Hedvig sat at her dressing table doing her hair. She felt a sudden unpleasant shock. Strange as it may sound, she had up till that moment not thought of the consequences of their life together, and not for a moment had she thought of herself as a mother. She let slip the knot and her black hair flowed again over her naked white shoulders. She sprang up from the dressing table with a hard expression and frightened eyes:
“I don’t want a child!” she cried. “Never, never!”
Percy wondered at her vehemence. His smile grew hesitating:
“Dear child, forget my nonsense. It is bad taste to foretell nature in that way. I only meant that I should certainly find your condition beautiful.”
Hedvig had now calmed down again. She came up to him and stroked his hair:
“You must never talk like that, Percy,” she muttered. “You ... we have no right to children ... they are for those who are healthy...”
And her face had suddenly resumed the old expression of sisterly resignation and self-sacrifice.
Percy grew a shade paler. It seemed as if the climate had suddenly grown more chilly. It seemed as if the light reflected by the white walls had been reflected by snow. The sanatorium had followed even to Seville.
“Forgive me, I forgot for a moment that I was an invalid,” he said.
From that day Hedvig suffered constant anxiety lest she should have a child.