A beautiful child; a faithful husband; after all there was nothing to laugh at in that. I am still wondering what was the reason for my cruel hilarity. A beautiful child; I confess that I have never thought of it. When I was married I had not the time, being occupied first with love and then with jealousy, monopolized, in a word, by Taillandy, who in any case was not at all anxious to encumber himself with an expensive progeny.

So here I am, having spent thirty-three years without ever considering the possibility of being a mother. Am I a monster? A beautiful child; grey eyes, a sharp little nose, and the look of a little fox, like his mother, big hands and broad shoulders, like Maxime. It’s no good; no matter how much I try I can’t see him and I don’t love him, the child I might have had, that I perhaps shall have.