"But what's the matter with us? What are we?" they asked each other, shamefaced and stricken, yet relieved to know that the other's feelings had been the same. . . . "It was love," said Sylvie. "Love," Annette repeated mechanically. Then she went on, frightened: "That is love?" "And you know," said Sylvie, "it was only the beginning." Annette protested vigorously that she never wanted to love again. Sylvie made fun of her. But Annette repeated in perfect seriousness: "I don't want to any more. I'm not made for it." "Oh, well," said Sylvie, laughing, "there's not a chance, my poor Annette! You, why you'll stop loving when you stop living!" _ANNETTE AND SYLVIE_ PART TWO I First days of October, gray and sweet. Still air. Warm rain falling straight down, unhurriedly. The hot and fleshly odor of moist earth, ripe fruits in the cellar, vatsful in the cider press. . . . Near an open window in the Rivière's country house, in Burgundy, the two sisters were sitting opposite each other, sewing. With heads bent over their work, they seemed to be pointing their round, smooth foreheads at each other,--the same rounded forehead, prettier in Sylvie, stronger in Annette, capricious in the one, obstinate in the other,--the goat and the little bull. But when they raised their heads, their eyes exchanged an understanding glance. Their tongues were resting, having chimed away for entire days. They were ruminating on their fever, their transports, the hosts of words that had passed between them, and all that they had acquired and learned from each other during the preceding days. For this time they had given themselves completely, eager to take all and give all. And now they were silent, the better to think of all this hidden booty. But they had desired in vain to see all and to possess all: in the last analysis, each remained an enigma to the other. And to every human being, no doubt, every other human being is an enigma; and that is an attraction. How many things there were in each that the other would never understand! And they said truly (for they knew it): "Of what importance is understanding? To understand is to explain. One doesn't have to explain in order to love. . . ."