Above all, she needed to believe. . . . To believe in what she did, in what she wanted, in what she was seeking, in what she was dreaming, to believe in what she was, in spite of all disgusts and disappointments, to believe in herself and in life! Franck destroyed respect. Annette could more easily endure not being respected than losing respect--her own--for life. For this is the source of energy. And without the strength to act, Annette would have been nothing. For her the passivity of happiness was death. The essential distinction between human beings consists in this, that some are active, the rest passive. And of all the forms of passivity, the most mortal for Annette would have been that of a mind tranquilly established, like Franck's, in the comfort of a doubt that no longer recognized doubt, but voluptuously surrendered itself to the indifferent stream of nothingness. Suicide! No, she refused that. Then what did she think her life would be? Perhaps nothing very happy or very complete. Perhaps it would utterly miss fire. But whether it missed or not, it would be an effort towards an end. . . . Unknown? Illusory? Perhaps. No matter! The effort was not illusory. . . . And let me fall by the wayside so long as it is _my_ wayside! She became aware of the long silence and realized that Franck was no longer there. She turned, saw him, smiled, rose and said, "Forgive me, my friend! Let us remain as we are. It is so good to be friends!" "And not better otherwise?" She shook her head. "No!" "Well," he said, "here I am blackballed at the third examination!" She laughed and, going to him, said mischievously: "Would you like at least to have what I refused you at the second examination?" And putting her arm about his neck she kissed him. An affectionate kiss. But there was no mistaking it--the kiss of a friend. Franck was not deceived by it. "Well," he said, "let me hope that in twenty years I shall be admitted." "No," said Annette, laughing. "There's an age-limit! Marry, my friend. You have only to choose. All the women are waiting for you." "But not you." "I'm going to remain a bachelor-girl." "You'll see, you'll see. For your punishment you will marry when you are over fifty." "_Frère, il faut mourir._' Before then." "Until then, the life of a nun." "You don't know what delights it has." XXVII