"Damn it all, what an idiot I am!" he said
under his breath.
She crossed the room and stood for a little while
looking out of the window. When she turned
round, the Gadfly was again leaning on the table
and covering his eyes with one hand. He had evidently
forgotten her presence, and she sat down
beside him without speaking. After a long silence
she said slowly:
"I want to ask you a question."
"Yes?" without moving.
"Why did you not cut your throat?"
He looked up in grave surprise. "I did not expect
YOU to ask that," he said. "And what about
my work? Who would have done it for me?"
"Your work---- Ah, I see! You talked just
now about being a coward; well, if you have come
through that and kept to your purpose, you are
the very bravest man that I have ever met."
He covered his eyes again, and held her hand in
a close passionate clasp. A silence that seemed to
have no end fell around them.
Suddenly a clear and fresh soprano voice rang
out from the garden below, singing a verse of a
doggerel French song:
"Eh, Pierrot! Danse, Pierrot!
Danse un peu, mon pauvre Jeannot!
Vive la danse et l'allegresse!
Jouissons de notre bell' jeunesse!
Si moi je pleure ou moi je soupire,
Si moi je fais la triste figure--
Monsieur, ce n'est que pour rire!
Ha! Ha, ha, ha!
Monsieur, ce n'est que pour rire!"
At the first words the Gadfly tore his hand from
Gemma's and shrank away with a stifled groan.
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