None the less, Madame de la Trave found it hard to tolerate Thérèse’s affectation of hating people to exclaim over her likeness to little Marie. The usual cries of “She’s the very image of you!...” produced violent reactions which she could not always conceal. “She’s not like me in the least,” she would insist. “Look at her dark skin, and jet-black eyes: you can see from my photographs I was pale when I was a baby.” She would not have it that Marie was like her. She refused to possess anything in common with this flesh that had now parted company with her own. People began to be aware that she was not exactly remarkable for her maternal affection. But Madame de la Trave maintained that she loved her daughter in her own way: “Of course we can’t expect her to bathe the child or change her napkins: that wouldn’t be like her: but I have seen her sit for a whole evening by the cradle, not smoking, so as to watch the baby asleep.... Besides, we have a very reliable nurse: and then Anne is there. Ah! She’ll make a wonderful little mother....” It was true that, since a child had come into the house, Anne had begun to live again. A cradle always attracts women: but Anne especially loved to look after the infant. So as to have freer access to her, she had made peace with Thérèse, though nothing remained of their old affection but certain familiarities of address. The girl particularly dreaded Thérèse’s maternal jealousy: “The child knows me better than her mother: she laughs as soon as she sees me. The other day, I had her in my arms; she began to scream as soon as Thérèse wanted to take her. She likes me so much better that I feel quite embarrassed sometimes....”