Were you born here, madame?’ ‘Mais non. You must be misinformed, Mr. Yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! It is—it is my son!" "Mother!" cried Thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?" "I am, indeed—my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast. Even that he sleeps, I must give to him my thanks, for he has been excessively brave for me. ‘That is not your affair. That's the kind, my friend, that always fall soft. The pieces fell to the ground in a little white shower.
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