Manon surprised him in that moment of un-self-consciousness. She came across the bridge without his seeing her, and the look on his face made her think of a window opened in heaven. His face was wet with the rain; he was smiling.
She did not speak, but came and stood beside him as though to share the beauty that enchanted him; to gaze at the sun-splashed trees and the splendour of mystery that enveloped the cathedral. Paul’s smiling eyes came down out of the heaven to her, and the smile became human.
“I’ve been waiting here. I thought you would come by the bridge.”
“You have been feeling lonely,” she said.
“How do you know that?”
He caught her hand and held it firm and fast, and they leant over the rail of the bridge and looked at the still water whose surface was no longer blurred by the rain. There were wonderful reflections in the water, and there were strange lights in Manon’s eyes. She had felt the strong grip of Paul’s hand, and a quiver of deep passion that woke a cry of exultation and of understanding in her heart.
“I want to go home,” he said.
“Home?”
“To Beaucourt.”
He felt the pressure of her firm, warm fingers.