"I’m coming in, Jean ... coming..." "Okay." Mouth to mouth they made love, her stomach pushing, his flattening, the bed squeaking: his penis felt hot to her, her vulva felt warm to him; her perspiring body was in accord with his; he clasped his fingers over her narrow buttocks; their mutual orgasm began, stopped, then flashed again and again: Jesus, Jesus, dearest, darling ... yes ... yes ... oui ... your mouth now ... She lay back. "It’s ours, my dear," she laughed, "the prix de Rome!" "I accept," he laughed. "We’ve earned it ... double award." They never got to the hospital until early morning, she and Orville striding together, the sun brilliant; after good-byes, after lingering kisses, he walked away, walked about the village before returning home for breakfast. After breakfast, he commenced a letter to his mother, to inform her of his leave. As he wrote on an old leather writing pad, sitting by his bedroom window, Aunt Therèse knocked, and called his name. She had aged: her features were reddish and swollen, pudgy contours that were somehow childish. The mouth smiled and yet there were wrinkles in the way of her smile. Seven years had done this. They kissed dutifully. "I’m sorry," she wheezed. "We just got here, just now ... Claude said you were upstairs. I’m sorry ... I’m so upset." "No, no! There’s nothing to be upset about. Sit down." "I think Lena’s caught cold ... another cold ... she has too many of them ... you see we got soaking wet, couldn’t raise the top of the car ... that awful downpour ... oh, we had to borrow clothes last night ... we had to go to bed early!" Orville grinned, in spite of himself. Hands fluttering in her lap, she continued: she was sixty-seven or eight, padded at waist and breasts, rings underneath her eyes, her glasses rimless and dual-lensed, her hair a series of grey-white streaks. Orville knew she often spoke without pauses, blurring her words, but now her voice had become harsher and the blurring often made it difficult to understand her. Someone tapped on the door. "Come in," Orville called: he was pleasantly surprised by Lena’s beauty, her athletic body: her face had assumed an esthetic quality; she wore her black hair combed close to her skull--quite Spanish. "Hi, Orv!" "Hi, Lena ... you look great!" "It’s good ... it’s good to see you!" They kissed like kids. She had always liked or loved him: she admired his masculinity: their old rapport returned at once: arms around each other they grinned happily, sheepishly. "How was your supper last night?" Therèse asked. "Great," Orville said. "It was probably dreadful. Annette can be so careless. And here you are, writing a letter, when you should be horseback riding or playing tennis. Mon dieu--this is your leave! What are we thinking about!" Orville and Lena laughed at her. "Come on, we’ll go for a walk, then we’ll have lunch," Lena said. "Orv ... you and I ... Mama, talk to Annette: let’s have something special."