"Tut," said Philip, good-naturedly, "it is the Christmas season, man,
and a Sunday. We will not quarrel as to the why of your coming."

"Where is she?"

"Your wife or Clotilde?"

Now all through the early morning Charles had longed for one as for the
other. But there was nothing of that in his voice.

"Clotilde," he said.

"I shall make inquiry if she has arrived," mumbled Philip into his
beard, and went away.

So it came about that Charles was alone when he saw the child and
caught her up in his hungry arms. As for Clotilde, her fear died at once
in his embrace. When Philip returned he found them thus and coughed
discreetly. So Charles released the child and put her on her feet.

"I have," said Philip, "another member of your family under my roof as
to whom you have made no inquiry."

"I have secured that for which I came," said Charles haughtily.

But his eyes were on Philip and a question was in them. Philip, however,
was not minded to play Charles' game, but his own, and that not too
fast.