"Eh bien? Have you found anything?"
And he would say, gaunt and worried, but smiling: "Not yet."
As the days passed her voice grew sharper, until it seemed to carry the reproach of the wife of the labourer out of work. But she never pressed him further. She knew his moods and his queer silences and the inadvisability of forcing his confidence. In spite of her disappointment and disillusion, some of the glamour still invested him. A man of mystery, inspiring a certain awe, he frightened her a little. A No Man's Land, unknown, terrifying, on which she dared not venture a foot, lay between them. He was the kind and courteous ghost of the Sergeant and the Major with whom she had made high festival during the war.
At last, one afternoon, he cast the bomb calmly at her feet.
"I've just been to see Moignon," said he.
"Eh bien?"
"He says there will be no difficulty."
She turned on him her coarse puzzled face. "No difficulty in what?"
"In going back to the stage."
She sank upon the yellow and brown striped sofa by the wall and regarded him open-mouthed.