unforgivable.' She cut the thread, tied it off. 'Done.'
He flexed his hand, nodded, opened the wine, poured her a glass, and offered a toast to womankind. She returned it with a toast to France. They settled down to their meal; she served him. 'You were following a boy, obviously,' Younger resumed. 'He was called to the front, and this was the only way you could go with him. The only question is whether you lost him or he lost you.'
'I wasn't following a boy.'
'My apologies - a man.'
'Not a man either.'
'A girl?'
She threw a cracker at him.
'Sorry, but it doesn't add up,' he said. 'You left the Sorbonne, which must have been the most important thing in your life. You know they won't reenroll you after the war. There will be too many men whose education was interrupted.'
'Yes.' She swept crumbs from the blanket, barely betraying her deep disappointment: 'Even Madame warned me she wouldn't be able to get me back in.'
'Then why did you leave?' asked Younger.
'I couldn't stand the charity any longer.'
He was unable to read the expression in her eyes.
'There are people,' she went on, 'willing to house those of us who have lost our families, willing to feed us. But charity comes at a price. Out here we have a roof over our heads, and I don't have to ask: anyone for bread.'
'What was the price?' asked Younger.
'Dependence.'
'We're all dependent when young. On family, if no one else.'
'To be dependent on your family is a joy,' she said. 'To be dependent on someone else is - different.'
Again she wore her indecipherable expression, but this time Younger deciphered it.
'So,' he said. 'You weren't lying, but I was still right.'
'What do you mean?'
'You weren't following a man when you left Paris. You were escaping one. A man who wanted a return on his charitable investments.'
She looked at him over the rim of her glass.
'You had a - an intimate relationship with him,' said Younger. 'No one can blame you.'
'You are very curious about my relationships.'
'Any girl would have done the same in your place.'
'Maybe an American girl would have. I didn't. You will believe me when I tell you who it was: Monsieur Langevin.'
Paul Langevin was the great French physicist notoriously coupled with Marie Curie in newspaper reports all over the world several years earlier.
'I should have known,' declared Younger. 'You said his name to once before, with more venom than any word I've heard you speak except "German." What did the rascal do?'
'He tried to undress me in the laboratory.'
'Scoundrel. Where should he have done it?'
'You think it's funny? This is the man Madame loved. The man she lost everything for. And he makes love to me almost under her nose.'
'At least he has good taste.'
'I think you are trying to provoke me,' she said. 'It was dreadful. He had put Luc and me up in his house. I thought he was being kind. But then came the laboratory, and then there was more, at night, in his house.'
'By force?'
'No - when I resisted, he would let me go. But he would make me push him away. It was unbearable. If I had left his home without leaving Paris, Madame would have understood everything immediately, no matter what I told her. It would have been agony for her. And she would have hated me.'
'So you learned to drive this truck,' said Younger. 'I couldn't think of any other way. I had to leave the university. He was always finding ways to be near me. Madame would have seen how it was, sooner or later.'
Younger paused to take it in. 'You gave up the Sorbonne to spare her.'
There was a longer silence. 'There are three things I'm going to do in my life,' she said. 'The first is to make Luc better. The second is to graduate from the
He flexed his hand, nodded, opened the wine, poured her a glass, and offered a toast to womankind. She returned it with a toast to France. They settled down to their meal; she served him. 'You were following a boy, obviously,' Younger resumed. 'He was called to the front, and this was the only way you could go with him. The only question is whether you lost him or he lost you.'
'I wasn't following a boy.'
'My apologies - a man.'
'Not a man either.'
'A girl?'
She threw a cracker at him.
'Sorry, but it doesn't add up,' he said. 'You left the Sorbonne, which must have been the most important thing in your life. You know they won't reenroll you after the war. There will be too many men whose education was interrupted.'
'Yes.' She swept crumbs from the blanket, barely betraying her deep disappointment: 'Even Madame warned me she wouldn't be able to get me back in.'
'Then why did you leave?' asked Younger.
'I couldn't stand the charity any longer.'
He was unable to read the expression in her eyes.
'There are people,' she went on, 'willing to house those of us who have lost our families, willing to feed us. But charity comes at a price. Out here we have a roof over our heads, and I don't have to ask: anyone for bread.'
'What was the price?' asked Younger.
'Dependence.'
'We're all dependent when young. On family, if no one else.'
'To be dependent on your family is a joy,' she said. 'To be dependent on someone else is - different.'
Again she wore her indecipherable expression, but this time Younger deciphered it.
'So,' he said. 'You weren't lying, but I was still right.'
'What do you mean?'
'You weren't following a man when you left Paris. You were escaping one. A man who wanted a return on his charitable investments.'
She looked at him over the rim of her glass.
'You had a - an intimate relationship with him,' said Younger. 'No one can blame you.'
'You are very curious about my relationships.'
'Any girl would have done the same in your place.'
'Maybe an American girl would have. I didn't. You will believe me when I tell you who it was: Monsieur Langevin.'
Paul Langevin was the great French physicist notoriously coupled with Marie Curie in newspaper reports all over the world several years earlier.
'I should have known,' declared Younger. 'You said his name to once before, with more venom than any word I've heard you speak except "German." What did the rascal do?'
'He tried to undress me in the laboratory.'
'Scoundrel. Where should he have done it?'
'You think it's funny? This is the man Madame loved. The man she lost everything for. And he makes love to me almost under her nose.'
'At least he has good taste.'
'I think you are trying to provoke me,' she said. 'It was dreadful. He had put Luc and me up in his house. I thought he was being kind. But then came the laboratory, and then there was more, at night, in his house.'
'By force?'
'No - when I resisted, he would let me go. But he would make me push him away. It was unbearable. If I had left his home without leaving Paris, Madame would have understood everything immediately, no matter what I told her. It would have been agony for her. And she would have hated me.'
'So you learned to drive this truck,' said Younger. 'I couldn't think of any other way. I had to leave the university. He was always finding ways to be near me. Madame would have seen how it was, sooner or later.'
Younger paused to take it in. 'You gave up the Sorbonne to spare her.'
There was a longer silence. 'There are three things I'm going to do in my life,' she said. 'The first is to make Luc better. The second is to graduate from the
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