That's why I keep quiet and smile, as you
say I do. There are often things I don't say when I smile."
"What things?"
"Oh, I wonder how much you believe me. And I listen to that immense
interior life, which talks such a different language. I _hate_ to move
on to Chantilly."
Suddenly she recognised that they were at a corner which he had wanted
her to turn for days. There had been something he had hinted at,
something he wanted to tell her. He chafed at some knowledge he had
which she did not share, which he wanted her to share.
Once he had said: "I had letters this morning which worried me...."
"Yes?"
"One in particular. It hurt me. It gave me pain."
But she had not wanted to ask what was in the letter. Then he had grown
restless, sighed and turned away, but soon they had talked again and it
had passed.
And now to-night he said:
"Look how detached we are in this town, which is like an island in the
middle of the sea. We behave as though we had no past lives, and never
expected any future. Especially you."
"Especially I?"
"You behave as though I was born the day before you met me, and would
die the day after you leave me. You never ask anything about me; you
tell me nothing about yourself. We might be a couple of stars hanging in
mid air shining at each other. And then I have the feeling that one
might drop and the other wouldn't know where to look for it.
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