Lisa's needle flew through the red and yellow silk. It
was pleasant work; she was doing it skilfully. The fire
warmed her thin blood. She could hear the baby's
regular, soft breathing as it slept. A pleasure that was
almost like health stole through her lean body. She
leaned back in her chair looking at Jacques. In three
years he could wear the velvet suit with the cap and
pompon. His hair would be yellow and curly, like his
father's. But his eyes would be like her mother's. She
pressed her hands together, laughing, the hot tears
rushing to her eyes. "Ah, maman!" she said. "Do you
know that your little girl has a baby? Can you see him?"
What a superb "great boy" he would be! He should go to
a military school. Yes! She lay back in her chair,
watching him.
George suddenly started up with a cry of amazement.
"What is it?" she said indifferently.
He did not answer, but turned the letter and read it over
again. Then he folded it with shaking fingers.
"I have news here. Miss Vance thinks it time that I was
told, and I agree with her. It appears that I am a
pauper, and always have been. My father died penniless."
"Then Jacques will be poor?"
"Jacques! You think of nothing but that mewling,
senseless thing! It is mother--she always has supported
me. We are living now on the money that she earns from
week to week, while I play that I am an artist!"
Lisa listened attentively. "It does not seem strange
that a mother should work for her son," she said slowly.
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