" The
soldier had been a wanderer like herself, a half-fantastic being. But
here beside her in the darkness stood the civilian, the Julien-to-come,
the solid man, the builder, plotting to capture the future.
For him, too, she could no longer remain as she had been. Here, below
her was the face, the mountain face, of her rival. Unless she became one
with his plans and lived in the same blazing light with them, she would
be a separate landscape, a strain upon his focus.
Then she saw him looking at her. Her face, silver-bright in the
starlight, was as unreadable as his own note-book.
"Are you sure," he was saying, "that you won't be blamed about the car?"
"Sure, quite sure. The men have all gone home."
"But to-morrow morning? When they see it has been out?"
"Not--to-morrow morning. No, they won't say anything to-morrow morning.
Oh, dear Julien--"
"Yes?"
"I think, I hope you are going to have a great success here. And don't
forget--me--when you--"
"--When I come back in a week!"
"But your weeks--are so long."
"Yet you will be happy without me," he said suddenly.
"What makes you say that?"
"You've some solace, some treasure of your own." He nodded. "In a way,"
he said, "I've sometimes thought you half out of reach of pain."
She caught her breath, and the starry sky whirled over her head.
Pages:
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259