“It is not being jealous to find a man a bore.”
He had taken his accustomed armchair, and seated close beside her now he smoothed the folds of her robe with his fingers as he told her of the warm breath of tenderness that had passed through his heart that day.
The Countess listened, surprised, charmed, and gently laid her hand on his white locks, which she caressed tenderly, as if to thank him.
“I should like so much to live always near you!” he sighed.
He was thinking of her husband, who had retired to rest, asleep, no doubt, in some neighboring chamber, and he continued:
“It is undoubtedly true that marriage is the only thing that really unites two lives.”
“My poor friend!” she murmured, full of pity for him and also for herself.
He had laid his cheek against the Countess's knees, and he looked up at her with a tenderness touched with sadness, less ardently than a short time before, when he had been separated from her by her daughter, her husband, and Musadieu.
“Heavens! how white your hair has grown!” said the Countess with a smile, running her fingers lightly over Olivier's head. “Your last black hairs have disappeared.”
“Alas! I know it. Everything goes so soon!”