“‘And the house shall be filled with the odour of the ointment,’” I said over. “O, Pelleas,” I added, tremulously, “do you think....”
Pelleas lifted his face and I thought that it shone in the dimness.
“Ah, well,” he answered, “we must believe all the beautiful things we can.”
II
THE MATINÉE
Somewhat later in the Spring Pelleas was obliged to spend one whole day out of town. He was vastly important over the circumstance and packed his bag two days before, which alone proves his advancing years. For formerly his way had been to complete his packing in the cab on his way to the train at that moment pulling from the station. Now he gave himself an hour to reach the ferry to allow for being blocked.
“Yes, that alone would prove that we are seventy,” I said sadly as I stood at the window watching him drive away.
Yet if ever a good fairy grants you one wish I advise your wishing that when you are seventy your heart and some one else’s heart will be as heavy at a separation as are ours.
“Pelleas,” I had said to him that morning, “I wish that every one in the world could love some one as much as I love you.”
And Pelleas had answered seriously:—