He felt suddenly the most profound love for her. It washed through his body with astonishing force; he felt it settle like an ache about the heart. The emotion was of such suddenness and intensity that for an instant he felt blinded, as if, newly emerged from some dark underworld, he stared directly at the sun. He lifted his hand involuntarily, as if to shield his eyes—and that small movement caught her attention. She looked up and gave a small cry of surprise.

He half knew already, he later thought. He stood looking at her for a few more moments in silence. Her face looked soft, a little sleepy, as if she had just recently awakened from more pleasant dreams than his own. Her lovely eyes—he had startled her—had widened. She made one quick gesture, as if she would have hidden the tray if she could; then her expression changed.

Watching her face, he began to know. He felt the knowledge, and the elation that came with it, begin to pulse along his veins. Her face had an almost secretive look, a very female look that was simultaneously triumphant and afraid. He felt such tenderness for her then that he could not speak; he took her hand, then drew her quietly into his arms.

He held her very close, and they stood for some time in this way, without speaking, their bodies interlocked. Gini could feel the beating of his heart; she listened to what she had so nearly lost, and what she had regained. Women, possibly, doubt less than men. That morning, she found all her doubts and prevarications had flooded away.

Her body spoke, and in accents of such joy that she had no desire to listen to any last cautious whisperings in the mind. She had silenced those whispers in any case, she believed; silenced them weeks before. Now her own grip on contentment was sure—and if Pascal’s was, or had been, more tenuous, she would cure him. That cure was now within her gift; she felt its power.

Today she could do anything: she could make water spring from dry rock; touch a mountain and make it move. Remake a marriage? Heal a breach of trust? Easy. Easy. She could do it with one finger, one flick of her wrist, one word. Never in her life had she felt so female, and never in her life—no, never—had she felt this power. Such bounty: taking Pascal’s hand, she waited; it passed through her palm and fingers; it passed from her hand to his.

Pascal said: “When did you know?”

“At once, I think. The next day. The next hour. But I had to be sure. So I waited. I saw the doctor yesterday.”

“Yesterday? You should have told me.”

“I had to wait. I meant it to be perfect. I was going to wake you, and then…” She caught his hand and pressed it against her stomach. “Do you think it’s a girl? Or a boy? I think it’s a boy. Your son. And you know how old he is? I know exactly. Six weeks, two days, and—oh, about five hours. I know you remember…”