‘Living!  Oh, yes, my love, my Lady,’ answered Perrine, returning towards her; ’fair and perfect as the day.  Be not disquieted for a moment.’

‘I will—­I will disquiet myself,’ panted Eustacie, ’unless you tell me what is amiss.’

‘Nothing amiss,’ said Nanon, gruffly.  ’Madame will give thanks for this fair gift of a daughter.’

It must be owned the words felt chill.  She had never thought of this!  It was as if the being for whom she had dared and suffered so much, in the trust that he would be Berenger’s representative and avenger, had failed her and disappointed her.  No defender, no paladin, no so to be proud of!  Her heart and courage sank down in her weakness as they had never done before; and, without speaking, she turned her head away towards the darkness, feeling as if had been for nothing, and she might as well sink away in her exhaustion.  Mere Perrine was more angry with Nanon than conscious of her Lady’s weakness.  ’Woman, you speak as if you knew not the blow to this family, and to all who hoped for better days.  What, that my Lady, the heiress, who ought to be in a bed of state, with velvet curtains, lace pillows, gold caudle-cups, should be here in a vile ruin, among owls and bats, like any beggar, and all for the sake, not of a young Lord to raise up the family, but of a miserable little girl!  Had I known how it would turn out, I had never meddled in this mad scheme.’

Before Nanon could express her indignation, Eustacie had turned her head opened her eyes, and called out, ’Miserable!  Oh! what do you mean?  Oh, it is true, Nanon? is it well with her?

‘As well as heart could wish,’ answered Nanon, cheerily.  ’Small, but a perfect little piece of sugar.  There, Lady, she shall speak for herself.’

And as Nanon laid the babe on the young mother’s bosom, the thrilling touch at once put an end to all the repinings of the heiress, and awoke far other instincts.

’My child! my little one, my poor little orphan—­all cruel to her!  Oh, no welcome even from thy mother!  Babe, babe, pardon me, I will make it up to thee; indeed I will!  Oh! let me see her!  Do not take her away, dear good woman, only hold her in the moonlight!’

The full rays of the moon, shining through the gable window, streamed down very near where Eustacie lay, and by a slight movement Dame Rotrou was able to render the little face as distinctly visible to her as if it had been daylight, save that the blanching light was somewhat embellishing to the new-born complexion, and increased that curious resemblance so often borne for the first few hours of life to the future self.  Eustacie’s cry at once was, ’Himself, himself—­his very face!  Let me have her, my own moonbeam—­his child—­my joy!’

The tears, so long denied, rushed down like summer rain as she clasped the child in her arms.  Dame Perrine wandered to and fro, like one beside herself, not only at her Lady’s wretched accommodations, but at the ill omens of the moonlight illumination, of the owls who snapped and hissed incessantly over the hay, and above all the tears over the babe’s face.  She tried to remonstrate with Eustacie, but was answered only, ’Let me weep!  Oh, let me weep!  It eases my heart!  It cannot hurt my little one!  She cannot weep for her father herself, so I must weep for her.’