“And I?” queried Julio, withdrawing his hand.
“You are right,” she returned smiling. “You are Life. It is cruel but it is human. We have to live our lives without taking others into consideration. It is necessary to be selfish in order to be happy.”
The two remained silent. The remembrance of the husband had swept across them like a glacial blast. Julio was the first to brighten up.
“And you have not danced in all this time?”
“No, how could I? The very idea, a woman in divorce proceedings! . . . I have not been to a single chic party since you went away. I wanted to preserve a certain decorous mourning fiesta. How horrible it was! . . . It needed you, the Master!”
They had again clasped hands and were smiling. Memories of the previous months were passing before their eyes, visions of their life from five to seven in the afternoon, dancing in the hotels of the Champs Elysees where the tango had been inexorably associated with a cup of tea.
She appeared to tear herself away from these recollections, impelled by a tenacious obsession which had slipped from her mind in the first moments of their meeting.
“Do you know much about what’s happening? Tell me all. People talk so much. . . . Do you really believe that there will be war? Don’t you think that it will all end in some kind of settlement?”
Desnoyers comforted her with his optimism. He did not believe in the possibility of a war. That was ridiculous.
“I say so, too! Ours is not the epoch of savages. I have known some Germans, chic and well-educated persons who surely must think exactly as we do. An old professor who comes to the house was explaining yesterday to mama that wars are no longer possible in these progressive times. In two months’ time, there would scarcely be any men left, in three, the world would find itself without money to continue the struggle. I do not recall exactly how it was, but he explained it all very clearly, in a manner most delightful to hear.”