And so she had a friend, a distant and inaccessible friend, from whom she would have hidden herself for ever, if he had dared to show himself or even let her see by a movement that he was there for her, but who did not frighten her, for the sole reason that he seemed to have no actual existence.
“Are you not afraid of catching cold, dear madame?”
It was Mme. de la Vaudraye, who took her by surprise one evening, at the summer-house and at once continued, in her affected voice:
“I owe you a thousand apologies. The merest politeness demanded that I should pay you a visit, but what shall I say? I have so many duties, so many cares! I am the president of a number of charitable committees which take up all my time. Besides, I confess, I was afraid of appearing indiscreet. I so much dread to push myself forward! Still, I thought it was time to try and bring some diversion into the nun’s life which you are leading.”
“You are too kind,” said Gilberte, touched by this solicitude.
“I felt, dear madame, that your days must be so dull. Your evenings especially must seem endless. How do you manage to fill them?”
They had returned to the Logis. A good fire warmed the boudoir in which Gilberte liked best to sit. The lamp was lighted. There was some music on the piano. The table was heaped with books and papers.
“You see, madame, I play and read: I read a great deal.”
“Novels, I expect!” said the visitor, with a titter. “May I look?... What have we here? An atlas ... manuals of history ... and literature ... selected essays ... memoirs! Are you superintending somebody’s education?”
“My own,” said Gilberte, laughing. “It has been a little neglected; and, as I have plenty of time....”