"Come! come quick, uncle Lazare! Ah! my poor dear Babet!"
And I bounded down the pathway at a pace fit to break my bones. The
vintagers, who had stood up, smiled as they saw me running. Uncle Lazare,
who could not overtake me, shook his walking stick in despair.
"Heh! Jean, the deuce!" he shouted, "wait for me. I don't want to be the
last."
But I no longer heard Uncle Lazare, and continued running.
I reached the farm panting for breath, full of hope and terror. I rushed
upstairs and knocked with my fist at Babet's door, laughing, crying, and
half crazy. The midwife set the door ajar, to tell me in an angry voice
not to make so much noise. I stood there abashed and in despair.
"You can't come in," she added. "Go and wait in the courtyard."
And as I did not move, she continued: "All is going on very well. I will
call you."
The door was closed. I remained standing before it, unable to make up my
mind to go away. I heard Babet complaining in a broken voice. And, while I
was there, she gave utterance to a heartrending scream that struck me
right in the breast like a bullet. I felt an almost irresistible desire to
break the door open with my shoulder. So as not to give way to it, I
placed my hands to my ears, and dashed downstairs.
In the courtyard I found my uncle Lazare, who had just arrived out of
breath. The worthy man was obliged to seat himself on the brink of the
well.
"Hallo! where is the child?" he inquired of me.
"I don't know," I answered; "they shut the door in my face--Babet is in
pain and in tears." We gazed at one another, not daring to utter a word.
We listened in agony, without taking our eyes off Babet's window,
endeavouring to see through the little white curtains. My uncle, who was
trembling, stood still, with both his hands resting heavily on his
walking-stick; I, feeling very feverish, walked up and down before him,
taking long strides. At times we exchanged anxious smiles.
The carts of the vintagers arrived one by one. The baskets of grapes were
placed against a wall of the courtyard, and bare-legged men trampled the
bunches under foot in wooden troughs. The mules neighed, the carters
swore, whilst the wine fell with a dull sound to the bottom of the vat.
Acrid smells pervaded the warm air.
And I continued pacing up and down, as if made tipsy by those perfumes. My
poor head was breaking, and as I watched the red juice run from the grapes
I thought of Babet. I said to myself with manly joy, that my child was
born at the prolific time of vintage, amidst the perfume of new wine.
I was tormented by impatience, I went upstairs again. But I did not dare
knock, I pressed my ear against the door, and heard Babet's low moans and
sobs. Then my heart failed me, and I cursed suffering. Uncle Lazare, who
had crept up behind me, had to lead me back into the courtyard. He wished
to divert me, and told me the wine would be excellent; but he spoke
without attending to what he said. And at times we were both silent,
listening anxiously to one of Babet's more prolonged moans.
Little by little the cries subsided, and became nothing more than a
painful murmur, like the voice of a child falling off to sleep in tears.
Then there was absolute silence. This soon caused me unutterable terror.
The house seemed empty, now that Babet had ceased sobbing. I was just
going upstairs, when the midwife opened the window noiselessly. She leant
out and beckoned me with her hand:
"Come," she said to me.
I went slowly upstairs, feeling additional delight at each step I took. My
uncle Lazare was already knocking at the door, whilst I was only half way
up to the landing, experiencing a sort of strange delight in delaying the
moment when I would kiss my wife.
I stopped on the threshold, my heart was beating double. My uncle had
leant over the cradle. Babet, quite pale, with closed eyelids, seemed
asleep. I forgot all about the child, and going straight to Babet, took
her dear hand between mine. The tears had not dried on her checks, and her
quivering lips were dripping with them. She raised her eyelids wearily.
She did not speak to me, but I understood her to say: "I have suffered a
great deal, my dear Jean, but I was so happy to suffer! I felt you within
me."
Then I bent down, I kissed Babet's eyes and drank her tears. She laughed
with much sweetness; she resigned herself with caressing languidness. The
fatigue had made her all aches and pains. She slowly moved her hands from
the sheet, and taking me by the neck placed her lips to my ear:
"It's a boy," she murmured in a weak voice, but with an air of triumph.
Those were the first words she uttered after the terrible shock she had
undergone.
"I knew it would be a boy," she continued, "I saw the child every night.
Give him me, put him beside me."