Free Werewolf of Paris by Guy Endore Page A

doorsteps of his aunt, so to speak, no, actually in her house? And Josephine, she had been under a spell also. And now that spell was broken. He, too, felt that he was no longer enchanted. He could stay home now, and work on his book again. He could take renewed interest in the opposition party to which he belonged. Filled with his private thoughts, he only half listened to his aunt who was saying:
    â€œI wish I could dismiss my fears. But I confess that I am still worried.”
    â€œThe child does look a frightful mess,” Aymar laughed.
    â€œNew-born babies are hardly ever very beautiful. What is strange about this one is that it should be able to lift its head on the very first day of its life. I never saw or heard of such a thing. But Françoise says she has seen that before.”
    â€œThat’s pretty small reason for believing the little fellow is born to be hanged.”
    â€œI haven’t really any reason at all to think anything, if you want me to put it that way. But I have intuitions. And, frankly, I am uneasy.”
    â€œWell, we’ll see,” said Aymar, and dismissed the matter.
    â€œMaybe we shall and maybe we shan’t. Perhaps we shall never see him again.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWell, he is to be sent to Brittany to Mère Kardec’s sister-in-law, and we shall take Josephine back here if she will continue to be good, or else she may go back to her village. That will settle this affair.”
    Aymar found the whole matter of supreme indifference. A fact which surprised him. What? Could he have changed so fast?
    Mme Didier was busy for the next few days. She bought a good layette for the baby and saw that a proper birth certificate was made out, one which involved neither the Church nor herself. Previous to the making of the birth certificate she paid a visit to the church where Pitamont had been priest. She spoke to the sacristan as if her sole mission in coming there was to arrange for the christening of the child. As a matter of fact she had another reason. She had never known or else had forgotten what Pitamont’s first name was. Still his child ought properly to bear his name.
    Casually she said: “I hear that Father Ernest Pitamont is now officiating in Nîmes.” Her part in his dismissal was unknown.
    â€œYou mean Father Bertrand Pitamont?” the sacristan said.
    â€œOf course,” she answered.
    A few days later the child was dutifully christened. Aymar had to stand godfather and give it the names Bertrand Aymar. Its last name was Caillet, which stood for the mythical husband of Josephine, who was off on a long sea voyage.
    Back from church, Mme Didier began at once: “Now, Josephine, I shall let you have your choice. You may go back to your village or you may stay here.”
    â€œI suppose,” said Josephine, “that if I went home, people would laugh at me for having a baby, wouldn’t they?”
    â€œThey needn’t know that you have had a baby, because we shall send the child to be taken care of in Brittany.”
    â€œThen I would rather stay here,” she said, “because I want to be with my baby.”
    â€œBut you can’t keep your baby here, either,” Mme Didier explained. “We can’t have it here in the house.”
    â€œThen I shall go back home with the baby.”
    â€œBut, child, think of what you will be exposed to! And how will you earn a living? What will you say to people when they ask you how you happened to have a baby?”
    â€œWhy, madame, I shall tell them the truth,” she said naïvely.
    This gave Mme Didier pause. The truth was what she didn’t want told. What would they think of her at home when they learnt that her servant had had an illegitimate son as a result of being sent out on an errand to a church? And what would they think of the fact that she had done so little to secure Father Pitamont to his responsibility? Whatever happened, she