"That's a true bill," confessed Rivière. "Henceforth I'll keep to the strictly neutral 'it' when I mention a microtome."
"I want to know the nature of your research work. You've never yet told me except in vague, general terms."
Rivière hesitated. It seemed to him scarcely a subject to discuss with one who herself was in the hands of the surgeon.
"Wouldn't you prefer a more cheerful topic?" he ventured.
Elaine appreciated the reason for his hesitation, and answered: "I want to hear of the spirit behind your technicalities. It won't depress me in the least. Please go on."
Rivière began to explain to her the big idea which he was hoping to develop in the coming years. He avoided any details that might seem to have even a remote personal bearing. He spoke with enthusiasm—his voice became aglow with inner fire. And it was clear from her attitude and from the questions she interjected from time to time that she realized the value of his idea, appreciated his motives, and was whole-heartedly interested in what he was telling her.
As Elaine listened, a tiny voice within her was whispering: "Here is your rival." And she felt glad that her rival was one of high purpose. The call of science and a high, impersonal aim, touched her as something sacred.
Rivière had brought with him a daily paper—the Frankfort edition of the Europe Chronicle—in order to read it to her. Thinking that she might be getting wearied of his personal affairs, he broke off presently, and with her agreement, opened the paper at the news pages, calling out the headlines until she intimated a wish to hear a fuller reading.
He had finished the news pages for her, and was about to put the paper aside, when the instinct of long habit made him glance at the headlines of the financial page.
Elaine heard a sudden decisive rustle of the paper as he folded it quickly, and then came a minute of silence which carried to her sensitive brain a strange sensation of tenseness.