Suddenly she began to weep.
She wept silently, shedding tears of despair.
I pretended not to see, looking off into the distance. She resumed, after a few minutes:
“You see, monsieur, with nearly every one the heart ages with the body. But this has not happened with me. My body is sixty-nine years old, while my poor heart is only twenty. And that is the reason why I live all alone, with my flowers and my dreams.”
There was a long silence between us. She grew calmer and continued, smiling:
“How you would laugh at me, if you knew, if you knew how I pass my evenings, when the weather is fine. I am ashamed and I pity myself at the same time.”
Beg as I might, she would not tell me what she did. Then I rose to leave.
“Already!” she exclaimed.
And as I said that I wished to dine at Monte Carlo, she asked timidly:
“Will you not dine with me? It would give me a great deal of pleasure.”