There were showers of epigrams at the expense of the husband, who was the only person in the whole of Paris to know and suspect nothing. The fatal moment was approaching. The Countess was distraught. Ibrahim visited her every day. He saw her mental and physical strength gradually failing. Her tears and her terror sprang afresh every moment. At last she felt the first pains. Measures were hastily taken. Means were found for getting the Count out of the way. The doctor arrived. A couple of days before this a poor woman had been persuaded to relinquish her new-born infant into the hands of strangers, and a person of trust had been sent to fetch it. Ibrahim was in the closet next to the bedroom where the unfortunate Countess lay. Not daring to breathe, he listened to her stifled groans, to the maid’s whispers and the orders of the doctor.

Her agony lasted several hours. Every groan she uttered rent Ibrahim’s soul; every interval of silence filled him with dread…. Suddenly he heard the feeble wail of a child and, unable to contain his delight, rushed into the Countess’s bedroom…. A black baby lay upon the bed at her feet. Ibrahim approached. His heart beat violently. With a trembling hand he blessed his son. The Countess smiled faintly and stretched out a feeble hand to him… but the doctor, fearing too much excitement for his patient, drew Ibrahim away from the bed. The new-born child was laid in a covered basket and carried out of the house by a back staircase. The other baby was brought in and its cradle put in the Countess’s bedroom. Ibrahim went away, somewhat reassured. The Count was expected. He returned late, learned that his wife had been safely delivered, and was greatly pleased. In this way the public who had been expecting a scandal were deceived in their hopes and obliged to seek consolation in mere malicious gossip. Everything resumed its normal course.

But Ibrahim felt that his fortune was bound to change, and that his relations with the Countess must sooner or later reach her husband’s ears. In that case, whatever happened, the Countess’s doom would be sealed. Ibrahim loved passionately and was passionately loved in return, but the Countess was wilful and flighty: this was not the first time that she had loved. Disgust and hatred might replace the tenderest feelings in her heart.