She took his hands, fondled them and looked up at him with tearful eyes, in the depths of which he tried to read her thoughts. She was now thinking about the other, more real, experiences of his youth, some of which she was privy to, since during the first years of their marriage he had given way to her jealous curiosity rather too eagerly, and revealed, or, as it often seemed to him, surrendered many things he should perhaps have kept to himself. He could tell that various memories were now resurfacing within her with some urgency, and so he was hardly surprised when, as if in a dream, she mentioned the half-forgotten name of one of his youthful loves. Yet to him it came across as a reproach, even as a quiet threat.

He drew her hands to his lips.

"In every woman -- believe me, even though it may sound trite, -- in every woman whom I thought I was in love with, it was always you that I was searching for. I feel this more deeply, Albertine, than you can ever understand."

She smiled sadly. "And what if I too had chosen to go exploring first?" she said. Her expression changed, becoming inscrutable and cold. He let go her hands, as if he had caught her out in a lie or infidelity; but she continued, "Ah, if you all knew," and again fell silent.