"Isn't it queer? They are saying everywhere that I'm engaged for the Français, it's not true. There's not even a question of it. Of course, I can't remain indefinitely where I am. In the long run one would get besotted there. But there is no hurry. I have a great part to create in La Grille. We shall see after that. What I want is to play comedy. I don't want to join the Français and then to do nothing."
Suddenly, gazing in front of her with eyes full of terror, she flung herself backwards, turned pale, and uttered a shrill scream. Then her eyelids fluttered, and she murmured that she could not breathe.
Robert loosened her jacket, and moistened her temples with a little water.
She spoke.
"A priest! I saw a priest. He was in his surplice. His lips were moving, but no sound came from them. He looked at me."
He tried to comfort her.
"Come now, my darling, how can you suppose that a priest, a priest in his surplice, would show himself in a restaurant?"
She listened obediently, and allowed herself to be persuaded.
"You are right, you are right, I know it well enough."