"Oh, her tears! her hourly tears! the tears that drowned my love!
"The philosopher is made, not born; in the first few years I rebelled furiously. I wanted a companion, a confidant, and I had never felt so desperately alone.
"We had a flat in the rue de Sontay then, and the telephone was in my workroom. One night late, as I sat brooding there, the bell startled me; and a voice—a woman's voice, said:
"'I am so lonely; I want to talk to you before I sleep.'
"I cannot describe the strangeness of that appeal, reaching me so suddenly out of the distance. I knew that it was a mistake, of course, but it was as if, away in the city, some nameless soul had echoed the cry in my own heart. I obeyed an impulse; I said:
"'I, too, am very lonely—I believe I have been waiting for you.'
"There was a pause, and then she asked, dismayed:
"'Who are you?'
"'Not the man you thought,' I told her. 'But a very wistful one.'
"I heard soft laughter, 'How absurd!' she murmured.