Chapter Twelve

October 31st, 1742

At six o'clock that morning, Maurice rushed out of his own house and towards the home of Madame Belrose, a midwife who lived down the street. The old Madame was annoyed that she had been woken so early, but after Maurice frantically explained that Sofia was about to give birth, she grabbed her bag and quickly followed Maurice down the street. On his way back, Madame Bisette came running out of her house and irritably asked Maurice why he was making so much noise so early in the morning. Upon hearing that Sofia was in labour, she insisted upon coming along with them. She had a lot of experience with the birthing process after all, having given birth to nine children of her own.

At fifteen minutes past seven, the two women barred themselves inside the bedroom with Sofia, ignoring the protests of Maurice who had wanted to stay with his wife to support her and witness the birth of their child. The women, however, insisted that childbirth was purely "women's business", and that men-even the father of the child in question-should not be allowed into the birthing chamber. Both women wished to spare Maurice the agony of seeing his beloved wife in such tremendous pain. Accepting defeat, Maurice made breakfast, and settled himself down in front of the portrait of Sofia's mother, nervously waiting for his child to be brought into the world.

"Isn't this exciting?" he said to the painting. "You're going to be a grandmother!"

Maurice spent the next hour absent-mindedly skimming a book about Eastern European dances that Sofia had bought from the bookshop a few blocks away. At nine o'clock, he heard Sofia cry out in pain. A horrible thought struck Maurice's mind. What if childbirth was too much for Sofia to handle? She was very slender, and her hips were absurdly narrow. What if the baby became trapped between them? What if the pain became too unbearable? What if Sofia caught puerperal fever like poor Madame Dupré across the street? He would never be able to forgive himself if any of that happened. He was the one who had asked the enchantress for a baby, after all. He had only wanted Sofia to be happy. He hated to think that he might be responsible for her death.

No, he told himself. That was a ridiculous thought. Sofia was tiny, it was true, but she was a trained ballet dancer. She was incredibly strong, though she did not look it, and had impeccable stamina. Maurice had once witnessed her run five blocks and swim half a mile up the Seine to save a drowning child, all without stopping once. He was sure that giving birth would easy for her. Still, she was quite slender…

But what about the baby? It was quite common for infants to die before they could even take their first breaths. He did not think that Sofia would be able to take the pain and heartbreak of losing another child. But the enchantress had promised him a baby! Surely she would not let that happen.

On the other hand, the enchantress had told him that there was a catch. Why had he not asked her what that catch was when he had the chance? How could he have been so stupid? Sofia was going to die now and it was all thanks to his idiocy.

Sofia's screams became louder and more frequent as time wore on. Madame Bisette would often emerge from the bedroom and ask Maurice to fetch them some food. Maurice, too nervous to eat, chose to forgo lunch and dinner himself.

Eventually Maurice's nerves grew so bad that he could barely contain himself. He began to pace around his house, wringing his hands, and glancing at the clock every few seconds. Fifteen minutes before midnight, the unmistakable cry of a newborn infant filled the creaky old house. Maurice relaxed slightly. At least the baby was fine.

At half past twelve, Madame Bisette came out of the bedroom wearing an enormous grin on her face. Maurice almost tripped over himself as he ran up to her.

"How are they?" he asked breathlessly.

"The baby? A healthy little girl with rosy cheeks, a head full of brown hair, and her mother's beautiful eyes. Simply a gorgeous little thing."

"I've been a midwife for thirty-five years, but never have I seen a baby quite as lovely as her," agreed Madame Belrose who had followed Madame Bisette out of the bedroom.

"And my wife?" Maurice stammered, preparing himself for the worst.

"Sofia is fine now, though the birth was very difficult for her. We thought we had lost her at one point. She has such narrow hips, you know. I am surprised that we managed to get the baby out intact. It is a miracle that they both survived."

"But they are both fine now?" Maurice asked, relieved. He sighed deeply as he felt his heartbeat slow down.

"The baby is doing wonderfully, and her mother is making an extraordinarily quick recovery."

"Can I see them?"

"We're still cleaning them up. Just wait a few more moments."

Maurice sat back down in front of Jeanne's portrait. In that moment, he felt like the most fortunate man in all of France, and, for the first time in his life, he felt proud of himself. He could not give Sofia the money or riches that he felt that she deserved, but he had given her a child, which is all that she really wanted anyway. The only thing that he wanted to do now was meet the enchantress once more. Not for another wish, of course. He had everything that he could ever desire. No, he wanted to thank her for the joy that she had given Sofia and himself.

It took quite a while for Sofia to process that the little pink and brown thing lying on her chest was her daughter. The very same daughter that she had spent years pining for. She had dreamed of having a little girl that she could braid the hair of, teach to dance, and dress up in pretty dresses. And now she finally had her, but something just did not seem to feel right.

Sofia could not understand it, but this baby-this tiny, warm, soft, pink bundle of flesh that was staring up at her with inquisitive hazel eyes- just did not feel like her daughter. Not the one she had longed for anyway. It was not that Sofia was not happy. She was ecstatic to finally be a mother, and she loved her new baby girl, but something was not right.

The door creaked, and Sofia looked up to see Maurice standing in the doorway, looking at them with a small smile on his face. Then, without any warning, Maurice fell to the floor and started to weep.

"W-what's wrong?" asked Sofia, startled at her husband's sudden outburst.

"Seeing you and the baby together – It's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," he explained, wiping away a tear. "I'm just so happy that we have our little girl now."

Sofia smiled weakly at him.

"Come over here and look at her," she said weakly, sitting up and carefully positioning her daughter in her arms.

Maurice walked over timidly and sat on the bed next to Sofia. The infant stared up at her parents, squinting at them through docile hazel-brown eyes. Her skin was a pale white, like fresh cream, and her cheeks were flushed with a rosy pink glow. A little tuft of brown hair sprouted out the top of her little head. Her tiny hand reached up, curled around a lock of Sofia's long golden hair, and tugged at it. Sofia winced in pain and quickly pulled her hair away.

"I think I am going to have to keep my hair tied up from now on," she said, frowning slightly.

"She looks just like you," Maurice told her, beaming down at his young daughter. "The same eyes, the same complexion, the same cute little nose."

"All babies have cute little noses."

"Hers is especially cute."

The baby shifted in Sofia's arms and began to whimper in a distressed tone.

"What's wrong with her?" asked Maurice in alarm.

"She looks cold. Can you get a blanket for her? They are in her room."

Maurice stood up and left, leaving Sofia and the baby alone. The infant reached out and grasped Sofia's fingertip. Sofia smiled down at her. Maurice reappeared in the room carrying a pale blue blanket that Sofia had knitted during her pregnancy. Sofia carefully swaddled her daughter and laid the baby in her arms.

"She needs a name," Maurice told her, gesturing to their daughter.

"I thought we discussed this. We are naming her after your mother."

"No."

"What do you suggest then?"

Maurice thought for a moment.

"Clarisse?" he suggested.

"Ugh!" Sofia looked disgusted. "No, no, definitely not!"

"Why? What's wrong with it?

"There was a girl in my old ballet company called Clarisse," Sofia explained with a grimace. "She slept with my fiancé. Of course they both denied it, but I could tell."

"I see," said Maurice, frowning. "Desiree?"

"Desiree Desrosiers?" asked Sofia incredulously. "Do you want our daughter to grow up to be a strumpet?"

"Amelie? Madeleine?

"Too common," answered Sofia. "Madame Colbert has a little Amelie, as does Madame Stefan and Madame Boucher. And there are three little girls in my ballet class named Madeleine, not to mention the two Madelines."

"Why don't we just name her after your mother and be done with it?" asked Maurice irritably, burying his face in his hands.

The baby extended her little arms towards Sofia's face. Sofia quickly moved her hair away from her daughter's reach.

"I do want to," she said "But I can't think of any middle name that goes with it, meanwhile Jeanne itself would make an excellent middle name."

"We don't have to give her any middle names," replied Maurice.

"You're right, but I think that middle names make you sound classier. I don't have any and I feel so boring."

"You could never be boring," Maurice insisted. "And she is just a little baby. She doesn't need to sound classy. She is only three hours old."

"She's going to get bigger, Maurice. What if she grows up to marry a duke or a prince? Think of how awful we'll look in front of all her royal in-laws when the priest says her full name at her wedding."

"Sofia, that's very unlikely to happen," said Maurice, staring at his wife bemusedly. What had pregnancy done to her? She was usually the more sensible of the two.

"You never know! Now look, I know you don't like the idea of naming her after your mother, so we won't. Isabelle is too much of a mouthful anyway. We'll name her Belle instead. It's not exactly like your mother's name, but it has the same meaning. Belle Jeanne Desrosiers. No, that sounds a little bland. I'll add in my old nanny's name too. She was like a mother to me, especially after my real one died. Belle Jeanne Salvatrice Desrosiers. No, no, that still sounds wrong. Belle Salvatrice Jeanne Desrosiers. That sounds better. Perfect, don't you think so, dolce?"

Maurice pursed his lips and made a disapproving noise.

"Now what?" Sofia snapped angrily.

"She is beautiful, of course, but actually naming her Belle seems a little… tacky," he admitted, bracing himself for Sofia's reaction.

"You don't like anything I like!" she accused furiously. The baby squeaked in distress.

"Come on," soothed Maurice carefully, quickly looking at the clock. "It's four o'clock. You've had a busy day today. Both you and our nameless little girl need to rest."

"She has a name," Sofia insisted sleepily, but she was too tired to argue any longer. She yawned and laid her head down on her pillow, sleep coming to her instantly.

Maurice carefully took his daughter from her sleeping mother's arms. Slowly, and with extreme care, he carried the infant to the room they had prepared for her. It was the same one they had made up for her brother several years earlier and, for the most part, it was still the same. He placed her in the cradle, and drew the curtains so that she would not be woken by the morning sun. He gazed down at her adoringly, admiring her tiny hands and plump little legs. He moved his gaze up to her face and found Sofia's eyes looking up at him imploringly.

"Your mother is right," he told her, stroking her brown hair lovingly. "Belle is the perfect name for you. After all, beauty is in creation, and, you are our creation, though, admittedly, we did have a little bit of help, but I think she's better off not knowing that, so we'll keep that part a secret from her."

Maurice beamed down at his daughter. She stared back up at him, her little eyes brimming with curiosity. Carefully, he rewrapped her blankets, and slid a tiny knitted cap on her head to keep her warm.

"Good night, little Belle."

Maurice leaned down and planted a kiss on her forehead. After blowing out the candle that was sitting by the cradle, he crept out and quietly closed the door of the nursery, leaving baby Belle lying alone in complete darkness. The tiny girl snuggled against her blankets, her little eyelids closing over her tired hazel eyes, and began to drift off to sleep, blissfully unaware of the world outside of her cradle.