In order to calm her, Philippe came closer, and murmured in a confidential tone.
"Why are you so sad now-a-days?"
"I am not sad."
Without regarding this denial, leaning toward her, he continued, in a voice which had ceased to be strident, but became, instead, full of charming inflections, cultivated by that art with which he touched such varied chords at the bar:
"You think your life is finished when it is only just beginning. And life can be so beautiful...."
She found no ready answer. She was often given to self-pity; in thinking now of her keen suffering for one so young and through no fault of her own, it seemed to her like a new misfortune. Understanding that she was depressed by this introspection, he pointed out the mountain tops which were priding themselves on still retaining the light; then he pointed to the plain, towards the meadows and the woods which were in peaceful repose. Two or three couples, rather far away from them, acknowledged lovers, and so accepted socially by general agreement, were returning to the villas and hotels.
"We are very comfortable here, are we not? When I came to Uriage you were so popular, so sought after ..."
She did not grasp the exact meaning of the last word.
"I did not notice it," she said.
"I noticed it for you," said Philippe.