“Yes, let me finish. I shan't last very long, my dear—two or three years, perhaps—long enough to say what I must about France. I want you to go on living to the full. I want you to marry again, Mary, and have more beautiful, strong children.”
“Oh, darling, don't! Don't speak of such things,” she begged, her lips trembling.
“I've finished, Beautiful. That's all I wanted to say. Just for you to remember,” he smiled.
Her arms went round him. “You're bad,” she whispered, “I shan't remember.”
“Here comes Henrik,” he replied. “Run in to your babies.”
He watched her swinging steps as, after a farewell kiss, she sped down the little path.
IV
Stefan's moods were not always calm. He had his hours of fierce rebellion, when he felt he could not endure another moment with his deadened carcass; when, without life, it seemed so much better to die. He had days of passionate longing for the world, for love, for everything he had lost. Mary fell into the habit of borrowing the Farradays' car when she saw such a mood approaching, and sending Stefan for long drives alone. The rushing flight seldom failed to carry him beyond the reach of his black mood. Returning, he would plunge into work, and the next day would find him calm and smiling once again. He suffered much pain from his back, but this he bore with admirable patience.