on, crying with weariness, and begging for something to eat. And
then the poor woman who held him by the hand lifted him in her
arms and carried him on--on, until her own strength failed, and
she was obliged to set him on the ground again. A vague portrait
of this woman, who was most probably his mother, still lingered in
his memory. According to his description, she was extremely
handsome, tall, and very fair. He had been particularly impressed
with the pale tint and profusion of her beautiful hair.

Their poverty had not lasted long. He remembered being installed
with his mother in a very handsome suite of rooms. A man, who was
still young, and whom he called "Monsieur Jacques," came every
day, and brought him sweetmeats and playthings. He thought he
must have been about four years old at that time. However, he had
enjoyed this comfortable state of things scarcely a month, when
one morning a stranger presented himself. The visitor held a long
conference with his mother, or, at least, with the person whom he
called by that name. He did not understand what they were talking
about, but he was none the less very uneasy. The result of the
interview must have justified his instinctive fear, for his mother
took him on her lap, and embraced him with convulsive tenderness.
She sobbed violently, and repeated again and again in a faltering
voice: "Poor child! my beloved Wilkie! I shall never kiss you
again--never, never! 'Alas! It must be so! Give me courage, my
God!"

Those were the exact words; Wilkie was sure on that point. It
seemed to him he could still hear that despairing farewell. For
it was indeed a farewell. The stranger took him in his arms and
carried him away, in spite of his cries and struggles to escape.