"It just _can_ be helped!" cried Bess, suddenly, and she whirled and
fairly ran forward into the chair car. Nan did not notice her chum's
departure at the moment. The baby had seized her finger and was smiling
at her. Such a pretty little fellow, but so weak and ill in appearance.

"Oh, madame!" Nan cried in her best French, "is it not terrible? We may
be here for hours."

"As the good God wills," said the woman, patiently. "We cannot devise or
shape Fate, mademoiselle."

Nan stood up and shook her head, saying vigorously, and in her own
tongue, for she was too much moved to remember Mademoiselle Loro's
teaching:

"But we need not accept Fate's determination as final, I am sure! There
is a good God, as you say, madam. This child must have food, and--"

At the moment Bess rushed in carrying the paste-board box containing the
remains of their lunch. "Here!" she cried, dramatically. "Give the poor
little fellow this."

"Oh, little ladies!" responded the woman, "have a care. You will have
need of this food yourselves."

"No, no!" cried Bess, the impetuous. "We are stuffed to repletion.
Aren't we, Nan?"

"We have certainly eaten much more recently than madam and the little
one," agreed Nan, heartily.