LITMIR.BIZ

      Winter, winter!

      Everything outside the window dressed in white clothes and ruined the already not very good roads. A year has passed since her marriage. The count had been absent for over a month. Going to Paris on business. But what the count was doing, everyone knew, perhaps. Despite his almost incredible parsimony, the count was an avid gambler. It is not known how such incompatible qualities as incredible stinginess and a gambler were intertwined in him.

      He forced his young wife, who was already pregnant, to walk in indecently patched petticoats for his meager outfits. Diana only had a few decent dresses. Fortunately or unfortunately for her, Diana almost never appeared. Upon learning of her pregnancy, she fell into deep melancholy, secretly hoping for a miscarriage. The pregnancy was difficult. She was even paler than usual and had dark circles under her eyes. The contractions began unexpectedly. She felt pain, bending over, groaned. She understood what had begun. The servant who was with her came running to her call. The maid screamed, waving her arms.

      Oh, you’re giving birth, madam! Oh oh! She repeated.

      The maid helped her to the bed.

      They sent for an experienced midwife who took on more than one birth. Enough time passed, and the Countess gave birth.

      Everything turned out well, she gave birth to a girl.

      Madam, it’s a girl. The midwife said. She wanted to bring the baby to her mother.

      Take it away, came the dull voice of the Countess. Take it away, Diana repeated, hoarsely.

      Get her away from me, she repeated. Not wanting to look at the child. The old woman was taken aback. Diana, white as death itself, with blue lips, repeated breathlessly.

      Take it away! I told you!

      But what about, madam? The beginning was an old woman. The Countess sat up in bed, pale with tangled hair, her eyes widening. She looked at the child with full eyes, it seemed of some kind of horror.

      Take her away! She repeated it firmly, turning away from her daughter.

      Find a wet nurse, let them bring a woman here. Do you understand me?! She gave the order to the maid holding the crying child. His scream cut her to pieces like a knife, but she did not look in his direction.

      Come on already! She cried out, unable to bear this agony any longer.

      Leave me alone. Finally, she said softly, as if her last strength had left her. The old woman and the maid did not move, not yet recovering from her words.

      Go ahead! She screamed at them, pulling them out of their stupor. Finally, they left, taking the child with them.

      A week passed, she was sitting by the large fireplace, wrapped in a large woolen blanket, and her eyes fixed on the window. She looked at the coldness of nature, the frosty patterns of the world. She has not seen her daughter since her birth. I only asked the servant how a child was and whether she was healthy. The nurse was quickly found, it was a pink-cheeked, healthy woman. The Countess ordered the servant who entered the room to be called.

      After a while a woman waddled into the room with a brisk gait. She stopped next to the Countess. Diana looked from the window to the woman and asked her in a quiet, calm voice.

      How is my daughter?

      Madam, very good. The woman answered.

      Eats for two.

      Smiling innocently, she said.

      My tomboy is barely enough.

      But, I have more than enough milk. She hastened to assure the Countess. Afraid that she might think that she has little milk and will look for a replacement for her.

      Would you like to take a look at her? Timidly, she added, looking down.

      The Countess sighed wearily.

      No, not now, later. She added, thoughtfully.

      You can go now. She finished the conversation. Moving again my gaze to the cold landscapes outside the window. The woman waddled to the exit. Suddenly, as if remembering something, Diana called the woman’s name.

      Margarita.

      The woman turned around.

      Thanks, Diana added quietly, and smiled wearily at the nurse. And she answered her with a bright, open, sincere and happy smile. Which only a loving mother who remembered her child has.

      What are you talking about, madam. Yes, not at all. She answered good-naturedly and left the room.

      Poitier stared at the cold outside the window again, her gaze fixed.

      Cold, she thought.

      God! So cold! She said barely audibly. Feeling cold inside with all my being.

      I have a daughter. Even more quietly, she spoke her thoughts aloud. Not noticing that she is talking to herself.

      But why is it so cold?! A thought flashed.

      She saw her daughter a month later. They brought her a rosy-cheeked girl, already rounded in the milk of a country woman. She looked at the child, but the cold did not disappear, only her heart pricked, as if it had been pierced with a thin needle. The girl smiled at her mother, the countess smiled back at her. The baby looked at her as if she knew that she was her mother. Looking at her with interest, and now and then, touching her with his little hands. After holding the baby in her arms for some time, Diana gave the baby to the nurse. Strange, but the girl suddenly burst into tears, finding herself in the arms of the nurse, as if she knew exactly who her mother was. Diana felt the pain of the needle in her heart again. And then, again, the cold filled her entire being. So the second meeting of mother and daughter took place.

      The count returned from Paris.

      He was extremely annoyed and dissatisfied.

      Why do I need girls?! He repeated.

      They’re useless!

      I need an heir!

      Do you hear, Madam?!

      As if she was the fault of the daughter being born instead of her son. Diana raised her eyes, cold and dark as night.

      Well, pray to the Lord! Monsieur!

      He

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