"Well, I am listening to you."
He began with a question:
"You are not happy. Albert is not happy."
She tried to smile.
"Is that evident?"
"Yes."
"Well, we prefer our unhappiness to other people's happiness."
"Are you sure?"
Then, with audacity, which he understood better at a distance, and which only his almost mystical passion for Elizabeth could explain, he had told her of his last conversation with Albert's mother, and of the artless plan which she had conceived of coming to claim her son from her, who must have been convinced by time of the inefficacy of her love. He could see her face fall, her golden eyes lose their fire as he spoke. But she had not protested.
"Yes, it is just that," she had said simply. "I have thought so. Albert must never know anything about it. Good-by, Monsieur. You have pained me. I shall finish my walk alone."