“Ask him at the same time to recite a fable,” said the doctor.
Meanwhile my wife was coming to herself; she half opened her eyes and seemed to be looking for something.
“Where is he?” she murmured in a faint voice.
They showed her her mother’s apron.
“A boy, is it not?”
Taking my hand, she drew me down toward her and said in a whisper, “Are you satisfied with me? I did my best, dear.”
“Come, no emotion,” exclaimed the doctor, “you shall kiss each other tomorrow. Colonel,” he said to my father, who still retained his hat and stick, “keep them from kissing. No emotion, and every one outside. I am going to dress the little lancer. Give me the little man, grandmamma. Come here, little savage. You shall see whether I don’t know how to fasten pins in.”
He took the baby in his two large hands and sat down on a stool before the fire.
I watched my boy whom Jacques was turning about like a doll, but with great skill. He examined him all over, touching and feeling him, and at each test said with a smile:
“He is a fine one, he is a fine one.”