While we were engaged, I had talked to her of my illusions
about herself; when we were married, I talked to her of my convictions
about my art. The change appalled her. She was chilled, crushed,
dumfounded. I looked to her to share my interests. For response, she
yawned--and wept.
"Oh, her tears! her hourly tears! the tears that drowned my love!
"The philosopher is made, not born; in the first few years I rebelled
furiously. I wanted a companion, a confidant, and I had never felt so
desperately alone.
"We had a flat in the rue de Sontay then, and the telephone was in my
workroom. One night late, as I sat brooding there, the bell startled
me; and a voice--a woman's voice, said:
"'I am so lonely; I want to talk to you before I sleep.'
"I cannot describe the strangeness of that appeal, reaching me so
suddenly out of the distance. I knew that it was a mistake, of course,
but it was as if, away in the city, some nameless soul had echoed the
cry in my own heart. I obeyed an impulse; I said:
"'I, too, am very lonely--I believe I have been waiting for you.'
"There was a pause, and then she asked, dismayed:
"'Who are you?'
"'Not the man you thought,' I told her. 'But a very wistful one.'
"I heard soft laughter, 'How absurd!' she murmured.
"'Be merciful,' I went on; 'we are both sad, and Fate clearly intends
us to console each other. It cannot compromise you, for I do not even
know who you are.
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