"_Pouf!_" said Elodie, contemptuously. Without any knowledge of the terminal values so precious to women, Andrew felt a vague apprehension lest he had begun at the wrong end. "Surely," said he, by way of reparation. "The death of your husband makes a great difference. Now there is nothing to prevent our marriage." "There is everything to prevent it," she replied. "You no longer love me." "The same affection exists," said he, "that has always been between us." "Then we go on leading the life that we always have led." "I don't think it very satisfactory," said Andrew. "I do, if it pleases us to remain together, we remain. If we want to say 'Good-bye' we are free to do so." He noticed that she wrung her hands nervously together. "You don't wish to say 'good-bye,' Elodie?" he asked gently. "Oh, no. It is only not to put ourselves into the impossibility of saying it." "While you live, my dear," he replied, "I could never say it to you." "If you went away to the Antipodes, you would have to say good-bye, my dear André, for I could not accompany you--never in life. I have heard of these countries. They may be good for men, but for women--no. Unless one is archimillionaire, one has no servants. The woman has to keep the house and wash the floor and cook the meals. And that--you know well--I can't do. It may be selfish and a little unworthy but _mon Dieu!_--I have always been frank--that's how I am. And except on tour abroad where we have lived in hotels where everybody spoke French I have never lived out of France. That is what I was always saying to myself when you were seeking an occupation. 'What will happen to me if he does get a foreign appointment?' I was afraid, oh, terribly afraid. But I said nothing to you. I loved you too much. But now it is necessary for me to tell you what I have in my heart. You are free to go to what wild island you like--that is why it would be absurd for us to marry--but it would be all finished between us." "That couldn't be," said Andrew. "What would become of you?" She averted her head and said abruptly, "Don't think of it." "But I must think of it. During the war----" "During the war, it was different. _A la guerre comme à la guerre._ We knew it could not last for ever. You loved me. It was natural for me to accept the support of _mon homme_, like all other women. But now, if you leave me--no. _N-i-n-i, nini, c'est fini._" So all Andrew's beautiful dreams faded into mist. He rose and crossed the little cobbled courtyard and looked out for a while into the shabby by-street in which the hotel was situated. That Elodie should accompany him was the only feasible way, from the pecuniary point of view, of carrying out the vague scheme.