"Our honeymoon, yes, I have thought of it. But where do you want to go?"
"To Rome," said Macarée.
"To Rome, like the bells of Easter?"
"I want to see the Pope," said Macarée.
"Very fine, but what for?"
"That he may bless the child who lies under my heart," said Macarée.
"Phew-ew-ew!"
"It will be your son," said Macarée.
"You are quite right, Macarée. We shall go to Rome like the bells of Easter. You will order a new robe of black velvet; and the dressmaker must not neglect to embroider our arms at the bottom of the skirt: of azur à trois pairies d'argent posés en pal."