Immediately he was envied and admired by
every man of authority present. What was she? Who was she? Was it
a serious passion or simply a caprice? Had she flung herself at
him? It was undeniable that lovely creatures did sometimes fling
themselves at lucky mediocrities. Was she a married woman? An
artiste? A girl? Such queries thumped beneath overcoats, while the
correctness of a ceremonious demeanour was strictly observed.
Chirac uncovered, and kissed her hand. The wind disarranged his
hair. She saw that his face was very pale and anxious beneath the
swagger of a sincere desire to be brave.
"Well, it is the moment!" he said.
"Did you all forget the food?" she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. "What will you? One cannot think of
everything."
"I hope you will have a safe voyage," she said.
She had already taken leave of him once, in the house, and heard
all about the balloon and the sailor-aeronaut and the
preparations; and now she had nothing to say, nothing whatever.
He shrugged his shoulders again. "I hope so!" he murmured, but in
a tone to convey that he had no such hope.
"The wind isn't too strong?" she suggested.
He shrugged his shoulders again.
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