If I am ignorant of a mother’s joys, you shall tell me about them; I will learn by sympathy.  But my imagination can picture nothing to equal the rapture of love.  You will laugh at my extravagance; but, I assure you, that a dozen times in as many months the longing has seized me to die at thirty, while life was still untarnished, amidst the roses of love, in the embrace of passion.  To bid farewell to the feast at its brightest, before disappointment has come, having lived in this sunshine and celestial air, and well-nigh spent myself in love, not a leaf dropped from my crown, not an illusion perished in my heart, what a dream is there!  Think what it would be to bear about a young heart in an aged body, to see only cold, dumb faces around me, where even strangers used to smile; to be a worthy matron!  Can Hell have a worse torture?

On this very subject, in fact, Felipe and I have had our first quarrel.  I contended that he ought to have sufficient moral strength to kill me in my sleep when I have reached thirty, so that I might pass from one dream to another.  The wretch declined.  I threatened to leave him alone in the world, and, poor child, he turned white as a sheet.  My dear, this distinguished statesman is neither more nor less than a baby.  It is incredible what youth and simplicity he contrived to hide away.  Now that I allow myself to think aloud with him, as I do with you, and have no secrets from him, we are always giving each other surprises.

Dear Renee, Felipe and Louise, the pair of lovers, want to send a present to the young mother.  We would like to get something that would give you pleasure, and we don’t share the popular taste for surprises; so tell me quite frankly, please, what you would like.  It ought to be something which would recall us to you in a pleasant way, something which you will use every day, and which won’t wear out with use.  The meal which with us is most cheerful and friendly is lunch, and therefore the idea occurred to me of a special luncheon service, ornamented with figures of babies.  If you approve of this, let me know at once; for it will have to be ordered immediately if we are to bring it.  Paris artists are gentlemen of far too much importance to be hurried.  This will be my offering to Lucina.

Farewell, dear nursing mother.  May all a mother’s delights be yours!  I await with impatience your first letter, which will tell me all about it, I hope.  Some of the details in your husband’s letter went to my heart.  Poor Renee, a mother has a heavy price to pay.  I will tell my godson how dearly he must love you.  No end of love, my sweet one.

XXXI

RENEE DE L’ESTORADE TO LOUISE DE MACUMER

It is nearly five months now since baby was born, and not once, dear heart, have I found a single moment for writing to you.  When you are a mother yourself, you will be more ready to excuse me, than you are now; for you have punished me a little bit in making your own letters so few and far between.  Do write, my darling!  Tell me of your pleasures; lay on the blue as brightly as you please.  It will not hurt me, for I am happy now, happier than you can imagine.