At this point the wily bonesetter paused, and pressed the hand of the
countess to make her attentive to his words.

"If you wish to avoid all anxiety about your son, madame," he
continued, "never leave him; suckle him yourself, and beware of the
drugs of apothecaries. The mother's breast is the remedy for all the
ills of infancy. I have seen many births of seven months' children,
but I never saw any so little painful as this. But that is not
surprising; the child is so small. You could put him in a wooden shoe!
I am certain he doesn't weight more than sixteen ounces. Milk, milk,
milk. Keep him always on your breast and you will save him."

These last words were accompanied by a significant pressure of the
fingers. Disregarding the yellow flames flashing from the eyeholes of
the count's mask, Beauvouloir uttered these words with the serious
imperturbability of a man who intends to earn his money.

"Ho! ho! bonesetter, you are leaving your old felt hat behind you,"
said Bertrand, as the two left the bedroom together.

The reasons of the sudden mercy which the count had shown to his son
were to be found in a notary's office. At the moment when Beauvouloir
arrested his murderous hand avarice and the Legal Custom of Normandy
rose up before him. Those mighty powers stiffened his fingers and
silenced the passion of his hatred. One cried out to him, "The
property of your wife cannot belong to the house of Herouville except
through a male child." The other pointed to a dying countess and her
fortune claimed by the collateral heirs of the Saint-Savins. Both
advised him to leave to nature the extinction of that hated child, and
to wait the birth of a second son who might be healthy and vigorous