” The brutality of his first astonishment was evaporating. ’ ‘This, monsieur le major, is entirely your own affair,’ said the lady, haughty again. "Love me, love my dog! Because I've scolded him and told him a few truths, you are ice to me. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. He had never liked to be hugged, but she wondered if his corporeal needs would be made apparent by human touch. At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep. Let’s go up to my room.
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