Might she not, then, marry Marvin and share his intellectual gladness and his animal gladness without becoming a mother? Why should unconscious cells stand in the way of her happiness? The question was no sooner asked than answered. All her heredity shrank back and cried out against it. She thought again of Phosphor, the morning star, and how his element lay hidden in her cells like some divine and sacred light-bearer. The elements were subtly wrought within her that some child might come and smite himself into them, as once the Christ-child, bright as any fire, came and smote himself into the bread of Sangreal. Rather than prevent him she might better bring forth many sons to bear the duress of the world. Chapter 84. Polonium That conclusion was her first sign of yielding, and it was not much of a sign. But when in December she came to think about polonium, her determination was almost shaken. Polonium was the discovery of a woman and a mother. Madame Curie was not afraid of life. Such a woman had a right to be born, even though as a child she ran the risk of being torn in pieces by the claws of the Russian bear. If one could only hope for such a daughter as Marie Curie! It was not the death of descendants that Jean objected to, or even their tragic death, but their death for no demonstrable purpose. Though debarred from seeing polonium, she knew enough to be awed by the accounts of it. It was utterly different from anything she had studied. Whereas bismuth apparently lasts forever, polonium—hardly separable from bismuth—lives less than five months! It slowly and steadily explodes from within while seemingly peaceful without! The flying fragments of its atom can be made visible—can be made to appear like fireworks in a fog. Marvin would have been overjoyed to show her the performance, could she have visited his laboratory. He would have let her bend carefully over a highly charged little engine which was revealing the luminous tracks twice each second. In that little glass-topped chamber the eighty-fourth element was fiercely giving up the ghost to become the eighty-second. Out flamed the unbalanced helium atoms like a sheaf of spreading sunbeams, and often a ray was deflected by hitting some invisible atom. Admiration for Madame Curie made her dream for a while of motherhood, but January dispelled the dream. Though Congress had voted twenty million dollars’ worth of food for the starving Russians, there was every prospect that millions would perish. Jean longed to do something, and spent what was left of her double-eagle for Canadian cheese and sent it to the Red Cross to forward. And such is the natural desire of the illogical human mind for heroic action that she would gladly have died for any one of those Russian children—who ought never to have been born.