e
threshold, with the door wide open behind her so as to afford her an
immediate retreat. Serge lived there in solitude, a prey to sickening
restlessness, half-stifling, lying on the couch and vainly trying to
close his ears to the sighs of the soughing park and his nostrils to
the haunting fragrance of the old furniture. At night he dreamt wild
passionate dreams, which left him in the morning nervous and disquieted.
He believed that he was falling ill again, that he would never recover
plenitude of health. For days and days he remained there in silence,
with dark rings round his sleepy eyes, only starting into wakefulness
when Albine came to visit him. They would remain face to face, gazing
at one another sadly, and uttering but a few soft words, which seemed to
choke them. Albine's eyes were even darker than Serge's, and were filled
with an imploring gaze.

Then, after a week had gone by, Albine's visit never lasted more than
a few minutes. She seemed to shun him. When she came to the room, she
appeared thoughtful, remained standing, and hurried off as soon as
possible. When he questioned her about this change in her demeanour
towards him, and reproached her for no longer being friendly, she turned
her head away and avoided replying. He never could get her to tell him
how she spent the mornings that she passed alone. She would only
shake her head, and talk about being very idle. If he pressed her
more closely, she bounded out of the room, just wishing him a hasty
good-night as she disappeared through the doorway. He often noticed,
however, that she had been crying. He observed, too, in her expression
the phases of a hope that was never fulfilled, the perpetual struggling
of a desire eager to be satisfied. Sometimes she seemed quite
overwhelmed with melancholy, dragging herself about with an air of utter
discouragement, like one who no longer had any pleasure in living. At
other times she laughed lightly, her face shone with an expression of
triumphant hope, of which, however, she would not yet speak, and her
feet could not remain still, so eager was she to dart away to what
seemed to her some last certainty. But on the following day, she would
sink again into desperation, to soar afresh on the morrow on the pinions
of renewed hope. One thing which she could not conceal from Serge was
that she suffered from extreme lassitude. Even during the few moments
they spent together she could not prevent her head from nodding, o