"She wouldn't have it otherwise."
"I know, I know, I know. She would not. It's strange to have you here now."
"Max would come. I didn't wish it. Yet—" She smiled for a moment and added: "Yet in a way I did wish it. I was drawn here. It seemed to concern me. Don't laugh. It seemed to be part of my story, too; I felt that I must be there to hear it. Are you laughing?"
"I've never laughed."
"You're good and kind and generous. No, I think you haven't. I'm glad of it, because——"
"Yes? Why?"
"Because even now I can't," she whispered. "No, don't think I mean—I mean a thing which would oblige you to laugh now. It's all over, all over. But that it should have been, Augustin?" My name slipped from unconscious lips. "That it should have been isn't bad to me; it's good. That's wicked? I can't help it. It's the thing—the thing of my life. I've no place like yours. I've nothing to make it come second. Ah, I'm forgetting again how old I am. How you always make me forget it! I mustn't talk like this."
"We shall never, I suppose, talk like this again. You go back to Paris?"
"Yes, soon. I'm glad."
"But it's not hard to you now?"