where we stand.’
‘He’ll certainly do that,’ said Elisabeth. ‘Probably next year.’
‘I’d be curious to see it. You know I have a great admiration for Labrousse, but I don’t understand him.’
‘But it’s so easy,’ said Elisabeth.
‘I’d be very grateful if you’d explain it to me,’ said Claude.
Elisabeth was silent for a while, tapping her cigarette on the table. Pierre’s aesthetic was no mystery to her. From it she took the inspiration for her painting, but words failed her. She saw once again the Tintoretto that Pierre loved so much; he had explained things to her about the attitudes of the figures, just what, she could not remember. She thought of Dürer’s woodcuts, of a marionette show, of the Russian ballet, of the old silent movies; the idea was there, familiar and obvious, and this was terribly annoying.
‘Obviously, it’s not so simple that you can pin a label on it. Realism, impressionism, naturalism, if that’s what you want,’ she said.
‘Why are you being so gratuitously unkind?’ said Claude. ‘I’m not used to technical terms.’
‘I beg your pardon, but it was you who started talking about stylization and opportunism. But don’t make excuses; your fear of being mistaken for a professor is superbly comic’
More than anything, Claude dreaded sounding in the least academic, and, in all fairness, no one could look less like a professor than he.
‘I can promise that I have nothing to fear on that count,’ he said dryly. ‘It’s you who always deliberately introduce a kind of Germanic ponderosity into our discussions.’
‘Ponderosity …’ said Elisabeth. ‘Yes, I know, every time I disagree with you, you accuse me of being pedantic. You’re amazing. You can’t bear to be contradicted. What you mean by intellectual companionship is the devout acceptance of all your opinions. Ask Suzanne for that, not me! I have the misforunte to have a brain and to presume to use it.’
‘There you go! Can’t keep your temper!’ said Claude.
Elisabeth controlled herself This was hateful; he always found a way of putting her in the wrong.
‘I may be bad tempered,’ she said with crushing calm, ‘but you can’t hear yourself talk. You sound as if you were delivering a lecture.’
‘Let’s not squabble again,’ said Claude in a conciliatory tone.
She looked at him resentfully. He had clearly made up his mind to be nice to her tonight; he felt affectionate, charming and generous, but she would show him. She coughed a little to clear her throat.
‘Frankly, Claude, have you found this month’s experiment a happy one?’ she said.
‘What experiment?’ he said.
The blood rushed to Elisabeth’s face, and her voice trembled a little.
‘If we have kept on seeing one another after our heart-to-heart a month ago, it was only by way of an experiment. Have you forgotten?’
‘Oh, of course …’ said Claude.
He had not taken seriously the idea of a complete break; she had, of course, ruined everything by sleeping with him that very night For a moment she was put out of countenance.
‘Well, I think I’ve reached the conclusion that the present situation is impossible,’ she said.
‘Impossible? Why so suddenly impossible? What’s happened now?’
‘That’s just it, nothing,’ said Elisabeth.
‘Well, then, explain your meaning. I don’t understand.’
She hesitated. Of course, he had never mentioned that he would one day leave his wife; he had never made any promises; in a sense, he was unassailable.
‘Are you really happy like this?’ said Elisabeth. ‘I put our love on a higher plane. What intimacy have we? We see one another in restaurants, in bars, and in bed. Those are just meetings. I want to share your life.’
‘Darling, you’re raving,’ said Claude. ‘No intimacy between us? Why, I haven’t a single thought that I don’t share with you. You understand me so wonderfully.’
‘Yes, I have the best part of you,’ said Elisabeth, sharply. ‘Actually, you see, we should have kept to what, two years ago, you called an ideological friendship. My mistake was to love you.’
‘But since I love you …’
‘Yes,’ she said. It was most irritating; she was unable to pin down any definite grounds for complaint against him without their seeming nothing but petty grievances.
‘Well?’ said Claude.
‘Well, nothing,’ said Elisabeth. She had put a world of misery into these words, but Claude did not choose to take notice of it. He looked round the room with a beaming smile; he felt relieved and was already preparing to change the subject when she hurriedly added: ‘Fundamentally you’re a very simple soul. You were never really aware that I wasn’t happy.’
‘You take pleasure in tormenting yourself,’ said Claude.
‘Perhaps that’s because I’m too much in love with you,’ said Elisabeth dreamily. ‘I wanted to give you more than you were prepared to accept. And, if one is sincere, to give is a way of insisting on some return. I suppose it’s all my fault.’
‘We aren’t going to question our love every time we meet,’ said Claude. ‘This sort of conversation seems absolutely pointless to me.’
Elisabeth looked at him angrily. He could not even sense this pathetic lucidity that now made her so piteous. What was the good of it all? Suddenly, she felt herself growing cynical and hard.
‘Never fear. We shall never question our love again,’ she said. ‘That’s just what I wanted to tell you. From now on, our relations will be on an entirely different basis.’
‘What basis? What basis are they on now?’ Claude looked very annoyed.
‘Henceforth, I only want to have a peaceful friendship with you,’ she said. ‘I’m also tired of all these complications. Only, I didn’t think I could stop loving you.’
‘You’ve stopped loving me?’ Claude sounded incredulous.
‘Does that really seem so extraordinary to you?’ said Elisabeth. ‘Please understand me. I’ll always be very fond of you, but I shan’t expect anything from you, and as far as I am concerned, I shall take back my freedom. Isn’t it better that way?’
‘You’re raving,’ said Claude.
Elisabeth turned scarlet with anger.
‘But you’re insane! I tell you that I’m no longer in love with you! A feeling can change. And you – you weren’t even conscious of the fact that I had changed’
Claude
