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Updated: June 20, 2025
The correspondence of Christophe and Grazia took on the serious and restrained tone of a couple who are no longer in the dangerous period of trial of love, but, having passed it, feel sure of the road and march on hand in hand. Each was strong to sustain and direct the other, weak and yielding to the other's support and direction. Christophe returned to Paris. He had vowed never to go there again.
Already he had employed his usual weapon his illness to make Grazia swear that she would not marry again. He was not satisfied with her promise. He tried to force his mother to give up writing to Christophe.
"Really, Grazia, you alarm me with your wisdom," replied Cleo, affixing a very foolish giggle to the alarm signal. "I just wonder what will happen if you go getting so mighty wise all of a sudden. But I do think you are right just the same. Many hands mean mighty mixups. That's alliteration. You see I'm sticking to lit." "I wish you would stick to common sense, Cleo.
"I'll come around to the side porch, Cleo, I must talk with you." On the big swing made of interlaced white birchwood, the two chums perched, and Grace promptly undertook to unburden her mind. "Cleo dear," she said, "I am so worried about Kitty. How do we know but that woman may have locked her up, or something?" "Strange, Grazia, I have been thinking just that myself.
When at last Grazia saw him sinking to sleep, she gave no cry and made no moan: she astonished those about her by her silence: she had no strength left for suffering: she had only one desire, to sleep also. However, she went about the business of her life with the same apparent calm. After a few weeks her smile returned to her lips, but she was more silent still.
Madame Stevens was boiling with impatience: Colette was highly amused: she was enjoying the absurdity of it, and rather pleased with Christophe for being so insensible of it: she felt that he was a force, and she liked that: but it was comic too: and she would have been the last person to defend him. Grazia alone was moved to tears by the music. She hid herself away in a corner of the room.
What joy in the world can equal the joy of making the man you love happy?... What! Do I love him?..." She was silent, deeply moved, listening to the answer of her heart. "I love him." Just then a dry, hard, hasty cough came from the next room where the children were sleeping. Grazia pricked her ears: since the boy's illness she had always been anxious. She called out to him.
Grazia withdrew her hand, and Christophe did not stay her. And they sat there for a moment, mum, without a word. And Grazia said: "Good-bye." Christophe said plaintively once more: "And it is all over?" "No doubt it is better that it should be so." "We shall not meet again before you go." "No," she said. "When shall we meet again?" She made a sad little gesture of doubt.
When he saw her with Grazia he felt the charm of a twofold creature, seen at two ages of life, two generations together.... Two flowers upon one stem; a Holy Family of Leonardo, the Virgin and Saint Anne, different shades of the same smile.
Then, in his fury, he longed to die so as to avenge himself. He never thought that his wish would be granted. When the doctor told Grazia that there was no hope for her son, she was dumfounded. But she had to disguise her despair in order to deceive the boy who had so often deceived her.
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