And Hermione replied as briefly to his note.
Usually, when she wrote to Artois, her pen flew, and eager thoughts,
born of the thought of him, floated into her mind. But this time it
was not so. The energies of her mind in connection with his mind were
surely failing. As she put the note into its envelope, she had the
feeling of one who had been trying to "make" conversation with an
acquaintance, and who had not been successful, and she found herself
almost dreading to talk with Emile.
Yet for years her talks with him had been her greatest pleasure,
outside of her intercourse with Vere and her relations with Gaspare.
The change that had come over their friendship, like a mist over the
sea, was subtle, yet startling in its completeness. She wondered if he
saw and felt this mist as definitely as she did, if he regretted the
fair prospect it had blotted out, if he marvelled at its coming.
He was so acute that he must be aware of the drooping of their
intimacy. To what could he attribute it? And would he care to fight
against the change?
She remembered the days when she had nursed him in Kairouan.
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