For one instant the fate of that child hung in the balance.

I walked to the door, and made a movement to throw her to the dogs; but humanity gained the day, and I refrained.
I felt that my face was redder than the baby's; every passenger remaining in the car was smiling.

I went calmly back, and laid her down on the seat, while I took off my coat and made an attempt to remove the odious matters with my handkerchief, which ended by my throwing the coat over the back of the seat in disgust, resolving that mother would have to finish the job with her "Renovator." My handkerchief I threw out of the window.
Thank goodness! the engine bell was ringing at last and the people crowding back into the train.
I drew a long breath of relief, snatched the shrieking infant up again, for fear the mother would blame me for neglecting her ugly brat--and waited.
"All aboard!" shouted the conductor; the bell ceased to ring, the wheels began to revolve, the train was in motion.
"Great Jupiter Ammen!" I thought, while a cold sweat started out all over me, "she will be left!" The cars moved faster and more mercilessly fast; the conductor appeared at the door; I rose and rushed toward him, the baby in my arms, crying: "For Heaven's sake, conductor, stop the cars!" "What's up ?" he asked.
"What's up?
Stop the cars, I say! Back down to the station again! _This baby's mother's left!_" "Then she left on purpose," he answered coolly; "she never went into the eating-house at all.

I saw her making tall tracks for the train that goes the other way.

I thought it was all right.