"Give him to me! Give him to me!"

"You had better wait a little," I urged.

"Oh no! Give him to me now!"

And with tremulous, unsteady hands she unhooked the bosom of her
bodice, and, freeing (with my assistance) the breast which
nature had prepared for at least a dozen children, applied the
mutinous young Orlovian to the nipple. As for him, he at once
understood the matter, and ceased to send forth further
lamentation.

"O pure and holy Mother of God!" she gasped in a long-drawn,
quivering sigh as she bent a dishevelled head over the little
one, and, between intervals of silence, fell to uttering soft,
abrupt exclamations. Then, opening her ineffably beautiful blue
eyes, the hallowed eyes of a mother, she raised them towards the
azure heavens, while in their depths there was coming and going
a flame of joy and gratitude. Lastly, lifting a languid hand,
she with a slow movement made the sign of the cross over both
herself and her babe.

"Thanks to thee O purest Mother of God!" she murmured.
"Thanks indeed to thee!"

Then her eyes grew dim and vague again, and after a pause
(during which she seemed to be scarcely breathing) she said in a
hard and matter-of-fact tone: