Seeing the way Helga's figure eased into relaxation, Demansk realized that she had misinterpreted the purpose of his visit. Again, he cleared his throat.

"But that's not actually why I came to talk to you. Although I'm certainly glad we did. There is something else. Something. . greater." His lips twisted bitterly. "If 'great' isn't an obscene word to use, given the subject."

His daughter's level and even gaze was back. All humor was gone.

"Oh," she said. "That."

Silence, for an instant. Then, as suddenly as a burst of sunlight erupting through a cloud bank: "And it's about time!" she cried gaily. Again, she hefted the baby up before her eyes; jiggling him in a parody of the stern and vigorous way a mother shakes a sassy brat.

"See? I told you! Don't ever underestimate your grandpa again!"

The baby's mouth gaped open in glee at his mother's exuberance. His wide-open eyes, as bright in their blue as they were vague in their focus, fairly shone in protest at such an outrageous accusation. Me? A few months old? Doubt my grandpa? Nonsense, Mother! YOU were the one—

Demansk was laughing again, and not softly. His daughter's eyes moved to him, a skeptic's sideways scrutiny.

"Not that he didn't take a ridiculous amount of time to come to his decision," she murmured darkly. "No better than an old pig farmer, fretting over whether he should fix the fence." Her voice fell into a quaver. "Maybe tomorrer. . my bones ache today. . some more soup, first. . build up my strength. ."

* * *

For a time, the little patio in the garden was given over to a family's gaiety. The laughter of a father and a daughter; and the innocent, confident, unknowing glee of an infant.

When it died away, Helga's face was suffused by sadness.