"What about afterwards? Try another—later on."
Every letter said, "In a little while, how we shall love each other when our time is spent together! How beautiful you will be when you are always there. Later on we'll make that trip again; after a while we'll carry that scheme out, later on . . ."
"That's all we could say!"
A little before the wedding we wrote that we were wasting our time so far from each other, and that we were unhappy.
"Ah!" said Marie, in a sort of terror, "we wrote that! And afterwards . . ."
After, the letter from which we expected all, said:
"Soon we shan't leave each other any more. At last we shall live!"
And it spoke of a paradise, of the life that was coming. . . .
"And afterwards?"
"After that, there's nothing more . . . it's the last letter."
* * * * * *