A name had to be thought of. It would surely be a boy. The midwife
had to be interviewed, medical books had to be bought, and a cradle
and a baby's outfit.
The baby arrived and it really was a boy! And when he saw the "little
monkey that smelled of butter" clasped to her bosom, which until then
had but been his plaything, he reverently discovered the mother in his
little wife; and "when he saw the big pupils looking at the baby so
intently that they seemed to be looking into the future", he realised
that there were depths in her eyes after all; depths more profound
than he could fathom for all his drama and religion. And now all his
old love, his dear old love, burst into fresh flames, and there was
something new added to it, which he had dimly divined, but never
realised.
How beautiful she was when she busied herself about the house again!
And how intelligent in all matters concerning the baby!
As for him, he felt a man. Instead of talking of the Baron's horses
and the Count's cricket matches, he now talked, too much almost, of
his son.
And when occasionally he was obliged to be out of an evening, he always
longed for his own fireside; not because his wife sat there waiting for
him, like an evil conscience, but because he knew that she was not alone.
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