words uttered by the bonesetter, with an almost frenzied motion, and

came to him with uplifted dagger.
"Miserable clown!" he cried, giving him the opprobrious name by which

the Royalists insulted the Leaguers. "Impudent scoundrel! your science
which makes you the accomplice of men who steal inheritances is all

that prevents me from depriving Normandy of her sorcerer."
So saying, and to Beauvouloir's great satisfaction, the count replaced

the dagger in its sheath.
"Could you not," continued the count, "find yourself for once in your

life in the honorable company of a noble and his wife, without
suspecting them of the base crimes and trickery of your own kind? Kill

my son! take him from his mother! Where did you get such crazy ideas?
Am I a madman? Why do you attempt to frighten me about the life of

that vigorous child? Fool! I defy your silly talk--but remember this,
since you are here, your miserable life shall answer for that of the

mother and the child."
The bonesetter was puzzled by this sudden change in the count's

intentions. This show of tenderness for the infant alarmed him far
more than the impatientcruelty and savageindifference hitherto

manifested by the count, whose tone in pronouncing the last words
seemed to Beauvouloir to point to some better scheme for reaching his

infernal ends. The shrewd practitioner turned this idea over in his
mind until a light struck him.

"I have it!" he said to himself. "This great and good noble does not
want to make himself odious to his wife; he'll trust to the vials of

the apothecary. I must warn the lady to see to the food and medicine
of her babe."

As he turned toward the bed, the count who had opened a closet,
stopped him with an imperiousgesture, holding out a purse.

Beauvouloir saw within its red silk meshes a quantity of gold, which
the count now flung to him contemptuously.

"Though you make me out a villain I am not released from the
obligation of paying you like a lord. I shall not ask you to be

discreet. This man here," (pointing to Bertrand) "will explain to you
that there are rivers and trees everywhere for miserable wretches who

chatter of me."
So saying the count advanced slowly to the bonesetter, pushed a chair

noisily toward him, as if to invite him to sit down, as he did himself
by the bedside; then he said to his wife in a specious voice:--

"Well, my pretty one, so we have a son; this is a joyful thing for us.
Do you suffer much?"

"No," murmured the countess.
The evident surprise of the mother, and the tardy demonstrations of

pleasure on the part of the father, convinced Beauvouloir that there
was some incident behind all this which escaped his penetration. He

persisted in his suspicion, and rested his hand on that of the young
wife, less to watch her condition than to convey to her some advice.

"The skin is good, I fear nothing for madame. The milk fever will
come, of course; but you need not be alarmed; that is nothing."

At this point the wily bonesetter paused, and pressed the hand of the
countess to make her attentive to his words.

"If you wish to avoid all anxiety about your son, madame," he
continued, "never leave him; suckle him yourself, and beware of the

drugs of apothecaries. The mother's breast is the remedy for all the
ills of infancy. I have seen many births of seven months' children,

but I never saw any so little painful as this. But that is not
surprising; the child is so small. You could put him in a wooden shoe!

I am certain he doesn't weight more than sixteen ounces. Milk, milk,
milk. Keep him always on your breast and you will save him."

These last words were accompanied by a significantpressure of the
fingers. Disregarding the yellow flames flashing from the eyeholes of

the count's mask, Beauvouloir uttered these words with the serious
imperturbability of a man who intends to earn his money.

"Ho! ho! bonesetter, you are leaving your old felt hat behind you,"
said Bertrand, as the two left the bedroom together.

The reasons of the sudden mercy which the count had shown to his son
were to be found in a notary's office. At the moment when Beauvouloir

arrested his murderous hand avarice and the Legal Custom of Normandy
rose up before him. Those mighty powers stiffened his fingers and

silenced the passion of his hatred. One cried out to him, "The
property of your wife cannot belong to the house of Herouville except

through a male child." The other pointed to a dying countess and her
fortune claimed by the collateral heirs of the Saint-Savins. Both

advised him to leave to nature the extinction of that hated child, and
to wait the birth of a second son who might be healthy and vigorous

before getting rid of his wife and first-born. He saw neither wife nor
child; he saw the estates only, and hatred was softened by ambition.

The mother, who knew his nature, was even more surprised than the
bonesetter, and she still retained her instinctive fears, showing them

at times openly, for the courage of mothers seemed suddenly to have
doubled her strength.

CHAPTER III
THE MOTHER'S LOVE

For several days the count remained assiduously beside his wife,
showing her attentions to which self-interest imparted a sort of

tenderness. The countess saw, however, that she alone was the object
of these attentions. The hatred of the father for his son showed

itself in every detail; he abstained from looking at him or touching
him; he would rise abruptly" target="_blank" title="ad.突然地；粗鲁地">abruptly and leave the room if the child cried; in

short, he seemed to endure it living only through the hope of seeing
it die. But even this self-restraint was galling to the count. The day

on which he saw that the mother's intelligent eye perceived, without
fully comprehending, the danger that threatened her son, he announced

his departure on the morning after the mass for her churching was
solemnized, under pretext of rallying his forces to the support of the

king.
Such were the circumstances which preceded and accompanied the birth

of Etienne d'Herouville. If the count had no other reason for wishing
the death of this disowned son poor Etienne would still have been the

object of his aversion. In his eyes the misfortune of a rickety,
sickly constitution was a flagrant offence to his self-love as a

father. If he execrated handsome men, he also detested weakly ones, in
whom mentalcapacity took the place of physical strength. To please

him a man should be ugly in face, tall, robust, and ignorant. Etienne,
whose debility would bow him, as it were, to the sedentary occupations

of knowledge, was certain to find in his father a natural enemy. His
struggle with that colossus began therefore from his cradle, and his

sole support against that cruel antagonist was the heart of his mother
whose love increased, by a tender law of nature, as perils threatened

him.
Buried in solitude after the abruptdeparture of the count, Jeanne de

Saint-Savin owed to her child the only semblance of happiness that
consoled her life. She loved him as women love the child of an illicit

love; obliged to suckle him, the duty never wearied her. She would not
let her women care for the child. She dressed and undressed him,

finding fresh pleasures in every little care that he required.
Happiness glowed upon her face as she obeyed the needs of the little

being. As Etienne had come into the world prematurely, no clothes were
ready for him, and those that were needed she made herself,--with what

perfection, you know, ye mothers, who have worked in silence for a
treasured child. The days had never hours long enough for these

manifold occupations and the minute precautions of the nursing mother;
those days fled by, laden with her secret content.

The counsel of the bonesetter still continued in the countess's mind.
She feared for her child, and would gladly not have slept in order to

be sure that no one approached him during her sleep; and she kept his
cradle beside her bed. In the absence of the count she ventured to

send for the bonesetter, whose name she had caught and remembered. To
her, Beauvouloir was a being to whom she owed an untold debt of

gratitude; and she desired of all things to question him on certain
points relating to her son. If an attempt were made to poison him, how

should she foil it? In what way ought she to manage his frail
constitution? Was it well to nurse him long? If she died, would

Beauvouloir undertake the care of the poor child's health?
To the questions of the countess, Beauvouloir, deeply touched, replied

that he feared, as much as she did, an attempt to poison Etienne; but
there was, he assured her, no danger as long as she nursed the child;

and in future, when obliged to feed him, she must taste the food
herself.