"It's something that has saddened you. Do you know, we've been so much together that I can almost read your mind, in a way. Why are you smiling?"
"I wish that you could read it—Pierre—at times."
He took her face between his hands and frowned down into her eyes. At his touch she grew very pale and trembled as If a wind were striking against her.
"You see, you've been so near to me, and so dear to me all these years, Jack, that you're like a sister, almost."
"And you to me, Pierre."
"But different—nearer even than a sister."
"So much nearer!"
"It's queer, isn't it? But you can't forget this trouble you've had. The tears come up in your eyes again. Tell me his name, Jack, and the dog—"
She said: "Only let me go. Take your hands away, Pierre."
He obeyed her, deeply worried, and she stood for a moment with a hand pressed over her eyes, swaying. He had never seen her like this; he was like a pilot striving to steer his ship through an unfathomable fog. Following what had become an instinct with him, he raised his left hand and touched the cross beneath his throat. And inspiration came to him.