The moments were flowing along smoothly, without a ripple, without a wave, unhastingly, as if they were to flow this way for the rest of their lives. They felt so calm that they did not even think of enjoying it. It was natural! In the ivy on the wall of the court the happy sparrows were chirping. The last flies of autumn were humming their content, warming their torpid wings in the lingering rays of sunlight. . . .
They heard nothing, nothing. Yet they both became silent at the same moment, as if the fragile thread on which their happiness was suspended had broken.
There was a ring at the door.
"Marc, so soon? No, it's too soon."
A ring. Someone was knocking again. What a hurry some people are in! We're coming!
Sylvie went and opened the door, and Annette followed her a few steps behind.
At the door the concierge, out of breath, was shouting and waving her arms. At first they did not understand.
"Madame doesn't know . . . the terrible thing that's happened. The little girl . . ."
"Who?"
"Mademoiselle Odette. . . . That poor little darling."