And I bounded down the pathway at a pace fit to break my bones. The vintagers, who had stood up, smiled as they saw me running. Uncle Lazare, who could not overtake me, shook his walking stick in despair.
"Heh! Jean, the deuce!" he shouted, "wait for me. I don't want to be the last."
But I no longer heard Uncle Lazare, and continued running.
I reached the farm panting for breath, full of hope and terror. I rushed upstairs and knocked with my fist at Babet's door, laughing, crying, and half crazy. The midwife set the door ajar, to tell me in an angry voice not to make so much noise. I stood there abashed and in despair.
"You can't come in," she added. "Go and wait in the courtyard."
And as I did not move, she continued: "All is going on very well. I will call you."
The door was closed
