75 лучших рассказов / 75 Best Short Stories

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. Desirée’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. �Ah!’ It was a cry that she could not help; which she was not conscious of having uttered.

She tried to speak to the little quadroon boy; but no sound would come, at first. 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.

She stayed motionless, with gaze riveted upon her child, and her face the picture of fright.

Presently her husband entered the room, and without noticing her, went to a table and began to search among some papers which covered it.

�Armand,’ she called to him, in a voice which must have stabbed him, if he was human. But he did not notice. �Armand,’ she said again. Then she rose and tottered towards him. �Armand,’ she panted once more, clutching his arm, �look at our child. What does it mean? tell me.’

He coldly but gently loosened her fingers from about his arm and thrust the hand away from him.

�It means,’ he answered lightly, �that the child is not white; it means that you are not white.’

A quick conception of all that this accusation meant for her nerved her with unwonted courage to deny it. �It is a lie; it is not true, I am white! Look at my hair, it is brown; and my eyes are gray, Armand, you know they are gray. And my skin is fair,’ seizing his wrist.

�As white as La Blanche’s,’ he returned cruelly; and went away leaving her alone with their child.

When she could hold a pen in her hand, she sent a despairing letter to Madame Valmonde.

�My mother, they tell me I am not white. 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 shall die. I must die.