future,
very silly, no doubt, but so fascinating.

Octave wants him to follow a diplomatic career. He says that he has
the eye of a statesman and that his gestures, though few, are full of
meaning. Poor, dear little ambassador, with only three hairs on your
head! But what dear hairs they are, those threads of gold curling at the
back of his neck, just above the rosy fold where the skin is so fine and
so fresh that kisses nestle there of themselves.

The whole of this little body has a perfume which intoxicates me and
makes my heart leap. What, dear friend, are the invisible ties which
bind us to our children? Is it an atom of our own soul, a part of our
own life, which animates and vivifies them? There must be something of
the kind, for I can read amid the mists of his little mind. I divine his
wishes, I know when he is cold, I can tell when he is hungry.

Do you know the most delightful moment? It is when after having taken
his evening meal and gorged himself with milk like a gluttonous little
kitten, he falls asleep with his rosy cheek resting on my arm. His limbs
gently relax, his head sinks down on my breast, his eyes close, and his
half-opened mouth continues to repeat the action of suckling.

His warm, moist breath brushes the hand that is supporting him. Then I
wrap him up snugly in my turned-up skirt, hide his little feet under
his clothes and watch my darling. I have him there, all to myself, on my
knees. There is not a quiver of his being that escapes me or that does
not vibrate in myself. I feel at the bottom of my heart a mirror that
reflects them all. He is still part of me. Is it not my milk that
nourishes him, my voice that hushes him off to sleep, my hand that
dresses and caresses, encourages and supports him? The feeling that I am
all in all for him further adds a delicious charm of protection to the
delight of having brought him into the world.

When I think that there are women who pass by such joys without turning
their heads. The fools!

Yes, the present is delightful and I am drunk with happiness. There is
also the future, far away in the clouds. I often think of it, and I do
not know why I shudder at the approach of a storm.

Madness! I shall love him so discreetly, I shall render the weight of my
affection so light for him, that why should he wish to separate from
me? Shall I not in time become his friend? Shall I not when a black down
shadows those rosy little lips, when the bird, feelin