My thoughts flew to Jennie again and the miracle of the past twenty-four
hours for her. The first awakening look of that moment by the cars, the
lovely and irreparable surrender in the Dinard Bazaar, her sobs against
my shoulder that afternoon, the radiant burst in which she had realised
that he too loved her--and then that evening's encounter whatever it had
been, when apparently she had taken matters into her own hands, bowed to
him, and spoken her first words to him in French, to be answered in
English.... No wonder she could not yet realise it. The day before had
found her a child, moody, wilful, not knowing what ailed her, but crying
to Life to take her, use her and not spare her; now she was a woman,
with a strange sweet turmoil in her bosom, and a quite matter-of-fact
resolution in the brain beneath that red-gold hair. No need to ask
whether she slept! Sleep, with that ache and bliss at war in her breast?
She must be awake at that moment, wondering whether he was awake,
knowing that he was awake, lying in her innocent bed with her face
turned towards St Briac. His miniature was painted on the curtains of
her closed but unsleeping eyes, the echo of his voice was in her ears as
she had spoken to him in French, and he had answered--in English.
And by the way, _why_ had he answered her in English? Only that morning
he had cajoled me into talking French, at any rate among French people.
Had he too, stupefied with bliss, answered her instinctively in her own
native tongue and his? Or had he deliberately resolved that here at any
rate should be no trick or stratagem to be subsequently explained, but a
perfectly clean beginning? If so, how would he contrive to maintain it?
How could he be secure that the contretemps of any single moment of the
day would not catch him out? I remembered the masterfulness and skill
with which he had managed me; had he his plans for the handling of the
Airds also? Were they to be founded on the appearance of complete
honesty, with only the trifling fact suppressed that he had lived a
whole life before?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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