The Call of the Blood

When he came up to her he could only say: "Hermione, my friend--"

The loneliness of this mountain summit was a fit setting for her

loneliness, and these two solitudes, of nature and of this woman's soul,

took hold of Artois and made him feel as if he were infinitely small, as

if he could not matter to either. He loved nature, and he loved this

woman. And of what use were he and his love to them?

She stretched up her hand to him, and he bent down and took it and held

it.

"You said some day I should leave my Garden of Paradise, Emile."

"Don't hurt me with my own words," he said.

"Sit by me."

He sat down on the warm ground close to the heap of stones.

"You said I should leave the garden, but I don't think you meant like

this. Did you?"

"No," he said.

"I think you thought we should be unhappy together. Well, we were never

that. We were always very happy. I like to think of that. I come up here

to think of that; of our happiness, and that we were always kind and

tender to each other. Emile, if we hadn't been, if we had ever had even

one quarrel, even once said cruel things to each other, I don't think I

could bear it now. But we never did. God did watch us then, I think. God

was with me so long as Maurice was with me. But I feel as if God had gone

away from me with Maurice, as if they had gone together. Do you think any

other woman has ever felt like that?"

"I don't think I am worthy to know how some women feel," he said, almost

falteringly.

"I thought perhaps God would have stayed with me to help me, but I feel

as if He hadn't. I feel as if He had only been able to love me so long as

Maurice was with me."

"That feeling will pass away."

"Perhaps when my child comes," she said, very simply.

Artois had not known about the coming of the child, but Hermione did not

remember that now.

"Your child!" he said.

"I am glad I came back in time to tell him about the child," she said. "I

think at first he was almost frightened. He was such a boy, you see. He

was the very spirit of youth, wasn't he? And perhaps that--but at the end

he seemed happy. He kissed me as if he loved not only me. Do you

understand, Emile? He seemed to kiss me the last time--for us both. Some

day I shall tell my baby that."