en children." "It is incredible." "And
what is more, they are all seven alive, as she is a very good mother. I
go to the house, which is a very quiet and pleasant one, occasionally,
and she realizes the phenomenon of the family in the midst of the
world." "How very strange! And have there never been any reports about
her?" "Never." "But what about her husband? He is peculiar, is he not?"

"Yes, and no. Very likely there has been a little drama between them,
one of those little domestic dramas which one suspects, which one never
finds out exactly, but which one guesses pretty nearly." "What is it?"
"I do not know anything about it. Mascaret leads a very fast life now,
after having been a model husband. As long as he remained a good spouse,
he had a shocking temper and was crabbed and easily took offense, but
since he has been leading his present, rackety life, he has become quite
indifferent; but one would guess that he has some trouble, a worm
gnawing somewhere, for he has aged very much."

Thereupon the two friends talked philosophically for some minutes about
the secret, unknowable troubles, which differences of character or
perhaps physical antipathies, which were not perceived at first, give
rise to in families, and then Roger de Salnis, who was still looking at
Madame de Mascaret through his opera-glasses, said: "It is almost
incredible that that woman has had seven children!" "Yes, in eleven
years; after which, when she was thirty, she put a stop to her period of
production in order to enter into the brilliant period of
representation, which does not seem near coming to an end." "Poor
women!" "Why do you pity them?"

"Why? Ah! my dear fellow, just consider! eleven years of pregnancy, for
such a woman! What a hell! All her youth, all her beauty, every hope of
success, every poetical ideal of a bright life, sacrificed to that
abominable law of reproduction which turns the normal woman into a mere
machine for reproduction." "What would you have? It is only nature!"

"Yes, but I say that nature is our enemy, that we must always fight
against nature, for she is continually bringing us back to an animal
state. You may be sure that God has not put anything onto this earth
that is clean, pretty, elegant, or accessory to our ideal, but the human
brain has done it. It is we who have introduced a little grace, beauty,
unknown charm and mystery into creation by singing about it,
interpreting it, by admiring it as poets, id