He began to laugh:

"Yes; I"ve been taken in a good many times in my life; I"ve gulped down a good many lies. But it does me no harm. I"ve a good stomach. I can put up with worse things, hardship, poverty, and, if necessary, I can gulp down with their lies the poor fools who attack me. It does me good, if anything."

"You"re in luck," she said. "You"re something like a man."

"And you. You"re something like a woman."

"That"s no great thing."

"It"s a fine thing," he said, "and it may be a good thing, too!"

She laughed:

"To be a woman!" she said. "But what does the world make of women?"

"You have to defend yourself."

"But goodness never lasts long."

"Then you can"t have much of it."

"Possibly. And then, I don"t think one ought to suffer too much. There is a point beyond which suffering withers you up."

He was just about to tell her how he pitied her, but he remembered how she had received it a short while before....

"You"ll only talk about the advantages of the part of comforter...."

"No," she said, "I won"t say it again. I feel that you are kind and sincere. Thank you. Only, don"t say anything. You cannot know.... Thank you."

They had reached Paris. They parted without exchanging addresses or inviting each other to call.

A few months later she came of her own accord and knocked at Christophe"s door.

"I came to see you. I want to talk to you. I have been thinking of you sometimes since our meeting."

She took a seat.

"Only for a moment. I shan"t disturb you for long."

He began to talk to her. She said:

"Wait a moment, please."

They sat in silence. Then she said with a smile:

"I couldn"t bear it any longer. I feel better now."

He tried to question her.

"No," she said. "Not that!"

She looked round the room, examined and appraised the things in it, and saw the photograph of Louisa:

"Your mother?" she said.

"Yes."

She took it and looked at it sympathetically.

"What a good old woman!" she said. "You are lucky!"

"Alas! she is dead."

"That is nothing. You have had the luck to have her for your mother."

"Yes. And you?"

But she turned the subject with a frown. She would not let him question her about herself.

"No; tell me about yourself. Tell me.... Something about your life...."

"How can it be of any interest to you?"

"Tell me, all the same...."

He would not tell her: but he could not avoid answering her questions, for she cross-examined him very skilfully: so much so, that he told her something of what he was suffering, the story of his friendship, and how Olivier had left him. She listened with a pitying ironical smile....

Suddenly she asked:

"What time is it? Oh! good Heavens! I"ve been here two whole hours!...

Please forgive me.... Ah! what a rest it has been!..."

She added:

"Will you let me come again?... Not often.... Sometimes.... It would do me good. But I wouldn"t like to bore you or waste your time.... Only a minute or two every now and then...."

"I"ll come and see you," said Christophe.

"No, don"t do that. I would much rather come to see you...."

But she did not come again for a long time. One evening he heard by accident that she was seriously ill, and had not been acting for some weeks. He went to see her, although she had forbidden it. She was not at home: but when she heard who it was, she sent and had him brought back as he was going down the stairs. She was in bed, but much better: she had had pneumonia, and looked altered: but she still had her ironical manner and her watchful expression, which there was no disarming.

However, she seemed to be really pleased to see Christophe. She made him sit by her bedside, and talked about herself in a mocking, detached way, and said that she had almost died. He was much moved, and showed it.

Then she teased him. He reproached her for not having let him know.

"Let you know? And have you coming to see me? Never!"

"I bet you never even thought of me."