He entered the garden at the back of the house, and walked abstractedly from alley to alley.  We know that generally the role of men in the situation in which M. de Camors at this moment was placed is not very easy or very glorious; but the common annoyance of this position was particularly aggravated to him by painful reflections.  Not only was his assistance not needed, but it was repelled; not only was he far from a support on the contrary, he was but an additional danger and sorrow.  In this thought was a bitterness which he keenly felt.  His native generosity, his humanity, shuddered as he heard the terrible cries and accents of distress which succeeded each other without intermission.  He passed some heavy hours in the damp garden this cold night, and the chilly morning which succeeded it.  Madame de Tecle came frequently to give him the news.  Near eight o’clock he saw her approach him with a grave and tranquil air.

“Monsieur,” she said, “it is a boy.”

“I thank you.  How is she?”

“Well.  I shall request you to go and see her shortly.”

Half an hour later she reappeared on the threshold of the vestibule, and called: 

“Monsieur de Camors!” and when he approached her, she added, with an emotion which made her lips tremble: 

“She has been uneasy for some time past.  She is afraid that you have kept terms with her in order to take the child.  If ever you have such a thought—­not now, Monsieur.  Have you?”

“You are severe, Madame,” he replied in a hoarse voice.

She breathed a sigh.

“Come!” she said, and led the way upstairs.  She opened the door of the chamber and permitted him to enter it alone.

His first glance caught the eyes of his young wife fixed upon him.  She was half sitting up in bed, supported by pillows, and whiter than the curtains whose shadow enveloped her.  She held clasped to her breast her sleeping infant, which was already covered, like its mother, with lace and pink ribbons.  From the depths of this nest she fixed on her husband her large eyes, sparkling with a kind of savage light—­an expression in which the sentiment of triumph was blended with one of profound terror.  He stopped within a few feet of the bed, and saluted her with his most winning smile.

“I have pitied you very much, Marie,” he said.

“I thank you!” she replied, in a voice as feeble as a sigh.

She continued to regard him with the same suppliant and affrighted air.

“Are you a little happier now?” he continued.

The glittering eye of the young woman was fastened on the calm face of her infant.  Then turning toward Camors: 

“You will not take him from me?”

“Never!” he replied.

As he pronounced these words his eyes were suddenly dimmed, and he was astonished himself to feel a tear trickling down his cheek.  He experienced a singular feeling, he bent over, seized the folds of the sheet, raised them to his lips, rose immediately and left the room.