ad visions of the night is the more
arduous because the child is scared, stupid, and only half awake. It is
a mere interlude in the unconsciousness of slumber. In this way I have
come to sleep so lightly, that I can see my little pair and see them
stirring, through the veil of my eyelids. A sigh or a rustle wakens me.
For me, the demon of convulsions is ever crouching by their beds.

So much for the nights; with the first twitter of the birds my babies
begin to stir. Through the mists of dispersing sleep, their chatter
blends with the warblings that fill the morning air, or with the
swallows' noisy debates--little cries of joy or woe, which make their
way to my heart rather than my ears. While Nais struggles to get at
me, making the passage from her cradle to my bed on all fours or with
staggering steps, Armand climbs up with the agility of a monkey, and has
his arms round me. Then the merry couple turn my bed into a playground,
where mother lies at their mercy. The baby-girl pulls my hair, and would
take to sucking again, while Armand stands guard over my breast,
as though defending his property. Their funny ways, their peals of
laughter, are too much for me, and put sleep fairly to flight.

Then we play the ogress game; mother ogress eats up the white, soft
flesh with hugs, and rains kisses on those rosy shoulders and eyes
brimming over with saucy mischief; we have little jealous tiffs too, so
pretty to see. It has happened to me, dear, to take up my stockings at
eight o'clock and be still bare-footed at nine!

Then comes the getting up. The operation of dressing begins. I slip on
my dressing-gown, turn up my sleeves, and don the mackintosh apron; with
Mary's assistance, I wash and scrub my two little blossoms. I am sole
arbiter of the temperature of the bath, for a good half of children's
crying and whimpering comes from mistakes here. The moment has arrived
for paper fleets and glass ducks, since the only way to get children
thoroughly washed is to keep them well amused. If you knew the
diversions that have to be invented before these despotic sovereigns
will permit a soft sponge to be passed over every nook and cranny, you
would be awestruck at the amount of ingenuity and intelligence demanded
by the maternal profession when one takes it seriously. Prayers,
scoldings, promises, are alike in requisition; above all, the jugglery
must be so dexterous that it defies detection. The case would be
desperate had not Prov