“I don’t know. Why not happiness in some form or other?”
“You expect a lot for five francs,” she laughed.
“And you?”
“I——?”
“Yes, what have you been thinking of?”
She pointed, and in the gloom he followed the direction of white-bloused arm and white hand.
“Do you see that little house on the quay? The one with the lights and the loggia. You can just get a glimpse of the interior. See? There’s a picture and below a woman sitting at a piano. If you listen you can catch the sound. It’s Schubert’s ‘Moment Musical.’ Well, I’ve been wishing I were that woman with her life full of her home and husband and children. Sheltered—protected—love all around her—nothing more to ask of God. It was a beautiful dream.”
“You too,” said Martin, “feel about this place somewhat as I do.”
“I suppose it’s the night. It turns one into a sentimental lunatic. Fancy living here for the rest of one’s days and concentrating one’s soul on human stomachs.”
“What do you mean, Corinna?”