But the next day he found her already installed in their nook among
the trees.
'I hate people who doubt my word,' he said.
'Oh, now you hate me?'
'I love you. I love you.'
She drew away a little.
'Oh, you needn't be afraid. I shan't touch you. Why won't you believe
me?'
'Do men always glare savagely like that at women they love?'
'Why won't you believe me?'
'How long have you known me?'
'All my life. A fortnight--three weeks. But that's a lifetime.'
'And what do you know about me?'
'Everything. I know that you're adorable. And I adore you.'
'Adorable--at moments. Do you know whether I am--married, for
example?'
'I know that if you are, I should like to kill your husband. Are you?
Tell me. Put me out of suspense. Let me go home and open a vein.'
'Have I the air of _a jeune fille_?'
'Thank goodness, no. But there are such things as widows.'
'And what more do you know about me?'
'Tell me--_are_ you married?'
'You may suppose that I'm a widow.'
'Thank God!'
She laughed.
'Will you marry me?' he asked.
'Oh, marriage is such a bore,' she reminded him.
'Will you marry me?'
'No,' she said. 'But you may give me a cigarette.'
And for a while they smoked without speaking.
'I hope at any rate you believe me now,' he said.
'Because you've offered to make the crowning sacrifice? By the bye,
what is my number?'
'Oh, don't,' he cried. 'You're the only woman I've ever cared a straw
for; and I care so much for you that I'd--I'd--' He stammered, seeking
for a thing to say he'd do.
'You'd go to the length of marrying me. Only fancy!'
'Oh, you may laugh. But I love you.'
'Do you love me as much as you used to love Hélène?'
'I love you as much as it's possible for a man to love a woman.'
'Do you know what I think?'
'No. What?'
'If she were to send for you, one of these days, I think you'd forget
me utterly. Your old love would come back at sight of her. They say
she's very good-looking.'
'Nonsense.'
'I should like to try you.'
'I shouldn't fear the trial.'
'_Il ne faut jamais dire à la fontaine, je ne boirai pas de ton eau_.'
'But when one's thirst is for wine?'
'It shows that there's some relation between psychology and geography,
after all,' she said.
'What do you mean?'
'Oh, the influence of places. It is here that you and she used to
play a fugue on each other's names. The spot raises ghosts. Ghosts of
your old emotions. And I'm conveniently at hand.'
'If you could see yourself, you'd understand that the influence of
places is superfluous. If you could look into my heart you'd recognise
that my emotion is scarcely a ghost.'
'There's one thing I _should_ like to see,' she said. 'I should very
much like to look into your garden at Saint-Graal.'
'Would you?' he cried eagerly. 'When will you come?'
'Whenever you like?'
'Now. At once.'
'No. To-morrow.'
'To-morrow morning?'
'Yes. You can await me at your park-gates at eleven.'
'Then you'll lunch with me?'
'No.... Perhaps.'
'You're an angel!'
And he trudged home on the air. 'If a woman will listen!' his heart
sang. 'If a woman will come to see your garden!'