maint'nant!"

In the moment's silence that ensued, Jean took a step forward.
"Ma femme, ma bonne femme!" he said with a shaking voice. Then he
pointed to the door. Humiliated, overwhelmed by the words of the woman,
Philip turned mechanically towards the door without a word, and his
fingers fumbled for the latch, for a mist was before his eyes. With a
great effort he recovered himself, and passed slowly out into the Rue
d'Egypte.

"A child--a child!" he said brokenly. "Guida's child--my God! And I
--have never--known. Plemont--Plemont, she is at Plemont!" He
shuddered. "Guida's child--and mine," he kept saying to himself, as in a
painful dream he passed on to the shore.

In the little fisherman's cottage he had left, a fat old woman sat
sobbing in the great chair made of barrel-staves, and a man, stooping,
kissed her twice on the cheek--the first time in fifteen years.
And then she both laughed and cried.




CHAPTER XXXVII

Guida sat by the fire sewing, Biribi the dog at her feet. A little
distance away, to the right of the chimney, lay Guilbert asleep. Twice
she lowered the work to her lap to look at the child, the reflected light
of the fire playing on his face. Stretching out her hand, she touched
him, and then she smiled. Hers was an all-devouring love; the child was