He rose, and with his hands in his pocket, walked across the room humming an old medical student's song. I followed him closely. "Jacques," said I, as he turned round, "tell me frankly, are you satisfied?" "Yes, yes, I am satisfied . . . observe my untroubled look," and he broke into his hearty and somewhat noisy laugh. "You are not hiding anything from me, my dear fellow?" "What a donkey you are, old fellow. I tell you that everything is going on well." And he resumed his song, jingling the money in his pockets. "All is going on well, but it will take some time," he went on. "Let me have one of your dressing-gowns. I shall be more comfortable for the night, and these ladies will excuse me, will they not?" "Excuse you, I should think so, you, the doctor, and my friend!" I felt devotedly attached to him that evening. "Well, then, if they will excuse me, you can very well let me have a pair of slippers." At this moment a cry came from the next room and we distinctly heard these words in a stifled voice: "Doctor . . . oh! mon Dieu! . . . doctor!" "It is frightful," murmured my aunts. "My dear friend," I exclaimed, seizing the doctor's arm," you are quite sure you are not concealing anything from me?" "If you have a very loose pair they will suit me best; I have not the foot of a young girl . . . . I am not concealing anything, I am not concealing anything . . . . What do you think I should hide from you? It is all going on very well, only as I said it will take time-- By the way, tell Joseph to get me one of your smokingcaps; once in dressing-gown and slippers a smokingcap is not out of the way, and I am getting bald, my dear Captain. How infernally cold it is here! These windows face the north, and there are no sand-bags. Mademoiselle de V.," he added, turning to my aunt, "you will catch cold." Then as other sounds were heard, he said: "Let us go and see the little lady." "Come here," said my wife, who had caught sight of me, in a low voice, "come here and shake hands with me." Then she drew me toward her and whispered in my ear: "You will be pleased to kiss the little darling, won't you?" Her voice was so faint and so tender as she said this, and she added: "Do not take your hand away, it gives me courage." I remained beside her, therefore, while the doctor, who had put on my dressing-gown, vainly strove to button it. From time to time my poor little wife squeezed my hand violently, closing her eyes, but not uttering a cry. The fire sparkled on the hearth. The pendulum of the clock went on with its monotonous ticking, but it seemed to me that all this calm was only apparent, that everything about me must be in a state of expectation like myself and sharing my emotion. In the bedroom beyond, the door of which was ajar, I could see the end of the cradle and the shadow of the nurse who was dozing while she waited.