At the same moment Genevieve appeared at the door, holding in her arms the baby that the countrywoman was trying to tear from her.  She ran toward the counter, and throwing herself behind her husband, cried: 

“Michael, defend your son!”

The drunken man quickly stood up erect, like one who awakes with a start.

“My son!” stammered he; “what son?”

His looks fell upon the child; a vague ray of intelligence passed over his features.

“Robert,” resumed he; “it is Robert!”

He tried to steady himself on his feet, that he might take the baby, but he tottered.  The nurse approached him in a rage.

“My money, or I shall take the child away!” cried she.  “It is I who have fed and brought it up:  if you don’t pay me for what has made it live, it ought to be the same to you as if it were dead.  I shall not go until I have my due, or the baby.”

“And what would you do with him?” murmured Genevieve, pressing Robert against her bosom.

“Take it to the Foundling!” replied the countrywoman, harshly; “the hospital is a better mother than you are, for it pays for the food of its little ones.”

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.  The neighbor 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 toward us, he again became stupid and hesitating.

At last, apparently making a prodigious effort, he cried out, “Wait!”

And going to a tub filled with 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.  The nurse began again in her turn to speak, and renewed her claims, this time threatening to appeal to law.  At first Michael listened to her attentively, and when he comprehended her meaning, he gave the child back to its mother.

“How much do we owe you?” asked he.

The countrywoman began to reckon up the different expenses, which amounted to nearly thirty francs.  The joiner felt to the bottom of his pockets, but could find nothing.  His forehead became contracted by frowns; low curses began to escape him.  All of a sudden he rummaged in his breast, drew forth a large watch, and holding it up above his head: