After she had been two months at the farm, Sister Anne brought a son into the world. With what delirious joy did she contemplate her child! with what transports did she listen to his first cries! One must have been a mother to understand the perfect bliss of that moment. Already she fancied that she could recognize Frédéric's features in her child's; she gazed at him incessantly and covered him with kisses; her son was never out of her arms; weak as she was, she nursed him herself. The farmer's wife did not try to thwart her desire, for it is a source of ever-recurring delight to a mother, and Sister Anne seemed to enjoy it more keenly than another. She was so proud and happy when she held her child to her breast, that she forgot her sorrows for the moment. She did not forget Frédéric, but her heart was no longer oppressed by sombre melancholy; the sight of her child often brought a smile to her lips; she felt that for her son a mother can endure everything. Some weeks after her confinement, Sister Anne manifested a wish to resume her journey; but the good people at the farm remonstrated with her. "Can you think of such a thing," said the farmer's wife, "as starting on a journey, with a child at the breast? Remember that you don't expose your own life only, but his too. Do you suppose that if you set out in search of new dangers and fatigue, he'll be able to get nourishment from your breast? No, it isn't possible; the child will soon get sick and die, if you persist in your plan." Endanger her son's life! that thought made the dumb girl shudder. There was no sacrifice she would not make for her child; it was a very great one to postpone her journey; but what the farmer's wife had said instantly decided her to remain at the farm until her son could no longer feel the effects of his mother's trials and sorrows. "Good, good! you are going to stay," said the good woman, reading in Sister Anne's eyes that she would not insist. "That's right, my child; you are sensible. In a year, or a year and a half, if your son is strong enough, then we'll see; but till then you mustn't think of travelling." Sister Anne had made up her mind, and, although she still thought of Frédéric, she devoted her whole attention to her child. As the result of her unremitting care, she had the joy of seeing him grow larger and stronger every day; his cheeks glowed with health, his lips wore a sweet smile, and his little arms seemed to embrace with gratitude her who had given him life. By writing before her hosts the name of Frédéric, Sister Anne had succeeded in making them understand that this was the name she wished to give her son. They called him by no other name, and the young mother felt a fresh thrill of joy every time that that name fell upon her ear; how much greater her joy would be when her child should answer to it!