"But how will you give the performance this evening without him?" she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. He had not given a thought to that yet. It was the loss of his friend that wrung his heart.
"You are so gentle and sympathetic. Why is it that no woman has loved you?"
"Perhaps because I've not found a woman I could love," said he.
She did not pursue the subject, but sighed and looked somewhat drearily in front of her. It was then that he became aware of the cruel treatment that the years had inflicted on her youth. He knew that she was under thirty, yet she looked older. The colour had gone from her olive skin, leaving it sallow; her cheeks were drawn; haggard lines appeared beneath her eyes; her cheekbones and chin were prominent. It struck him that she might be fighting a hard battle against poverty. She looked underfed. He asked her.
"Have you an engagement here in Avignon?"
She shook her head. No, she was resting.
"How long have you been out?"
She couldn't tell. Many weeks. And prospects for the immediate future? The Tournée Tardieu was coming next Monday to Avignon. She knew the manager. Possibly he would give her a short engagement.
"And if he doesn't?"