“Can’t we pretend just for a while, just for a few hours, that I am not going and that everything is going along just as it is? Can’t we have just one more little moment of happiness?”
“It ees not facile—not easy—to pretend so.”
“But we will try ... I want to see you smile. I want to see you happy once more. I’ve got to see you happy.”
She sat erect and smiled, then the smile faded and she clenched her little fists in her lap. “Oh, I shall be so solitaire, so lonely—so lonely....” It was her only departure from that still calmness, her only approach to emotion, to giving away to grief, and it passed swiftly.
“See, I make to laugh now. For thees night I shall laugh, bicause you wish it, and I do not wish you to be sad and to make thees grimace.... You mus’ sit here beside me now thees minute. You mus’ to sit here and love me so ver’ much, and we shall be mos’ happy.... Oh, I shall theenk of thees Monsieur Bert and how ver’ fonny his face made itself to look. He is ver’ droll—thees high yo’ng man.... It ees ver’ bad that you do not have a piano, for then I can dance for you.... You must to get a piano ver’ quickly—now, now.... You shall send out to fetch one or I shall go away....”
“Mignonne ... mignonne....” he said, and buried his face in her lap....
She sat looking down at him very gravely, stroking his hair with her soft, slender fingers....
The taxicab hurried them down the Champs Élysées through the cool morning air—on their last ride together in Paris.... He was conscious of the city about them, of the essence of the marvelous city from which he was so soon to depart.... There is something in the air of Paris, something that one cannot escape, something intangible, enticing, exciting.... He would miss it, miss it very much.... Andree, too, was looking out of the window. She sat very still and did not speak. Her face was grave and expressionless with that look of abstraction which she wore as some wild bird of the forest wears its protective coloring.... He reached out and took her hand, holding it silently....
His decision had not been made. He had given her neither assurance of his return nor had he told her that they were about to part forever.... He did not know, and he could not decide ... there were now only minutes—seconds. He could see the Élysées Palace Hôtel ahead, his destination, where he would say good-by to her.... And again, with a weakness which made him despise himself, he evaded the issue.