Never before had the ceremony resolved itself into an enigma, a
puzzle, so to speak, in which it was his privilege to make one guess.

"It's a boy," said he, with conviction, whereupon the mother, the
father and Monsieur Rouquin filled the room with joyous exclamations
and the baby, imitative little beggar that he was, crowed with
delight.

Madame Rousseau could not get over the despicable behaviour of
Rouquin's servant. She kept on berating the creature and advising
Rouquin to dismiss her, until at last Mrs. Bingle announced that the
poor thing undoubtedly had acted for the best and out of the goodness
of her heart. She also said that she would like to see the woman.

Monsieur Rouquin being of a mind to dismiss the presumptuous domestic,
Mrs. Bingle blandly declared that, if her references were all as good
as the one Madame Rousseau was giving her, she wouldn't hesitate for
an instant to engage her to look after the child in case it joined the
Bingle collection. There were voluble protests in French from both
Madame Rousseau and Rouquin, and then Monsieur Jean announced in
English that the old servant was like a mother to Rouquin and that he
would as soon think of cutting off his right hand as to allow her to
go out of his life. Rouquin glared at him for this, and the shabby-
genteel Jean had the audacity to close one eye slowly.

Madame Rousseau's mother was permitted to remain in the bath-room, and
no further reference was made to her.

"Well, let's get down to business," said Mr. Bingle, presenting his
forefinger to the babe for inspection. Monsieur l'Enfant promptly