the heart of the little man a courageous
pity which attached him, more than he knew himself, to the helpless
infant rejected by his father.

"The child is not yet born; you are counting your chicken before it is
hatched," he said, coldly, hiding the infant.

Surprised to hear no cries, he examined the child, thinking it dead.
The count, seeing the deception, sprang upon him with one bound.

"God of heaven! will you give it to me?" he cried, snatching the
hapless victim which uttered feeble cries.

"Take care; the child is deformed and almost lifeless; it is a seven
months' child," said Beauvouloir clinging to the count's arm. Then,
with a strength given to him by the excitement of his pity, he clung
to the father's fingers, whispering in a broken voice: "Spare yourself
a crime, the child cannot live."

"Wretch!" replied the count, from whose hands the bonesetter had
wrenched the child, "who told you that I wished to kill my son? Could
I not caress it?"

"Wait till he is eighteen years old to caress him in that way,"
replied Beauvouloir, recovering the sense of his importance. "But," he
added, thinking of his own safety, for he had recognized the Comte
d'Herouville, who in his rage had forgotten to disguise his voice,
"have him baptized at once and do not speak of his danger to the
mother, or you will kill her."