"On the 20th instant at The Shelter;Mapledurham,Annette,wife of Soames Forsyte,of a daughter."And underneath on the blottingpaper he traced the word "son."It was eight o'clock in an ordinary autumn world when he went across to the house.Bushes across the river stood round and bright-coloured out of a milky haze;the wood-smoke went up blue and straight;and his doves cooed,preening their feathers in the sunlight.
He stole up to his dressing-room,bathed,shaved,put on fresh linen and dark clothes.
Madame Lamotte was beginning her breakfast when he went down.
She looked at his clothes,said,"Don't tell me!"and pressed his hand."Annette is prettee well.But the doctor say she can never have no more children.You knew that?"Soames nodded."It's a pity.Mais la petite est adorable.Du cafe?"Soames got away from her as soon as he could.She offended him--solid,matter-of-fact,quick,clear--French.He could not bear her vowels,her 'r's';he resented the way she had looked at him,as if it were his fault that Annette could never bear him a son!His fault!He even resented her cheap adoration of the daughter he had not yet seen.
Curious how he jibbed away from sight of his wife and child!
One would have thought he must have rushed up at the first moment.
On the contrary,he had a sort of physical shrinking from it--fastidious possessor that he was.He was afraid of what Annette was thinking of him,author of her agonies,afraid of the look of the baby,afraid of showing his disappointment with the present and--the future.
He spent an hour walking up and down the drawing-room before he could screw his courage up to mount the stairs and knock on the door of their room.
Madame Lamotte opened it.
"Ah!At last you come!Elle vous attend!"She passed him,and Soames went in with his noiseless step,his jaw firmly set,his eyes furtive.
Annette was very pale and very pretty lying there.The baby was hidden away somewhere;he could not see it.He went up to the bed,and with sudden emotion bent and kissed her forehead.
"Here you are then,Soames,"she said."I am not so bad now.But I suffered terribly,terribly.I am glad I cannot have any more.
Oh!how I suffered!"
Soames stood silent,stroking her hand;words of endearment,of sympathy,absolutely would not come;the thought passed through him:'An English girl wouldn't have said that!'At this moment he knew with certainty that he would never be near to her in spirit and in truth,nor she to him.He had collected her--that was all!
And Jolyon's words came rushing into his mind:"I should imagine you will be glad to have your neck out of chancery."Well,he had got it out!Had he got it in again?
"We must feed you up,"he said,"you'll soon be strong.""Don't you want to see baby,Soames?She is asleep.""Of course,"said Soames,"very much."
He passed round the foot of the bed to the other side and stood staring.For the first moment what he saw was much what he had expected to see--a baby.But as he stared and the baby breathed and made little sleeping movements with its tiny features,it seemed to assume an individual shape,grew to be like a picture,a thing he would know again;not repulsive,strangely bud-like and touching.It had dark hair.He touched it with his finger,he wanted to see its eyes.They opened,they were dark--whether blue or brown he could not tell.The eyes winked,stared,they had a sort of sleepy depth in them.And suddenly his heart felt queer,warm,as if elated.
"Ma petite fleur!"Annette said softly.
"Fleur,"repeated Soames:"Fleur!we'll call her that."The sense of triumph and renewed possession swelled within him.
By God!this--this thing was his!
