Instead of thanking
me, she remarked so suddenly that she took my breath away:
"Once I sold myself for a pair of green silk stockings."
I could not help asking the question:
"Did you regret your bargain?"
She looked me straight in the face:
"I don't know. I only thought about my stockings."
Naturally such conversations are rather risky; I shall avoid them in
future. But the riddle is more puzzling than ever. What brought Jeanne
to share my solitude on this island?
* * * * *
Now we have a man about the place. Torp got him. He digs in the garden
and chops wood. But the odour impregnates Torp and even reaches me.
He makes eyes at Jeanne, who looks at me and smiles. Torp makes a fuss
of him, and every night I smell his pipe in the basement.
* * * * *
I have shut myself upstairs and played patience. The questions I put to
the cards come from that casket of memories the seven keys of which I
believed I had long since thrown into the sea.
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