Annette, a little shocked, said, "It is not a burden to me."
Marcel supposed that Annette in her generosity wanted to excuse Roger. "You still love him?" he asked.
"Whom?" Annette asked.
"Good!" said Marcel, laughing. "Evidently you don't still love him."
"I love my baby," said Annette. "The rest belongs to the past. And, as for the past, one no longer feels sure that it ever existed. One doesn't understand it any more. It's sad."
"That has its charm too," said Marcel.
"Not for me," said Annette. "I am not a dilettante. But my son is the present, and it is a present that will last longer than I."
"The present that repulses us, the present to which we in turn shall be the past some day."
"So much the worse for me!" said Annette. "Even so, it will be good to be trampled on by his little feet."
Marcel laughed at this passionate outburst. "You can't understand me," said Annette. "You have not seen Marc, my little masterpiece. And even if you saw him, you wouldn't know how to look at him. You are a good judge of pictures, statues, useless knick-knacks. You couldn't judge that unique marvel, the body of a little child. It would do no good for me to describe him to you."