He laughed:
“What next? What could it have to do with us? I tell you, it’s a practical joke of the regent’s.”
“We oughtn’t to be together any more.”
“No, no, I love you, I’m mad with love for you!”
He kissed her fiercely. They were both afraid. But he rallied Léonie:
“Come, Léonie, don’t be so superstitious!”
“When I was a child, my babu told me....”
She whispered a story in his ear. He turned pale:
“Léonie, what rot!”
“Strange things happen here, in India.... If they bury something belonging to you, a pocket-handkerchief or a lock of hair, they are able—simply by witchcraft—to make you fall ill and pine away and die ... and not a doctor can tell what the illness is....”