"Yes, that I might do."
"Do it then—as soon as possible! dear, dear Alice—as soon as possible!"
This time Alice was successful. Mary was quite ready to meet him again.
They met at Alice's house, to drive together to the exhibition in the Champs Elysées.
To stand together before works of art is the real conversation without words. The few words that are spoken awake hundreds. But these remain unspoken. The one friend feels through the other, or at least they both believe that they do so. They meet in one picture, to separate in another. An hour thus spent teaches them more of each other than weeks of ordinary intercourse. Alice led the two from picture to picture, but was absorbed in her own thoughts—the more completely the farther they went. She saw as an artist sees. The others, who began with the pictures, gradually passed on to discovery of each other through these. With them it was soon a play of undertones, rapid glances, short ejaculations, pointing fingers. But those who feel their way to each other by secret paths enjoy the process exceedingly, and generally allow it to be perceived that they do so. They play a game like that of a pair of sea-birds that dive and come up again far away from each other—to find their way back to each other. The happiness of the moment was increased by the number of eyes which were turned on them.
Downstairs amongst the statuary, Alice led them straight to the centre room. She stopped in front of an empty pedestal and turned to the official in charge. "Is the acrobat not ready yet?" "No, Mademoiselle," he answered; "unfortunately not."
"There must have been another accident?"
"I do not know, Mademoiselle."
Alice explained to Mary that the statue of an acrobat had been broken in the process of setting it up.
"An acrobat?" called Frans Röy. He was standing a short way off; now he hastened up to them. "An acrobat? Did I hear you speaking about an acrobat?"