I believed that our marriage was genuine. Neither of them believed me. . . I decided to go in and wait. Have you not given your life to God? Do you not repent?’ Coming to the bed, Melusine sat beside her old nurse and took hold of one of her hands. He waved to her. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. To divide the agony into two spheres so that one would mitigate the other.
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