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.
"If Madame la comtesse," he said, "feels anything strange upon her tongue, a prickly, bitter, strong salt taste, reject the food.