She enchanted me. The ardent modulations of the sound, the slight play of the beautiful lips, the still, deep sapphire gleam in those long eyes inherited from the dawn of ages and that seemed always to watch unimaginable things, that underlying faint ripple of gaiety that played under all her moods as though it had been a gift from the high gods moved to pity for this lonely mortal, all this within the four walls and displayed for me alone gave me the sense of almost intolerable joy. The words didn’t matter. They had to be answered, of course. “I came in for several reasons. One of them is that I didn’t know you were here.” “Therese didn’t tell you?” “No.” “Never talked to you about me?” I hesitated only for a moment. “Never,” I said. Then I asked in my turn, “Did she tell you I was here?” “No,” she said. “It’s very clear she did not mean us to come together again.” “Neither did I, my dear.” “What do you mean by speaking like this, in this tone, in these words? You seem to use them as if they were a sort of formula. Am I a dear to you? Or is anybody? . . . or everybody? . . .” She had been for some time raised on her elbow, but then as if something had happened to her vitality she sank down till her head rested again on the sofa cushion. “Why do you try to hurt my feelings?” she asked. “For the same reason for which you call me dear at the end of a sentence like that: for want of something more amusing to do. You don’t pretend to make me believe that you do it for any sort of reason that a decent person would confess to.” The colour had gone from her face; but a fit of wickedness was on me and I pursued, “What are the motives of your speeches? What prompts your actions? On your own showing your life seems to be a continuous running away. You have just run away from Paris. Where will you run to-morrow? What are you everlastingly running from—or is it that you are running after something? What is it? A man, a phantom—or some sensation that you don’t like to own to?” Truth to say, I was abashed by the silence which was her only answer to this sally. I said to myself that I would not let my natural anger, my just fury be disarmed by any assumption of pathos or dignity. I suppose I was really out of my mind and what in the middle ages would have been called “possessed” by an evil spirit. I went on enjoying my own villainy.