First Part Chapter 31

My child--come see how readily the word comes, and indeed there is
none sweeter to a mother's heart and mind or on her lips--well, then,
dear child, during the last two months I used to drag myself wearily
and heavily about the gardens, not realizing yet how precious was the
burden, spite of all the discomforts it brought! I was haunted by
forebodings so gloomy and ghastly, that they got the better even of
curiosity; in vain did I picture the delights of motherhood. My heart
made no response even to the thought of the little one, who announced
himself by lively kicking. That is a sensation, dear, which may be
welcome when it is familiar; but as a novelty, it is more strange than
pleasing.

I speak for myself at least; you know I would never affect
anything I did not really feel, and I look on my child as a gift
straight from Heaven. For one who saw in it rather the image of the
man she loved, it might be different.

But enough of such sad thoughts, gone, I trust, for ever.

When the crisis came, I summoned all my powers of resistance, and
braced myself so well for suffering, that I bore the horrible agony
--so they tell me--quite marvelously. For about an hour I sank into a
sort of stupor, of the nature of a dream. I seemed to myself then two
beings--an outer covering racked and tortured by red-hot pincers, and
a soul at peace. In this strange state the pain formed itself into a
sort of halo hovering over me. A gigantic rose seemed to spring out of
my head and grow ever larger and larger, till it enfolded me in its
blood-red petals.