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 abrupt departure 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.