He took her up and placed her on the floor again, then he changed the bedclothes and put her back into bed. She faltered:
“Thank you, Benoist, you have a noble heart.” And then she wept a little as if she felt regretful.
He did not love her any longer, not the least bit. It was all over. Why? How? He could not have said. What had happened had cured him better than ten years of absence.
She asked, exhausted and trembling:
“What is it?”
He replied calmly:
“It is a very fine girl.”
Then they were silent again. At the end of a few moments, the mother, in a weak voice, said:
“Show her to me, Benoist.”
He took up the little one and was showing it to her as if he were holding the consecrated wafer, when the door opened, and Isidore Vallin appeared.