“Yes, yes, we will nurse him!” repeated the marquis; “we will raise him better than any nurse could do. What the devil! people like us ought to understand such things better than peasants; we will make a hearty blade of him! for I want my son to resemble his father in everything.”
As he spoke, the old marquis stuck out his leg and tried to play the exquisite. Since he had known that his wife was enceinte, he fancied that he was twenty years old once more.
They bought a magnificent layette for the little one which was expected; they made great preparations to receive that scion of Monsieur de Grandvilain becomingly; and the intoxication which they felt was perfectly natural: if a young couple celebrate the birth of their child, surely they have much more reason to do so who have no hope of a repetition of such an occurrence.
As the time approached when madame la marquise was to become a mother, the more her old husband overwhelmed her with attentions and care; it went so far sometimes that Madame de Grandvilain lost her appetite with her freedom of action. Monsieur le marquis would not allow her to go out on foot, he was apprehensive of the least fatigue, he watched to see that she ate nothing that might injure her; and his espionage became sheer cruelty to her who was the object of it, for the marquis detected peril in the simplest thing, and it was at once irrevocably forbidden; so that, toward the end of her pregnancy, Madame de Grandvilain was given nothing but bread soup, the only sort of food which, according to Monsieur de Grandvilain, was not dangerous for his wife. There was a physician in attendance on the marchioness who prescribed an entirely different diet; but the marquis depended more on himself than on the physician, and as he grew older, he became very obstinate.
The great day arrived at last; and it was high time, for the poor marchioness was not at all reconciled to eating nothing but bread soup. Aménaïde brought a son into the world.
Monsieur de Grandvilain did not feel strong enough to remain with his wife while she was in the pains of childbirth; but a servant, who had first been a jockey, then a groom, then his master’s valet, and who had now reached the age of fifty years, hastened to carry him the great news.
When he caught sight of his old Jasmin, whose red and blotched face wore a more stupid expression than usual, the marquis cried:
“Well, is it all over, Jasmin?”
“Yes, monsieur le marquis, it’s done! Ah! we had a very hard time, but it’s all right at last.”
Everyone knows that the old servants in great families are in the habit of saying we, when speaking of their master’s affairs, and Monsieur de Grandvilain forgave his former jockey for employing that form of expression.