Every advance on Julio’s part but aroused in Marguerite a vehement and modest protest as though they were meeting for the first time.
“It is impossible,” she protested. “I keep thinking of my brother, and of so many that I know that may be dying at this very minute.”
News of battles were beginning to arrive, and blood was beginning to flow in great quantities.
“No, no, I cannot,” she kept repeating.
And when Julio finally triumphed, he found that her thoughts were still following independently the same line of mental stress.
One afternoon, Marguerite announced that henceforth she would see him less frequently. She was attending classes now, and had only two free days.
Desnoyers listened, dumbfounded. Classes? . . . What were her studies? . . .
She seemed a little irritated at his mocking expression. . . . Yes, she was studying; for the past week she had been attending classes. Now the lessons were going to be more regular; the course of instruction had been fully organized, and there were many more instructors.
“I wish to be a trained nurse. I am distressed over my uselessness. . . . Of what good have I ever been till now?” . . .
She was silent for a few moments as though reviewing her past.