'But there is no one else here who loves them,' she answered with a little sigh. 'It is only making money that they care about—money—always money—and when it is made nobody enjoys it.'
'But who can oblige you to marry this man of St. Tropez?'
She ruffled her hair, not very well knowing what to reply.
'It is decided so,' she answered at last.
'But many things are decided for us which we do not accept. No one has any right to dispose of our own future against our own will.'
She looked vaguely troubled: the sense of herself as of an independent entity had never before presented itself to her.
'All those things are settled for one,' she said with some impatience. 'It is not worth talking about. Whether it is Gros Louis or another, it is the same to me. They are all stupid, they all smoke, they all drink when they can, they all say there is no God, and that there must never be any kings. They are all just alike.'
She was not conscious of the sombre revolt and vague contempt which were at work in her as the heat of the distant thunder cloud dulls slightly the sunny blue of a June sky.
'But there is another world than theirs,' said Loswa.