Eustace and I had
done such things at Walwyn and been never the worse for it; but this
poor little creature had a wretched, unwholesome, neglected air about
her that made me miserable, and the making her fit to be seen would
evidently be a long business, such as could hardly be undertaken in
the midst of the salting of a pig, which was going on.
I therefore promised the woman a crown if she would make the child
tidy and bring her to Nid de Merle on the Sunday. Something was
muttered about Mademoiselle having said the child was not to be
constantly brought to the house to incommonde Madame la Comtesse; but
I made her understand that I meant Nid de Merle, and trusted that the
hope of the money would be a bait.
Cecile was sorely disappointed when I returned without the child, and
conjured me at once to tell her the worst, if it were indeed dead;
but she let herself be pacified by the hope of seeing it on Sunday,
and indeed she was half dead with fatigue from the roughness of the
road.
The child was duly brought by the foster-mother who was in the full
costume of a prosperous peasant, with great gold cross and gay apron;
but I was not better satisfied about the little on, though she had a
cleaner face, cap, and frock. Unused to the sight of black, she
would let neither of us touch her, and we could only look at her,
when she sat on her nurse's knee with a cake in her hand. I was sure
she was unhealthy and uncared for, her complexion and everything
about her showed it, and my Gaspard was twice her size.
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