“As you see, Madame, it is a boy.”

“What do you intend to make of him when he grows up?” asked Louise, who lent herself complacently to the play, for she was ten years old and quite a young lady, if you please.

“Why, Madame,” replied Maria, gravely, “he will be a soldier.”

At that moment the engraver, who had left his bench to stretch his legs a little and to light his Abd-el-Kader for the third time, came and stood at the threshold of his room.  Madame Gerard, reassured as to the state of her stew, which was slowly cooking—­and oh, how good it smelled in the kitchen!—­entered the dining-room.  Both looked at the children, so comical and so graceful, as they made their little grimaces!  Then the husband glanced at his wife, and the wife at the husband, and both burst out into hearty laughter.

There never was any laughter in the apartment of the Violettes.  It was cough! cough! cough! almost to suffocation, almost to death!  This gentle young woman with the heavy hair was about to die!  When the beautiful starry evenings should come again, she would no longer linger on the balcony, or press her husband’s hand as they gazed at the stars.  Little Amedee did not understand it; but he felt a vague terror of something dreadful happening in the house.  Everything alarmed him now.  He was afraid of the old woman who smelled of snuff, and who, when she dressed him in the morning, looked at him with a pitying air; he was afraid of the doctor, who climbed the five flights of stairs twice a day now, and left a whiff of perfume behind him; afraid of his father, who did not go to his office any more, whose beard was often three days old, and who feverishly paced the little parlor, tossing back with a distracted gesture the lock of hair behind his ear.  He was afraid of his mother, alas! of his mother, whom he had seen that evening, by the light from the night-lamp, buried in the pillows, her delicate nose and chin thrown up, and who did not seem to recognize him, in spite of her wide-open eyes, when his father took her child in his arms and leaned over her with him that he might kiss her cold forehead covered with sweat!

At last the terrible day arrived, a day that Amedee never will forget, although he was then a very small child.

What awakened him that morning was his father’s embrace as he came and took him from his bed.  His father’s eyes were wild and bloodshot from so much crying.  Why was their neighbor, M. Gerard, there so early in the morning, and with great tears rolling down his cheeks too?  He kept beside M. Violette, as if watching him, and patted him upon the back affectionately, saying: 

“Now then, my poor friend!  Have courage, courage!”

But the poor friend had no more.  He let M. Gerard take the child from him, and then his head fell like a dead person’s upon the good engraver’s shoulder, and he began to weep with heavy sobs that shook his whole body.