She was afraid to go to sleep for fear something would happen to the baby.

She prepared its three o'clock ration with a grim determination that she would not call Susan.

Oh, was she dreaming?
Was it really she, Rilla Blythe, who had got into this absurd predicament?
She did not care if the Germans were near Paris--she did not care if they were in Paris--if only the baby wouldn't cry or choke or smother or have convulsions.

Babies did have convulsions, didn't they?
Oh, why had she forgotten to ask Susan what she must do if the baby had convulsions?
She reflected rather bitterly that father was very considerate of mother's and Susan's health, but what about hers?
Did he think she could continue to exist if she never got any sleep?
But she was not going to back down now--not she.

She would look after this detestable little animal if it killed her.