"Oh, I know! To have a baby!" she replied, with a forced smile. "But you see, I think humanity useless, life not worth living. Still, I don't commit suicide, so I suppose I do accept life. I admit that a son would be a fine piece of work. I'd enter on it with enthusiasm, with pride, if I were sure my son wouldn't turn out just a little bourgeois like us!"
"He might make a fortune and be a useful member of society."
"Nonsense! Dreams of a little bourgeois!" she said bitterly; "he would be just as unhappy as we are!"
"But I am happy!" protested Antonio.
"If you are happy it shows you don't understand anything about it, and so you are doubly unhappy," she said vehemently, her eyes darkening disquietingly.
"My dear, you're growing as crazy as your great writers."
"There you are! the little bourgeois who doesn't know what he is talking about!"
And so they went on, till Antonio looked at the clock and jumped up with a start.
"It's past the time! My love, if you had to go down to the office every day I assure you these notions would never come into your head."