I went to inform the girl of my plans. Earlier in the day, waiting to cross a street, I had been held up while a procession went past. She was at its head, standing beside the driver of a big open car decorated with parma violets. She did not see me, she had no reason to look. Her hair shone like pale fire in the sun, she was smiling and throwing violets to the crowd. It was hard to recognize her as the girl who had travelled with me. When I entered her room, she was still wearing the same parma violet dress; the delicate colour suited her fragile paleness, she looked extremely attractive. Her sparkling hair, sprinkled with silver and parma violets, had been touched with a matching dye; the slight touch of fantasy was especially charming.
Telling her to open it later, I presented her with a small package containing a bracelet she had admired, and a cheque on my personal account. 'I've brought you some good news, too. I've come to say good-bye.' She looked disconcerted, asked what I meant. 'I'm leaving tonight. By plane. Aren't you pleased?' As she only stared silently, I went on: 'You've always wanted to get rid of me. You must be glad I'm going at last.' A pause, then her voice, cold, resentful. 'What do you expect me to say?' I was puzzled by this reaction. She continued to survey me coldly, asked with sudden bitterness: 'What sort of a man do you think you are?' The tone was meant to be scathing. 'Now perhaps you see why I've never trusted you. I always knew you'd betray me again ... go off and leave me, just as you did before.' I protested: 'That's grossly unfair! You can't blame me for going after you've told me to go, made it completely clear that you've no time for me—I've hardly set eyes on you since we got here.' 'Oh ...!' With a disgusted exclamation, she turned her back, took a few steps away from me.
The full skirt swirling, a silky shimmer like moonlight on violets; the bright, heavy hair swinging, scintillating with violet highlights. I followed, touched her hair with the tips of my fingers, felt it ripple with life. Her arms had a soft satin sheen, the skin smooth and scented, a chain of violets round the thin wrist. I put my arms round her and kissed her neck. Instantly her whole body tensed in violent resistance, she twisted herself away. 'Don't touch me! I don't know how you have the nerve. . . .' Her voice seemed to fail on the edge of tears, then rose again thinly: 'Well, what are you waiting for? Why don't you go? And don't come back this time. I never want to see you again, or be reminded of you!' She pulled off her watch and a ring I had given her, flung them wildly in my direction; began trying to unfasten her necklace, hands at the back of her head, the raised arms giving her slight body a hint of voluptuousness it did not really possess. With an effort I refrained from embracing her again, pleaded with her instead. 'Don't be so angry. Don't let's part like this. You must know how I've felt about you all this time. You know how I've always followed you, forced you to come with me. But you've said so consistently that you hated me, wanted nothing to do with me, that I've finally had to believe you.' I was only being half honest, and knew it. Tentatively I took her hand; it was stiff, unresponsive, but she did not take it away, let me go on holding it while she gazed at me fixedly. With doubt, criticism, accusation her eyes rested . . . serious, innocent, shadowed eyes; the hand behind her head still engaged with the necklace; the glittering hair, the scent of violets, close to my hand; then the grave voice. . . . 'And if I hadn't said those things, would you have stayed with me?'
This time it seemed important to speak the whole truth: but I could not be certain what that was, and in the end, the only true words seemed to be: 'I don't know.'
