Slowly Jean's nerves relaxed and the sobs lessened. She must be happy now, while they were together. In a few hours Gregory would be gone and if she spoiled these hours there would be nothing, not even the memory, in the months ahead.
Jean raised her head and smiled. Gregory smiled too with a warm little feeling deep inside for this sudden, unexpected weakness.
"Whatever was the matter, Jean girl?"
"Nothing—only—I was wishing—we could have—Christmas and—we've got it."
Gregory laughed so that down in the kitchen Madam Cateau heard and laughed, too.
"Of all things to cry about! Because you get something you want. I'm glad it doesn't affect me that way." He punctuated the words with kisses and then, lifting her bodily, carried her across the room and put her down at the table, a little out of breath with the effort.
"You're no feather-weight, Lady of My Dreams. Or maybe I am hungry."
It was a good dinner and Gregory enjoyed it, although they had to hurry at the end to get back to the city in time for him to catch his train.
Jean waited behind the iron grill until the train pulled out and she could no longer distinguish Gregory waving his hand from the Observation. Alone she turned into the months ahead.
Weeks of waiting, snatching, losing, waiting again. Years broken by flying visits, some longer, some shorter. No calm, no peace, no sureness. Their lives would touch, run close for a few hours, a few days at most, and part. No foothold, no smallest spot their own, no door they could close against every one but each other. And it would always be like this. The happiness of the moment must be clutched, until the force of the holding almost strangled it to death, just as to-day's dinner had done.