"Yes, the forsaken villas look horrible."
They walked on.
"Let us go and look at the house where we used to live."
"Oh, yes! It will be fun."
They passed the bathing vans.
Over there, squeezed in between the pilot's and the gardener's cottages,
stood the little house with its red fence, its verandah and its little
garden.
Memories of past days awoke. There was the bedroom where their first
baby had been born. What rejoicing! What laughter! Oh! youth and gaiety!
The rose-tree which they had planted was still there. And the
strawberry-bed which they had made--no, it existed no longer, grass
had grown over it. In the little plantation traces of the swing which
they had put up were still visible, but the swing itself had
disappeared.
"Thank you so much for your beautiful letters," she said, gently
pressing his arm.
He blushed and made no reply.
Then they returned to the hotel, and he told her anecdotes, in
connection with his tour.
He had ordered dinner to be served in the large dining-room at the
table where they used to sit. They sat down without saying grace.
It was a tete-a-tete dinner. He took the bread-basket and offered her
the bread. She smiled. It was a long time since he had been so
attentive.
Pages:
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249