She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me? She came upon the Song of Songs—which had been pasted down in the Enschede Bible—the burning litany of love; and from time to time she intoned some verse of tender lyric beauty. She remembered him as a dull figure, a big man with a belly that was already showing fat under his fine scarlet clothes. “I shall be waiting for you there, and in the meantime, if you will help yourself—pray don’t look like that. Cheveney was looking after her, I think, then. ” “Can’t we arrange something? Can’t we make a sort of treaty?” “He wouldn’t keep it. He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger. “I wonder how it is,” she exclaimed, “that my friends have so much more confidence in me than I have in myself. A few seconds sufficed to clear the passage, through which it had previously cost him more than two hours to force his way. A brief calm succeeded. We can be married tomorrow in Paris. Why are you doing all this?’ To his surprise, Melusine relaxed back, emitting a laugh that sounded perfectly genuine. It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress.
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