And it looked so queer and darling in a little lace bonnet, with muslin strings tied under its querulous face, and a coat with capes encasing its helpless arms.
“Oh, Andrée!” she cried. “My heart’s darling! I don’t think I can ever let you go again!”
§ ii
A year later there was another little girl, and after that, the requisite son. They were delightful, pretty, healthy babies, and she loved them passionately. But they were not like Andrée. There could never be anything in the world like Andrée. She concealed her fanatic worship of her first-born; she was a wonderful mother to them all, patient, gentle, wise. She took an unfailing delight in them; she gave her life to them joyfully; she was flattered and enchanted by the solemn loyalty of little Edna and the teasing affection of her small son. But the look of understanding in Andrée’s eyes was immeasurably dearer to her; the clasp of Andrée’s hand, a kiss from her, were the very consummation of her life.
BOOK TWO
THE BREATH OF LIFE
CHAPTER ONE
AFTER TWENTY YEARS
§ i
“LORD! I’ll be glad when this is over!” said Andrée. “And this is Father’s idea of a holiday! The poor thing actually said he envied us!”