Desiree's Baby by Kate Chopin Madame Valmonde had not seen Desiree and the baby for four weeks. When she reached L'Abri she shuddered at the first sight of it, as she always did. It was a sad looking place, which for many years had not known the gentle presence of a mistress, old Monsieur Aubigny having married and buried his wife in France, and she having loved her own land too well ever to leave it. The roof came down steep and black like a cowl, reaching out beyond the wide galleries that encircled the yellow stuccoed house. Big, solemn oaks grew close to it, and their thick- leaved, far- reaching branches shadowed it like a pall. Young Aubigny's rule was a strict one, too, and under it his negroes had forgotten how to be gay, as they had been during the old master's easy- going and indulgent lifetime.
The baby was beside her, upon her arm, where he had fallen asleep, at her breast. The yellow nurse woman sat beside a window fanning herself. Then she turned to the child. French was the language spoken at Valmonde in those days. The little cochon de lait!
Look at his legs, mamma, and his hands and fingernails - real finger- nails. Zandrine had to cut them this morning. Isn't it true, Zandrine? Armand heard him the other day as far away as La Blanche's cabin. She lifted it and walked with it over to the window that was lightest. She scanned the baby narrowly, then looked as searchingly at Zandrine, whose face was turned to gaze across the fields.
But I know it isn't true. I know he says that to please me. Even Negrillon, who pretended to have burnt his leg that he might rest from work - he only laughed, and said Negrillon was a great scamp. Oh, mamma, I'm so happy; it frightens me. Marriage, and later the birth of his son had softened Armand Aubigny's imperious and exacting nature greatly.
This was what made the gentle Desiree so happy, for she loved him desperately. When he frowned she trembled, but loved him. When he smiled, she asked no greater blessing of God. But Armand's dark, handsome face had not often been disfigured by frowns since the day he fell in love with her. It was at first too subtle to grasp. It had only been a disquieting suggestion; an air of mystery among the blacks; unexpected visits from far- off neighbors who could hardly account for their coming.
Then a strange, an awful change in her husband's manner, which she dared not ask him to explain. When he spoke to her, it was with averted eyes, from which the old love- light seemed to have gone out. He absented himself from home; and when there, avoided her presence and that of her child, without excuse. And the very spirit of Satan seemed suddenly to take hold of him in his dealings with the slaves.
Desiree was miserable enough to die. The baby, half naked, lay asleep upon her own great mahogany bed, that was like a sumptuous throne, with its satin- lined half- canopy. One of La Blanche's little quadroon boys - half naked too - stood fanning the child slowly with a fan of peacock feathers. Desiree's eyes had been fixed absently and sadly upon the baby, while she was striving to penetrate the threatening mist that she felt closing about her. She looked from her child to the boy who stood beside him, and back again; over and over.
Day fourteen since I discovered the robin's nest under my bedroom window. The oldest egg is 13 days old today.
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The blood turned like ice in her veins, and a clammy moisture gathered upon her face. When he heard his name uttered, he looked up, and his mistress was pointing to the door. He laid aside the great, soft fan, and obediently stole away, over the polished floor, on his bare tiptoes. But he did not notice. Then she rose and tottered towards him.
Look at my hair, it is brown; and my eyes are gray, Armand, you know they are gray. Armand has told me I am not white. For God's sake tell them it is not true. You must know it is not true. I cannot be so unhappy, and live.
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Come with your child. She was like a stone image: silent, white, motionless after she placed it there. Moreover he no longer loved her, because of the unconscious injury she had brought upon his home and his name. That was his last blow at fate. Zandrine was pacing the sombre gallery with it. She took the little one from the nurse's arms with no word of explanation, and descending the steps, walked away, under the live- oak branches. Out in the still fields the negroes were picking cotton.
Her hair was uncovered and the sun's rays brought a golden gleam from its brown meshes. She did not take the broad, beaten road which led to the far- off plantation of Valmonde. She walked across a deserted field, where the stubble bruised her tender feet, so delicately shod, and tore her thin gown to shreds. In the centre of the smoothly swept back yard was a great bonfire.
Armand Aubigny sat in the wide hallway that commanded a view of the spectacle; and it was he who dealt out to a half dozen negroes the material which kept this fire ablaze. Then there were silk gowns, and velvet and satin ones added to these; laces, too, and embroideries; bonnets and gloves; for the corbeille had been of rare quality. There was the remnant of one back in the drawer from which he took them.
But it was not Desiree's; it was part of an old letter from his mother to his father. She was thanking God for the blessing of her husband's love: -- .