Mlle Marthe was too weak for anger, but she raised her eyebrows in the old sarcastic way.
"Poor man," she said, "he needs absolution a great deal more than I do. He thinks he has sold his soul, and can't even enjoy the price of it. After all, those are the people to pity—the ones who have courage for neither good nor evil."
She lay silent for a long while then, and watched the sunset colours burn to flame, and fade to cold ash-grey.
Suddenly Aline said:
"Ma tante."
"Well?"
"Ma tante, do you think he loves me still?"
"Why should he?"
The girl took her breath sharply, and Mlle Marthe moved her head with an impatient jerk.
"There, there, I 'm too near my end to lie. Jacques is like his mother, he has n't the talent of forgetfulness."