hear the clash of utensils. Her person becomes many
persons, she jostles me, moves hither and thither like a distracted
tortoise, bends almost double to pick up a strainer.... To be sure the
kitchen _is_ tiny.

I speak to her as one speaks to a child. "Do you understand me, Marie?
Don't be afraid, I am not unkind." The lifeless fixity of her face
suddenly comes undone, her features contract. Marie was dulled by the
monotonous gloom of an asylum in a distant quarter of the city. She
slightly raises the heavenly blue of her eyes without fastening them on
anything. I see her tenacious hatred wake up and stir. A single flash.
Then her red-rimmed eyes flutter and fall; she is in order again, in the
vague sort of order characteristic of things inaccessible and forlorn.

I realize she cannot understand me. To her I mean constraint, uprooting,
exile, that unusualness which throws simple people out of their orbits.
And though she has never been accustomed to anything else than
maltreatment, neglect, and beatings, I understand.... I try to be
gentler, to smile when I turn toward her, for in the end visible
kindness should make itself seen.... And it would be so good to reclaim
this nature, to explain everything to her, beginning at the beginning.

I recall the scene of yesterday evening. We were at table. She brought
in the smoking soup-tureen at arm's length. Her heavy tread rolled like
a cannon-ball upon our delight in being together, then she retreated to
the kitchen like a dog slinking to its kennel. A crash of china. I
jumped up.

"Something broken?"

"No, madam."

"But, Marie...."

"No, madam, no, madam...."

I was close beside her and this time looked deep into her eyes. I saw
the freckles on her white skin, and there emanated from her the amazing
innocence of an accused child. Her voice came from her palpitating
throat with a quiver in it.

"No, no, no."

Poor Marie. I felt remorseful. "I beg your pardon, Marie, we were
mistaken."

Nevertheless I didn't budge, as if I were at length going to learn why
one human being can be so terrorized by another.... She too stood
motionless. I did not notice that her attitude was rather peculiar. I
put my hand on her shoulders. "My little Marie...." At this she
staggered and trod heavily on breaking china. Her face was imploring....

Hidden under her bell-shaped Breton petticoat which touched the floor
lay my pretty gray china cup shivered to bits.

She behaved the wa