“Mademoiselle de Maupin. I forgot I’d ever lent it to you.”
“You remember the story?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“It’s very different from my story, isn’t it? But the way she found, I had already discovered for myself before I read the book. It’s the right way. In my case, the only way.”
François had just lighted a cigarette. He threw it away with a sudden jerk, and looked at her without speaking.
“I’m going to-morrow.”
Her voice was steady, but quite colourless.
“René,” stammered her friend, “René is going to-morrow?”
“Yes. Into the country for a few days, for the background of his new picture.”
François drew up a chair, and sat down close to her.