An involuntary change had instantaneously taken place in her mind. She had transported herself to a time like that which still reigned in the boats, a time when "_They did not know_!" A time when there was nothing unusual in the world, when life, smiling, had sung to her, when the hope of a yet lovelier life had lulled thought to sleep. That time--already so far distant--was only an hour ago. And everything had been changed--changed as nothing had ever been changed before. Were they living on the same planet as in that former time? Who could have dreamed, at that time, of what was taking place now? She tried to foresee the morrow, but she could imagine nothing--nothing. Only La Villaumer's saying came back to her: "We are not in condition.... As well the deluge!" And for all that, deep down, very deep within herself, she had not at all believed in the horror that had come. She had remained sitting there, at her window, until the hour for dinner, living over her past life with Jean--thrilling with his first caresses. She had never loved any one but Jean before her marriage; since her marriage, only him. It was no longer the war which seemed to her unimaginable, but the power of her love for Jean. And instead of imagining chaos, her natural inclination had impelled her to summon up the loveliest pictures of the past. She had smiled, her body had relaxed, her fingers had quivered as if in anticipation of a caress, and in the empty air her lips had made the motion of a kiss. A man's voice on the balcony next her own had said: "It is absurd to think of nature as taking note of our affairs; but just for curiosity look at that sky: I have never seen anything like it." The words had been spoken to some one in the next room, who drew near to the window, and she had heard a woman's voice exclaiming, with a moan or in desperate appeal, such as one seldom hears. Odette had risen, and she too had looked out. She had never been superstitious, and was especially not inclined to doleful prognostications. She had always been happy; her life had flowed along, so to speak, like one continued festival. Being alone in her room, she did not speak; but all her flesh quivered.