A GIRL OF 1915
My sister has rejoined us at Vichy with her children. We are to leave together for the South. The idea no longer holds any attraction for me, everything draws me in the opposite direction. But I cannot give my reasons. I pretend to be waiting for the delivery of my order from the American firm, not to want to move before it has arrived. Very well! The excuse serves for a few days. But now the limb is delivered. Ten times preferable to the other, light and strong at the same time. This knee that bends is a marvel! Though it matters little enough to me now, it is true.
How am I to withstand the family urgency now? In vain I argue that I am still weak. They all persist in extolling the advantage to be derived from a change of air. And then the tickets have been taken and our rooms engaged at Cannes in one of the only hotels not transformed into hospitals. I gain a week more. Here is Christmas, and the New Year's Day, so many All Souls' Days! Oh well, I shall have to give in.
A palace on the Antibes road; a park with luxuriant palms; a far-reaching view over the turquoise-coloured sea. Very few people—a diminished staff; war prices; besides, my father is making us a present of this holiday.
My sister-in-law at once makes inquiries about less pretentious quarters, where we may end the winter. Getting wind of this project, I hasten to remonstrate. She is surprised; what's the matter? Do I no longer like this part? Didn't I choose it myself? I admit that I have changed my mind—a convalescent's weak nerves—that I dream of less well-known neighbourhoods, Corsica or the Morocco coast.
It is quite true: I burn to escape from all that oppresses me on this coast. I avoid letting my eyes rest upon the headland of La Croisette. I can picture, too vividly, the bay behind it with its silver slopes, the Cape d'Antibes stretching out into the sea, with the white lighthouse at La Groupe, and, facing towards us amid the tangled mass of verdure, that dwelling so often described to me.
These associations overwhelm me. Be still, my heart, be still! This is the sun which warms her, these are the waves whose murmur lulls her to sleep, the air which quickens her. I cannot breath here!