The Awakening and Selected Short Stories - Page 140/161

The young mother was recovering slowly, and lay full length, in her soft

white muslins and laces, upon a couch. The baby was beside her, upon her

arm, where he had fallen asleep, at her breast. The yellow nurse woman

sat beside a window fanning herself.

Madame Valmonde bent her portly figure over Desiree and kissed her,

holding her an instant tenderly in her arms. Then she turned to the

child.

"This is not the baby!" she exclaimed, in startled tones. French was the

language spoken at Valmonde in those days.

"I knew you would be astonished," laughed Desiree, "at the way he has

grown. The little cochon de lait! Look at his legs, mamma, and his

hands and fingernails,--real finger-nails. Zandrine had to cut them this

morning. Isn't it true, Zandrine?"

The woman bowed her turbaned head majestically, "Mais si, Madame."

"And the way he cries," went on Desiree, "is deafening. Armand heard him

the other day as far away as La Blanche's cabin."

Madame Valmonde had never removed her eyes from the child. She lifted it

and walked with it over to the window that was lightest. She scanned the

baby narrowly, then looked as searchingly at Zandrine, whose face was

turned to gaze across the fields.

"Yes, the child has grown, has changed," said Madame Valmonde, slowly,

as she replaced it beside its mother. "What does Armand say?"

Desiree's face became suffused with a glow that was happiness itself.

"Oh, Armand is the proudest father in the parish, I believe, chiefly

because it is a boy, to bear his name; though he says not,--that he

would have loved a girl as well. But I know it isn't true. I know he

says that to please me. And mamma," she added, drawing Madame Valmonde's

head down to her, and speaking in a whisper, "he hasn't punished one of

them--not one of them--since baby is born. Even Negrillon, who pretended

to have burnt his leg that he might rest from work--he only laughed, and

said Negrillon was a great scamp. Oh, mamma, I'm so happy; it frightens

me."

What Desiree said was true. Marriage, and later the birth of his son had

softened Armand Aubigny's imperious and exacting nature greatly.

This was what made the gentle Desiree so happy, for she loved him

desperately. When he frowned she trembled, but loved him. When he

smiled, she asked no greater blessing of God. But Armand's dark,

handsome face had not often been disfigured by frowns since the day he

fell in love with her.

When the baby was about three months old, Desiree awoke one day to the

conviction that there was something in the air menacing her peace.

It was at first too subtle to grasp. It had only been a disquieting

suggestion; an air of mystery among the blacks; unexpected visits from

far-off neighbors who could hardly account for their coming. Then a

strange, an awful change in her husband's manner, which she dared not

ask him to explain. When he spoke to her, it was with averted eyes, from

which the old love-light seemed to have gone out. He absented himself

from home; and when there, avoided her presence and that of her child,

without excuse. And the very spirit of Satan seemed suddenly to take

hold of him in his dealings with the slaves. Desiree was miserable

enough to die.