She shook her. Weariedly, contentedly, Annette let her have her way. Sylvie stopped in the middle of her tirade, took her sister's forehead between her hands and pushed back her hair. "She is fresh, she is pink, never have I seen her with such beautiful color. And that look of triumph! Good reason for it! Aren't you ashamed?" "Not in the least!" said Annette. "I am happier than I have ever been before. And so strong, so well. For the first time in my life I feel complete, I desire nothing more. This longing that is going to be fulfilled for a child goes back so far in my life! Ever since I was a child myself. . . . Yes, when I was seven years old I was already dreaming of it." "That's a fib," said Sylvie. "Only six months ago you told me you had never felt that maternity was your vocation." "Do you really think that? Did I really say that?" said Annette, disconcerted. "It's true, I did say it. But I haven't lied, just the same, either now or then. . . . How explain it? I am not pretending. I remember clearly." "I know how it is," said Sylvie. "When I have a fancy for something, I often immediately remember that I have never wanted anything but that since the day I was born." Annette frowned; she was not satisfied. "The nature I feel to-day is my real nature. It always has been, but I didn't dare confess it to myself before the time came; I was afraid I was mistaken. Now . . . Oh! now, I see that it is even more beautiful than I had hoped. And it is my whole self. I want nothing more." "When you wanted Roger or Tullio," said Sylvie maliciously, "you wanted nothing more." "Oh, you don't understand anything! . . . Can the two things be compared? When I was in love (what you call 'love'), it wasn't I who wished it, I was forced. . . . How I suffered from that force that held me, without being able to resist it! . . . And now you see how my little one has come to my rescue when I was struggling in the bonds of the misery they call love, how he came, how he has saved me. My little liberator!" Sylvie began to laugh. She had not in the least understood her sister's reasons. But she did not need any reasons to understand her maternal instinct: on that subject the two sisters would always be in accord. They began to chat affectionately about the little unknown creature (was it going to be a man or a woman?)--discussing a thousand nothings, serious and foolish, about its coming, things about which a woman never wearies of chattering. They had been talking this way for a long time when Sylvie remembered that she had come to administer her lesson, not to sing a duet. "Annette," she said, "enough of this nonsense! There is a time for everything. Roger owes you marriage, and you must insist on it." Annette made a weary gesture. "Why go back to that? I have told you that Roger offered it to me and that I refused." "Well, when one has been stupid one should recognize it and change." "I have no desire to change."