The Most Beautiful Book in the World by Éric-Emmanuel Schmitt Page B

husband. Although her husband had his set of keys, he was in the habit of standing in the hallway and ringing the bell to announce that he was home from his assignment, in order not to startle Odile unduly.
    â€œDear Lord, if only it were him!”
    When she opened the door, she reeled with joy.
    â€œOh my darling, I’m so pleased to see you! You couldn’t have come at a better time.”
    She threw herself at him and wanted to kiss him on the mouth; however, without actually pushing her away, he continued to hold her in his arms. “He’s right,” thought Odile, “I’m crazy, getting excited like this.”
    â€œHow are you? How was your trip? Where were you, already?”
    He answered her questions, but she had trouble registering his replies; she also found it difficult to ask the right questions. From two or three dark glances he gave her, followed by a heavy sigh, she understood that she was irritating him somewhat. But she found him so handsome that she couldn’t concentrate. The effect of his absence? The more she gazed at him, the more irresistible she found him. Thirty years old, dark, not a single gray hair, his skin bronzed and healthy, his hands long and elegant, his powerful back ending in a narrow waist . . . How fortunate she was!
    She decided to unburden herself at once of her bad news.
    â€œWe’ve been burgled.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYes. My rings have been stolen.”
    She told him the story. He listened patiently without asking any questions or calling anything in doubt. Odile noted with satisfaction the difference between her husband’s reaction and the policemen’s. At least he believes me.
    When she had finished, he headed for their room.
    â€œAre you going to take a shower?” she asked.
    He immediately came back out of the bedroom with a box containing her rings.
    â€œHere they are, your rings.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYes, all it took was checking in the three or four spots where you usually put them. Hadn’t you checked?”
    â€œI thought . . . well, I was sure . . . the last time was in the dresser in the living room . . . next to the television . . . how could I have forgotten?”
    â€œNow, now, don’t get angry. Everybody forgets from time to time.”
    He came over and kissed her on the cheek. Odile’s surprise did not dissipate: surprised she had been so silly, surprised that her silliness could elicit Charles’s kindness.
    She hurried to the kitchen to fix him something to drink, and came back with a tray. And then she noticed that he hadn’t left any luggage in the entrance.
    â€œWhere’s your luggage?”
    â€œWhy should I have any luggage?”
    â€œYou’ve just come back from a trip.”
    â€œI’m not staying here.”
    â€œPardon?”
    â€œI haven’t lived here in long time, or hadn’t you noticed?”
    Odile put the tray down and leaned against the wall to catch her breath. Why was he speaking to her in such a rough manner? Yes, of course, she had noticed, more or less, that they did not see much of each other, but to go so far as to declare that they no longer lived together . . . What on earth . . .
    She dropped to the floor and began to sob. He came over, took her in his arms, and was kind once again: “Come now, don’t cry. There’s no point in crying. I hate to see you like this.”
    â€œWhat have I done? What did I do wrong? Why don’t you love me anymore?”
    â€œStop this nonsense. You haven’t done anything wrong. And I love you very much.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œReally.”
    â€œAs much as before?”
    He took his time to reply, for his eyes were filling with tears while he caressed her hair.
    â€œPerhaps even more than before . . .”
    Odile, reassured, stayed like that for a long moment, leaning against his powerful chest.
    â€œI’m going to get going,” he said,