"The doctor is very hopeful for you, if you will put yourself under Hegelmann's care."
"He can do nothing for me, I feel it. Only useless expense. No man can give me back the sight I want for my work."
"In time," said Rivière gently, but he could not force conviction into his voice. It went hard with him to lie to the woman he cared for most in the world, even to bring temporary comfort to her.
"My work. Barrèze and the Odéon," she murmured slowly, speaking to herself rather than to him. "My work was my life. I remember your saying to me in the garden, by the arbour, only a few days ago: 'If Fate were to deny you your freedom!' I shivered even at the words.... Do you believe in Fate?"
Rivière's fist was clenched as he answered: "I'll fight Fate for both of us."
She was silent for a few moments. Then she asked: "Will you write a letter for me?"
He brought pen and ink, and waited for her dictation.
"My dear Barrèze," she dictated slowly, "you must find someone else to paint your scenes of Provence. I am blinded for life——"
"Don't ask me to write that!"
"I am blinded for life," she continued with the clear tones of one whose mental vision sees the future unveiled. "They want me to go to Hegelmann at Wiesbaden. He is a great man, and will do for me all that surgical skill can do. There will be an operation—several, perhaps. It may perhaps give me a faint gleam of light—enough to tell light from darkness and to realize more keenly all that I have lost. I shall never see the theatre again—never paint again. I shall live on the memories of the past and the bitter thoughts of what might have been——"