reflection of my own emotion. They embraced me and shook hands with me,
and I responded to all these marks of affection without exactly knowing
where they came from.

"Damn it all!" muttered my father, in my ear, holding me in his arms,
with his stick still in his hand and his hat on his head, "Damn it all!"

But he could not finish, however brave he might wish to appear; a big
tear was glittering at the tip of his nose. He muttered "Hum!" under
his moustache and finally burst into tears on my shoulder, saying: "I can
not help it."

And I did likewise--I could not help it either.

However, everybody was flocking round the grandmamma, who lifted up a
corner of her apron and said:

"How pretty he is, the darling, how pretty! Nurse, warm the linen, give
me the caps."

"Smile at your aunty," said my aunt, jangling her rosary above the baby's
head, "smile at aunty."

"Ask him at the same time to recite a fable," said the doctor.

Meanwhile my wife was coming to herself; she half opened her eyes and
seemed to be looking for something.

"Where is he?" she murmured in a faint voice.