"
At the word "Foundling," Genevieve had exclaimed aloud in horror.
With her arms wound round her son, whose head she hid in her bosom,
and her two hands spread over him, she had retreated to the wall,
and remained with her back against it, like a lioness defending her
young ones.
The neighbour and I contemplated this scene, without knowing how we
could interfere. As for Michael, he looked at us by turns, making a
visible effort to comprehend it all. When his eye rested upon
Genevieve and the child, it lit up with a gleam of pleasure; but
when he turned towards us, he again became stupid and hesitating.
At last, apparently making a prodigious effort, he cried
out--"Wait!"
And going to a tub full of water, he plunged his face into it
several times.
Every eye was turned upon him; the countrywoman herself seemed
astonished. At length he raised his dripping head. This ablution had
partly dispelled his drunkenness; he looked at us for a moment, then
he turned to Genevieve, and his face brightened up.
"Robert!" cried he, going up to the child, and taking him in his
arms. "Ah! give him me, wife; I must look at him."
The mother seemed to give up his son to him with reluctance, and
stayed before him with her arms extended, as if she feared the child
would have a fall.
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