Marc Chagall La Mariee

Marc Chagall La MarieePaul Gauguin Yellow ChristPaul Gauguin Where Do We Come From
But -"said the midwife.
"It's all right, Granny, I know what I'm about. She's a witch, sir, don't mind her. Right," said the smith. "Now what?"
The wizard was silent.
"What do we don-"the smith began, and stopped. He leaned down to look at the old wizard's face. Billet was smiling, but it was anyone's guess what the joke was.
The smith pushed the baby back into the arms of the frantic midwife. Then, as respectfully as possible, he unpried the thin, pale fingers from the staff.
It had a strange, greasy feel, like static electricity. The wood itself was almost black, but the carvings were slightly lighter, "You've given the world its first female wizard," said the midwife. "Whosa itsywitsy, den?"
"What?"
"I was talking to the baby."and hurt the eyes if you tried to make out precisely what they were supposed to be. "Are you pleased with yourself?" said the midwife. "Eh? Oh. Yes. As a matter of fact, yes. Why?" She twitched aside a fold of the blanket. The smith looked down, and swallowed. "No," he whispered. "He said -" "And what would he know about it?" sneered Granny. "But he said it would be a son!" "Doesn't look like a son to me, laddie." The smith flopped down on his stool, his head in his hands. "What have I done?" he moaned.