Was she trying to make fun of
him? . . . It was fairly insulting to place him apart from other men.
Meanwhile, with blind irrelevance, she persisted in talking about
Laurier, commenting upon his achievements.
"I do not love him, I never have loved him. Do not look so cross! How
could the poor man ever be compared with you? You must admit, though,
that his new existence is rather interesting. I rejoice in his brave
deeds as though an old friend had done them, a family visitor whom I had
not seen for a long time. . . . The poor man deserved a better fate. He
ought to have married some other woman, some companion more on a level
with his ideals. . . . I tell you that I really pity him!"
And this pity was so intense that her eyes filled with tears, awakening
the tortures of jealousy in her lover. After these interviews, Desnoyers
was more ill-tempered and despondent than ever.
"I am beginning to realize that we are in a false position," he said one
morning to Argensola. "Life is going to become increasingly painful. It
is difficult to remain tranquil, continuing the same old existence in
the midst of a people at war."
His companion had about come to the same conclusion. He, too, was
beginning to feel that the life of a young foreigner in Paris was
insufferable, now that it was so upset by war.
"One has to keep showing passports all the time in order that the police
may be sure that they have not discovered a deserter.
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