Her glances come to me, but they do not join again the two surviving voids that we are; her look does not wipe out our widowhood, nor change anything.
And I, I am too imbued with clear-sighted simplicity and truth to answer "no" when it is "yes." In this moment by my side Marie is like me.
The immense mourning of human hearts appears to us.

We dare not name it yet; but we dare not let it not appear in all that we say.
* * * * * * Then we see a woman, climbing the footpath and coming nearer to us.

It is Marthe, grown up, full-blown.

She says a few words to us and then goes away, smiling.

She smiles, she who plays a part in our drama.
The likeness which formerly haunted me now haunts Marie, too--both of us, side by side, and without saying it, harbored the same thought, to see that child growing up and showing what Marie was.
Marie confesses all, all at once, "I was only my youth and my beauty, like all women.