over. She would have preferred dining quietly with Charles. She opened her mouth to say so, but stopped: it would give him too much pleasure, a false pleasure, and she did not want to lie to him.
'What were you going to say?'
'I don't remember.'
'Your metaphysical reflections make you look even more muddled than usual.'
'Do I usually look muddled?' she asked, laughing.
'Very. I would never dare allow you to travel alone, for instance. A week later, I should find you in a waiting-room, Lord knows where, surrounded by stacks of pocket books, with a thorough knowledge of the barmen's lives.'
He seemed almost worried by such a possibility and she burst out laughing. He really considered her incapable of coping with life and, in a flash, she realised that this was what attached him to her, far more than any feeling of security. He accepted her irresponsibility, he confirmed the choice she had unconsciously made, fifteen years earlier, to never quit her adolescence. The same decision that probably exasperated Antoine. And, perhaps, the character she wanted to be and the one Charles imagined agreed so perfectly that this would prove more powerful than any love that might force her to disown them.
'Meanwhile, let's have a drink,' said Charles. 'I'm dead tired.'
'Pauline doesn't want me to drink' said Lucile. 'Ask her for a double whisky and I'll have some out of your glass.'
Charles smiled and rang for Pauline. 'I'm beginning to act like a little girl,' thought Lucile, 'almost in spite of myself, and before long I'll have a collection of plush animals on my bed.' She stretched, went to her room and, looking at her bed, wondered if one day she would wake up with Antoine by her side.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Diane's flat on the Rue Cambon was lovely, filled with flowers and, in spite of the mild weather, the opened french windows, two large wood fires blazed in hearths at either end of the drawing-room. A delighted Lucile at one moment breathed in the smell from the street that announced already the approaching summer, a languid, dusty, hot summer, and at another moment the burning logs that recalled last autumn's bitter cold, linked for ever in her mind with the woods in Sologne where Charles had taken her hunting.
'How wonderful,' she said to Diane, 'to have combined two seasons in a single evening.'
'Yes,' said Diane, 'but it gives one the feeling of wearing the wrong clothes.'
Lucile began to laugh. She had a quiet, infectious laugh, she spoke without a shade of constraint and Diane wondered if her own jealousy was not absurd. All things considered, Lucile behaved well; of course, she had that absent-minded, vague attitude that recalled Antoine, but perhaps that was their only affinity. Blassans-Lignières seemed relaxed, Antoine had never been in such good humour, surely she must be mistaken. She made a gesture of friendliness, almost of gratitude toward Lucile.
'Come with me, I'll show you the rest of the flat. Would it amuse you?'
Lucile gravely inspected a bathroom tiled with Italian ceramics, admired the convenient wardrobes and followed Diane into her bedroom.
It's rather a mess,' said Diane, 'don't look at it too closely.' Antoine had come in late and changed for dinner in her room. The shirt and tie he had worn that afternoon lay on the floor. Diane glanced quickly at Lucile and detected nothing more than a faint sign of disapproval. But something urged Diane, something she was ashamed of and yet could not repress, to pick up his clothing, put them on an armchair and then face Lucile with a little smile of complicity. 'Men are so untidy.' She looked Lucile in the eye. 'Charles is very neat,' replied Lucile affably. She wanted to laugh. 'What next?' she thought. 'Is she going to explain that Antoine never replaces the cap on his tube of toothpaste?' She felt no jealousy, the tie had appeared to her like an old schoolfriend met by some miracle at the foot of the Pyramids. At the same time, she thought Diane very
'What were you going to say?'
'I don't remember.'
'Your metaphysical reflections make you look even more muddled than usual.'
'Do I usually look muddled?' she asked, laughing.
'Very. I would never dare allow you to travel alone, for instance. A week later, I should find you in a waiting-room, Lord knows where, surrounded by stacks of pocket books, with a thorough knowledge of the barmen's lives.'
He seemed almost worried by such a possibility and she burst out laughing. He really considered her incapable of coping with life and, in a flash, she realised that this was what attached him to her, far more than any feeling of security. He accepted her irresponsibility, he confirmed the choice she had unconsciously made, fifteen years earlier, to never quit her adolescence. The same decision that probably exasperated Antoine. And, perhaps, the character she wanted to be and the one Charles imagined agreed so perfectly that this would prove more powerful than any love that might force her to disown them.
'Meanwhile, let's have a drink,' said Charles. 'I'm dead tired.'
'Pauline doesn't want me to drink' said Lucile. 'Ask her for a double whisky and I'll have some out of your glass.'
Charles smiled and rang for Pauline. 'I'm beginning to act like a little girl,' thought Lucile, 'almost in spite of myself, and before long I'll have a collection of plush animals on my bed.' She stretched, went to her room and, looking at her bed, wondered if one day she would wake up with Antoine by her side.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Diane's flat on the Rue Cambon was lovely, filled with flowers and, in spite of the mild weather, the opened french windows, two large wood fires blazed in hearths at either end of the drawing-room. A delighted Lucile at one moment breathed in the smell from the street that announced already the approaching summer, a languid, dusty, hot summer, and at another moment the burning logs that recalled last autumn's bitter cold, linked for ever in her mind with the woods in Sologne where Charles had taken her hunting.
'How wonderful,' she said to Diane, 'to have combined two seasons in a single evening.'
'Yes,' said Diane, 'but it gives one the feeling of wearing the wrong clothes.'
Lucile began to laugh. She had a quiet, infectious laugh, she spoke without a shade of constraint and Diane wondered if her own jealousy was not absurd. All things considered, Lucile behaved well; of course, she had that absent-minded, vague attitude that recalled Antoine, but perhaps that was their only affinity. Blassans-Lignières seemed relaxed, Antoine had never been in such good humour, surely she must be mistaken. She made a gesture of friendliness, almost of gratitude toward Lucile.
'Come with me, I'll show you the rest of the flat. Would it amuse you?'
Lucile gravely inspected a bathroom tiled with Italian ceramics, admired the convenient wardrobes and followed Diane into her bedroom.
It's rather a mess,' said Diane, 'don't look at it too closely.' Antoine had come in late and changed for dinner in her room. The shirt and tie he had worn that afternoon lay on the floor. Diane glanced quickly at Lucile and detected nothing more than a faint sign of disapproval. But something urged Diane, something she was ashamed of and yet could not repress, to pick up his clothing, put them on an armchair and then face Lucile with a little smile of complicity. 'Men are so untidy.' She looked Lucile in the eye. 'Charles is very neat,' replied Lucile affably. She wanted to laugh. 'What next?' she thought. 'Is she going to explain that Antoine never replaces the cap on his tube of toothpaste?' She felt no jealousy, the tie had appeared to her like an old schoolfriend met by some miracle at the foot of the Pyramids. At the same time, she thought Diane very
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