* * *
“I am glad,” she said to me one day, “that I had never given a single thought to any one before I met you. If it were not for this, my love would not be complete.”
* * *
Another day, under the arch of the cloister, she said:
“My spirit seems so light that I can hardly hold it back. I feel as though it were beating its wings, as though it wished to fly away. I hold it back as much as I can, for if it should fly away, I should die. And I do not wish to die now, oh, no!”
* * *
In the valleys in October the evening falls swiftly. On our return from our ride, when night had surprised us, a falling star crossed the sky in front of us. Actually it seemed purposely not to hasten in its passage, as if it were asking us to tell it our desires.
“What wish have you made?” I asked Raymonde.
She turned on me her calm look.
“None. Why should I?”