"
Oh, no, he did not like it. No one likes to get hint of that fountain of
talk which, sweet or bitter, plays just out of reach of the ear, just
behind the mask of the face.
"How lucky that you held the inspection!" had all but stolen from her
lips. But this implied too clearly that it was lucky for somebody--for
her, for him. And how could she say that? Her thoughts were so far in
advance of her confessions. A dozen sentences rose to her lips, all too
clear, too intimate. So she became silent before the things that she
could not say.
"Of what are you thinking?"
Extortionate question. ("Am I to put all my fortune in your hand like
that? Am I to say, 'Of you, of you'?") For every word she said aloud she
said a hundred to herself; and after three words between them she had
the impression of a whole conversation.
"One must arrange some plan," he said, pursuing his perplexity, "so that
I know when you go, and when you come back. I can't always be holding
inspections to find out."
"It was for that _that_ you held the inspection?"
"Why, of course, of course!"
"But entirely to find out?" (divided between the desire to make him say
it again and the fear of driving his motives into daylight).
"I didn't know what to do. I couldn't telephone and ask whether your car
had returned."
Wonderful and excellent! She had had the notion while she was at Verdun
that something might be rolling up to her account in the bank at Metz,
and now he was giving her proof after proof of the accumulation.
Pages:
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96