They sat on the steps, talking in a low tone. Frances
cried, but Lisa's eyes were quite dry and bright. She
rose at last.

"You see, there will be no woman to care for him, if you
do not. There he is with Colette." She ran down, took
the baby from the bonne, and laid him in Frances's
arms.

Mrs. Waldeaux looked down at him. "George's son," she
whispered, "George's boy!"

"He is very like George and you," Lisa answered. "He is
a Waldeaux."

"Yes, I see."

She held him close to her breast as they drove back to
Vannes. George whistled and sang on the box. He was
very light of heart to have her with him again.

He looked impatiently at an ancient village through which
they passed, with its towers, and peasants in strange
garbs, like the pictures in some crusading tale.

"Now that we have mother, Lisa," he said, "we'll go
straight back home. I am tired of mediaeval times.
I must get to work for this youngster."

Lisa did not speak for a moment. "I should like to stay