main
friends, but true friends, and go no further."

"And it is the woman who wrote me such vivid letters, who now speaks to
me of reason, good sense, and God knows what!"

"But be frank, now. You don't love me."

"I don't?"

He took her hands, gently. She made no resistance, but looking at him
squarely she said, "Listen. If you had loved me you would have come to
see me; and yet for months you haven't tried to find out whether I was
alive or dead."

"But you understand that I could not hope to be welcomed by you on the
terms we now are on, and too, in your parlour there are guests, your
husband--I have never had you even a little bit to myself at your home."

He pressed her hands more tightly and came closer to her. She regarded
him with her smoky eyes, in which he now saw that dolent, almost
dolorous expression which had captivated him. He completely lost control
of himself before this voluptuous and plaintive face, but with a firm
gesture she freed her hands.

"Enough. Sit down, now, and let's talk of something else. Do you know
your apartment is charming? Which saint is that?" she asked, examining
the picture, over the mantel, of the monk on his knees beside a
cardinal's hat and cloak.

"I do not know."

"I will find out for you. I have the lives of all the saints at home. It
ought to be easy to find out about a cardinal who renounced the purple
to go live in a hut. Wait. I think Saint Peter Damian did, but I am not
sure. I have such a poor memory. Help me think."

"But I don't know who he is!"

She came closer to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Are you angry at me?"

"I should say I am! When I desire you frantically, when I've been
dreaming for a whole week about this meeting, you come here and tell me
that all is over between us, that you do not love me--"

She became demure. "But if I did not love you, would I have come to you?
Understand, then, that reality kills a dream; that it is better for us
not to expose ourselves to fearful regrets. We are not children, you
see. No! Let me go. Do not squeeze me like that!" Very pale, she
struggled in his embrace. "I swear to you that I will go away and that
you shall never see me again if you do not let me loose." Her voice
became hard. She was almost hissing her words. He let go of her. "Sit
down there behind the table. Do that for me." And tapping the floor with
her heel, she said, in a tone of melancholy, "Then it is impossible to
be friends,