’ ‘You won’t go to the general then?’ ‘There is no need. Don’t look so frightened. ‘Come, mademoiselle. You were dying and your baby along with you. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. “I’m a big boy, you know. “Where?” “To that ball.
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