this apparent indifference would be, the next moment, belied by her obvious enjoyment. Laughing, her cheeks flushed, she would squeeze his arm, and he would be conscious of her body full of vitality. Sometimes he couldn’t help murmuring:
‘You’re wonderful.’
‘Really?’
At such moments, when she looked at him with those pale blue eyes which seemed to have been slightly blinded by the light of day, he would feel an almost painful constriction round the heart.
She tired quickly, and was always hungry. At four o’clock she was already on the look-out for a place where they could have tea. Flavières didn’t like to take her to the pâtisseries or the salons de thé. That’s why he took her as often as possible out into the country. To sit in one of those places in wartime eating a baba or a millefeuille made him feel acutely self-conscious. He was convinced the waitresses, each with a husband or a lover at the front, were looking at him contemptuously. On the other hand he understood only too well why Madeleine should need more food than other people to keep her alive. Once, when they were having tea together, he said:
‘You remind me of Aeneas.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t you remember? When he went down to the nether world, he poured blood on the ground all round him. And theshades came and sniffed at it and the smell of it gave them for a moment a semblance of consistency, and they chattered and chattered…’
‘But what’s that got to do with me?’
He pushed over to her the plateful of croissants .
‘Go on—eat them up, all of them. I can’t help feeling that you too lack substance. So go on eating, little Eurydice!’
She smiled with a crumb sticking to the corner of her mouth.
‘You’ll be getting me worried with all your mythology!’
And, after a long pause, putting her cup down, she asked:
‘All the same, it’s a nice name… Eurydice!… And you did bring me back from the nether world, didn’t you?’
But instead of to the Seine and the muddy quay, his mind went back to those cave-dwellings near the Loire, whose deathly silence was only broken by the monotonous drip of water. He put his hand on hers.
From that day he playfully called her Eurydice. He would never have dared call her Madeleine. Besides, Madeleine was a married woman, another man’s wife. Eurydice belonged to him and him alone. He had held her in his arms! In the water, admittedly, and with the shadow of death on her face…
He was making a fool of himself, of course. Torturing himself into the bargain, living in a constant tumult of painful impressions. Never mind! Beneath that tumult was a peace and a plenitude of joy such as he had never known. It swallowed up the frustrations of recent years, the fears, the regrets. What a long time he had waited for this woman who was not quite at home in the daylight! Since the age of twelve, to be exact, when he had first penetrated into the heart of the earth, exploring the shadows, the country of phantoms, of the dead…
The telephone rang. He snatched up the receiver eagerly, knowing who it was, and said:
‘Hallo, it’s you, is it?… Free?… Yes, I think I could make it… Oh yes, I’ve plenty to do, but none of it’s very urgent… Sure you want to?… Fine; but I ought to be back by five… Where shall we go?… About time you chose something… All right. What about a museum or a gallery?… Not very original I admit. A sentimental stroll through the Louvre?… No, they haven’t taken everything away. There are quite a lot of good things left. All the more reason to go while we still have the chance… Right. Thanks. At two o’clock, then.’
He put the receiver down very gently, as though a last echo of her voice was still lingering in it. What would the day bring forth? Nothing in all probability. Nothing, that is to say, which took him any nearer to a solution of the problem. There wasn’t one: they were in a blind alley. Madeleine would never be cured:
‘You’re wonderful.’
‘Really?’
At such moments, when she looked at him with those pale blue eyes which seemed to have been slightly blinded by the light of day, he would feel an almost painful constriction round the heart.
She tired quickly, and was always hungry. At four o’clock she was already on the look-out for a place where they could have tea. Flavières didn’t like to take her to the pâtisseries or the salons de thé. That’s why he took her as often as possible out into the country. To sit in one of those places in wartime eating a baba or a millefeuille made him feel acutely self-conscious. He was convinced the waitresses, each with a husband or a lover at the front, were looking at him contemptuously. On the other hand he understood only too well why Madeleine should need more food than other people to keep her alive. Once, when they were having tea together, he said:
‘You remind me of Aeneas.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t you remember? When he went down to the nether world, he poured blood on the ground all round him. And theshades came and sniffed at it and the smell of it gave them for a moment a semblance of consistency, and they chattered and chattered…’
‘But what’s that got to do with me?’
He pushed over to her the plateful of croissants .
‘Go on—eat them up, all of them. I can’t help feeling that you too lack substance. So go on eating, little Eurydice!’
She smiled with a crumb sticking to the corner of her mouth.
‘You’ll be getting me worried with all your mythology!’
And, after a long pause, putting her cup down, she asked:
‘All the same, it’s a nice name… Eurydice!… And you did bring me back from the nether world, didn’t you?’
But instead of to the Seine and the muddy quay, his mind went back to those cave-dwellings near the Loire, whose deathly silence was only broken by the monotonous drip of water. He put his hand on hers.
From that day he playfully called her Eurydice. He would never have dared call her Madeleine. Besides, Madeleine was a married woman, another man’s wife. Eurydice belonged to him and him alone. He had held her in his arms! In the water, admittedly, and with the shadow of death on her face…
He was making a fool of himself, of course. Torturing himself into the bargain, living in a constant tumult of painful impressions. Never mind! Beneath that tumult was a peace and a plenitude of joy such as he had never known. It swallowed up the frustrations of recent years, the fears, the regrets. What a long time he had waited for this woman who was not quite at home in the daylight! Since the age of twelve, to be exact, when he had first penetrated into the heart of the earth, exploring the shadows, the country of phantoms, of the dead…
The telephone rang. He snatched up the receiver eagerly, knowing who it was, and said:
‘Hallo, it’s you, is it?… Free?… Yes, I think I could make it… Oh yes, I’ve plenty to do, but none of it’s very urgent… Sure you want to?… Fine; but I ought to be back by five… Where shall we go?… About time you chose something… All right. What about a museum or a gallery?… Not very original I admit. A sentimental stroll through the Louvre?… No, they haven’t taken everything away. There are quite a lot of good things left. All the more reason to go while we still have the chance… Right. Thanks. At two o’clock, then.’
He put the receiver down very gently, as though a last echo of her voice was still lingering in it. What would the day bring forth? Nothing in all probability. Nothing, that is to say, which took him any nearer to a solution of the problem. There wasn’t one: they were in a blind alley. Madeleine would never be cured:
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