hearth, my eyes at the mercy of the
glowing surge, my chin thrust forward. A languid sense of well-being
spread all around, played over the hollow of your arms, and padded the
nape of your neck: you thought of nothing.

The two Loiseaus are people who know how to be silent; you spend Friday
evening with them, and everything--except themselves--tells you that
they are pleased with the presence that makes three silhouettes dance in
the room.

They are not very old, but there's no denying they _are_ old bachelors,
because in their company you don't feel the torturing constraint and
embarrassment which the _others_ make you feel because you're a woman.

When you come, they hold out their hands good-naturedly. Remy, the great
big patient Remy, takes my hat, my gloves rolled into a ball, and my
cloak. He steps on my cloak and is vaguely alarmed. This adds to his
confusion, and when he hangs my things on the rack in the hall he is so
awkward in his carefulness that my hat rolls to the ground. We sit down
and talk of the office--you cannot start by not talking--and when every
topic is exhausted, I suggest making tea, a suggestion well worth the
making just to rouse the gourmand look in the old boys' eyes. "Oh yes,
some tea." You can almost hear them purr.

I busy myself with an ease become superlative. It is possible that for
an instant I find myself a woman again between two attentive men,
converted into the household goddess--she who performs the rites and
dispenses the food and offers the milk, just a thimbleful, while the
men's eyes are upon her as she bends over the cups. This constrains my
movements and makes me tread more lightly and mince my steps. I scarcely
displace the shadows.

My two old friends!

Remy pursues his reading with a frank absorption which dominates his
whole body. His heavy forehead bulges, his clenched fists form two
undefined cubes on the page. Migo (when I look at him I call him Migo,
too), rolls his cigarette. This evening he is inclined to be talkative.
He rubs up his memory:

"The first day you came to the office what a timid manner you had."

The recollections play upon an irresistible note. Remy emerges from his
corner, his good blue eyes rising to the bait; a vision hung on a
thread, persons long faded. And it must be confessed that all three of
us let ourselves be captured; the same smile widens our features.

The door-bell rings.... Yes, it rang.

The triple peal sends our heads