In the meantime the infant whom he was holding all the time in his arms very tenderly whilst he was vituperating, shut its eyes languidly; a sign of repletion.  Ursus examined the phial, and grumbled,—­

“She has drunk it all up, the impudent creature!”

He arose, and sustaining the infant with his left arm, with his right he raised the lid of the chest and drew from beneath it a bear-skin—­the one he called, as will be remembered, his real skin.  Whilst he was doing this he heard the other child eating, and looked at him sideways.

“It will be something to do if, henceforth, I have to feed that growing glutton.  It will be a worm gnawing at the vitals of my industry.”

He spread out, still with one arm, the bear-skin on the chest, working his elbow and managing his movements so as not to disturb the sleep into which the infant was just sinking.

Then he laid her down on the fur, on the side next the fire.  Having done so, he placed the phial on the stove, and exclaimed,—­

“I’m thirsty, if you like!”

He looked into the pot.  There were a few good mouthfuls of milk left in it; he raised it to his lips.  Just as he was about to drink, his eye fell on the little girl.  He replaced the pot on the stove, took the phial, uncorked it, poured into it all the milk that remained, which was just sufficient to fill it, replaced the sponge and the linen rag over it, and tied it round the neck of the bottle.

“All the same, I’m hungry and thirsty,” he observed.

And he added,—­

“When one cannot eat bread, one must drink water.”

Behind the stove there was a jug with the spout off.  He took it and handed it to the boy.

“Will you drink?”

The child drank, and then went on eating.

Ursus seized the pitcher again, and conveyed it to his mouth.  The temperature of the water which it contained had been unequally modified by the proximity of the stove.

He swallowed some mouthfuls and made a grimace.

“Water! pretending to be pure, thou resemblest false friends.  Thou art warm at the top and cold at bottom.”

In the meantime the boy had finished his supper.  The porringer was more than empty; it was cleaned out.  He picked up and ate pensively a few crumbs caught in the folds of the knitted jacket on his lap.

Ursus turned towards him.

“That is not all.  Now, a word with you.  The mouth is not made only for eating; it is made for speaking.  Now that you are warmed and stuffed, you beast, take care of yourself.  You are going to answer my questions.  Whence do you come?”

The child replied,—­

“I do not know.”

“How do you mean? you don’t know?”

“I was abandoned this evening on the sea-shore.”

“You little scamp! what’s your name?  He is so good for nothing that his relations desert him.”

“I have no relations.”