After a silence, I asked her:
"And the kid! What became of it?"
Marianne made a vague and far-away gesture,—a gesture that seemed to pull aside the heavy veils from the limbos where her child was sleeping. She answered in that harsh voice which alcohol produces:
"Oh! well, you can imagine. What should I have done with it, my God!"
"Like the little guinea-pigs, then?"
"That's it."
And she poured herself out a drink.
We went up to our rooms somewhat intoxicated.