How had they managed to slip in there? A chance word which reached my ears explained it. The principal's wife had had pity on them and had given them the key. The little wife had contrived that; she had not been able to bear the idea of being deprived of her Marcel on the last evening.
I considered her sardonically. "Let's have a look at this woman in love!"
I have already said what my opinion of her was. I never thought I should change it. This evening, however, though her features were already merging with the growing twilight, it seemed to me that her face shone with a rarer radiance. Was it her love that transfigured this child?
She had taken off her hat and was leaning her brown head on her husband's shoulder, while he held her close, his arm round her waist. Their foreheads and eyes and lips caressed each other. They were talking below their breath. No other sound but the rustle of the wind disturbed the deep silence.
I was indiscreet enough to play the eavesdropper.
She was the one who spoke the most, in little, plaintive, tender phrases, like the twittering of birds. I could only follow the general trend of her remarks, but it was enough for me to see that she was not bemoaning herself lest she should rob him of his courage. She only dwelt in retrospect on the happy weeks they had spent together. Many injunctions followed. They would be sure to write to each other every day, and think of each other all the while.
I found it easier to catch his grave, reassuring replies. The tone of his voice baffled me. Here was Frémont, the retiring little man, with shy manners, who liked to keep in the background and always asked advice, appearing in the rôle of comforter! His protecting fondness enfolded his beloved.
I continued to lean out above them, my elbows on the stone window-sill, my hands joined. My malevolence gradually subsided.
That this was merely the repetition of a scene which had been enacted all through the ages, no longer seemed to me a sufficient reason to smile at it. On the contrary, I was stirred by the thought of the eternal chain of loves and partings.
Night had fallen. The trees in the orchard seemed so many phantoms. Not a light to be seen. Some birds flew silently across the night air. I could hardly distinguish the two lovers now, but it seemed to me that their lips had sought and found each other. There was silence for a short space. Then a sentence was breathed softly. A voice trembled into tears. I gathered from certain allusions that she was afraid, though she did not say so, that he might never see their little child.