"He may sit up to-morrow," the doctor said. The fractured arm was put into a splint and sling1, and a collar-bone had to be wrapped in place; but the absorbent cotton bandaged on his head was only for contusions.
"Corinne!" Mlle. Yvonne gasped2, "contusion"! Ah, doctor, I 'ope tha'z something you can't 'ave but once!"
"You can't in fatal cases. Mrs.--eh--those scissors, please? Thank you."
"Well, Aline, praise be to heaven, any'ow his skull3, from ear to ear 'tis solid! Ah, I mean, of co'se, roun' the h-outside. Inside 'tis hollow. But outside it has not a crack! eh, doctor?"
"Except the sutures he was born with. Now, my little man----"
"Ah, ah, Corinne! Born with shuture'! and we never suzpeg' that!"
"Ah, but, Yvonne, if he's had those sinz' that long they cann' be so very fatal, no!"
Partly for the little boy's sake three days were let pass before Aline made her announcement. There was but one place for it--the Castanados' parlor4. All the coterie5 were there--the De l'Isles, even Ovide--butler pro6 tem.
"You will have refreshments," he said, with happiest equanimity7; "I will serve them"; and the whole race problem vanished. Mélanie too was present, with an announcement of her own which won ecstatic kisses, many of them tear-moistened but all of them glad. As for Mme. Alexandre and Beloiseau, they announced nothing, but every one knew, and said so in the smiling fervency8 of their hand-grasps.
All of which made the evening too hopelessly old-fashioned to be dwelt on, though one point cannot be overlooked. It was the last proclamation of the joyous
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