Marianne leant over the cradle which was near her, beside the bed. "The
fact is," said she, "Master Gervais is sound asleep. Just look at him.
You will never have the heart to wake him."
Then both father and mother remained for a moment gazing at their
sleeping child. Marianne had passed her arm round her husband's neck and
was clinging to him, as they laughed delightedly over the cradle in which
the little one slumbered. He was a fine child, pink and white already;
but only a father and mother could thus contemplate their offspring. As
the baby opened his eyes, which were still full of all the mystery whence
he had come, they raised exclamations full of emotion.
"You know, he saw me!"
"Certainly, and me too. He looked at me: he turned his head."
"Oh, the cherub!"
It was but an illusion, but that dear little face, still so soft and
silent, told them so many things which none other would have heard! They
found themselves repeated in the child, mingled as it were together; and
detected extraordinary likenesses, which for hours and for days kept them
discussing the question as to which of them he most resembled. Moreover,
each proved very obstinate, declaring that he was the living portrait of
the other.
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