"In fact," Madam Dehan mumbled, her mouth full of food, "you can never tell what may happen. Then you will nurse him yourself, and if I were you, if I had money like you, I should try to go to Rome before the confinement and get the Pope to bless me. Your child will never know either the paternal caress or blow, he will never utter the sweet name of papa. May the blessing of the Holy Papa at least follow him all his life." And Madame Dehan began to sob like a kettle boiling over, while Macarée burst into tears as abundant as a spouting whale. But what of Mademoiselle Baba? Her lips blue with berries, she wept so hard that from her throat the sobs flooded down to her hymen and nearly choked her. IV. NOBILITY After having won a great deal of money at baccarat, and already rich, thanks to Love, Macarée, whose corpulency nothing could conceal, came to Paris, where above all, she ran after the most fashionable modistes. How chic she was, how chic she was! * * * One night when she went to the Théâtre Français a play with a moral was presented. In the first act, a young woman whom surgery had rendered sterile lamented the fatness of her husband who had the dropsy and was very jealous. The doctor went out saying: "Only a great miracle and great devotion can save your husband." In the second act, the young woman said to the young doctor: "I offer myself up for my husband. I want to become dropsical in his stead." "Let us love each other, Madame. And if you are not unfaithful to the principle of maternity your wish will be granted. And what sweet glory I shall have thereof!" "Alas!" murmured the lady, "I no longer have any ovaries." "Love," cried the doctor at this, "Love, madame, is capable of working the greatest miracles." In the third act, the husband, thin as an I, and the lady, eight months gone, felicitated each other on the exchange they had made. The doctor communicated to the Academy of Medicine the results of his experiments in the fecundation of women become sterile as a result of surgical operations. * * * Toward the end of the third act, someone shouted "Fire!" in the hall. The frightened spectators rushed from the hall howling. In fleeing, Macarée possessed herself of the arm of the first man she encountered. He was well dressed and fair of feature, and as Macarée was charming, he seemed flattered that she had chosen him as her protector. They made each other's acquaintance at a café and from there went to sup in the Montmartre. But it appeared that François des Ygrées had negligently forgotten to take his purse with him. Macarée gladly paid the bill. And François des Ygrées pushed gallantry so far as not to allow Macarée to spend the night alone, the incident at the theatre having rendered her nervous. * * *