The door to the library burst open. ’ She bit her lip, but her eyes betrayed her. ’ She shook her head. Lucy kissed him on the cheek. ‘You do not understand, Gérard. The sunshine was brilliant, the air mild. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. To make Ruth pay for it! He wanted to get away, into some immense echoless tract where he could give vent to this wild laughter which tore at his vitals. . . He has nothing to fall back upon, no substitute; but a woman always has the mother love. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground.
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