Her eyes followed him. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. “You must do more than think of it,” he urged. Wood, despair will come over me; and, dear as this babe is to me, far dearer than my own wretched life, which I would lay down for him any minute, I have prayed to Heaven to remove him, rather than he should grow up to be a man, and be exposed to his father's temptations—rather than he should live as wickedly and die as disgracefully as his father. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. “I am already so hungry that I shall begin on the petit pains. “What happened then?” Michelle asked fearfully.
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