Free Climates by André Maurois Page A

was wealthy, did not practice medicine but did research into cancer, and his wife worked with him. Renée had inherited from her father (whom she got along with all the worse for being so like him) a taste for a task well done. She was quickly adopted by the circle of scholars and doctors into which her friends introduced her. At twenty-one, she asked her father to give her her dowry and to consent to her living in Paris. For a few months she was on bad terms with our family. But the Marcenats clung too keenly tothe notion of an indestructible love uniting parents and children to tolerate the reality of indifference for very long. Once my uncle Pierre had accepted the firm conviction of his daughter’s decision, he capitulated to restore peace. From time to time he would still have fits of anger, though they were increasingly brief. Then he begged his daughter to marry and she refused, threatening never to set foot at Chardeuil again. Horrified, my aunt and uncle promised there would be no more talk of marriage.
    Renée had witnessed my engagement and had sent Odile a wonderful basket of white lilies the very same day. I remember being surprised by this. Her parents had given us a handsome gift; why these flowers? A few months later we dined with her at Uncle Pierre’s house, and I then inivted her to come to us. She was very friendly toward Odile and I was extremely interested by the tales of her travels. Since I had stopped seeing most of my former friends, I hardly ever heard such robust, informed conversation. When she left, I saw her to the door. “Your wife’s so pretty!” she said with sincere admiration. Then she looked at me sadly and added, “Are you happy?” and from her tone of voice I understood she thought I was not.
    The other woman who I felt lifted the veil for a moment was Misa. After a few months, her behavior became rather odd. It seemed to me that she now sought far more to be my friend than to remain Odile’s. One evening when Odile was unwell in bed (she had had two consecutive miscarriages and it was unfortunately looking unlikely that she would ever have children), Misa, who had come to see her, sat beside me on the sofa at the foot of the bed. We were very close together and the high wooden footboard concealed us almost entirely from Odile’s eyes so that, as she lay there, she could see only our heads. All at once, Misa moved closer, pressed herself to me, and took my hand. I was so surprised that I do not understand to this day how Odile failed to read this in my face. I moved away, but only reluctantly, and later, when I walked Misa home, with an abrupt involontary movement I kissed her lightly. She allowed me to.
    “This is too bad. Poor Odile …,” I said.
    “Oh! Odile!” she said with a shrug.
    I found this unpleasant and became rather cold toward Misa. It worried me too because I wondered whether her “Oh! Odile!” might mean, “Odile doesn’t deserve to be fussed over.”

. IX .
    Two months later Misa was engaged. Odile told me she did not understand Misa’s choice. My wife thought this Julien Godet horribly mediocre. He was a young engineer fresh from the Central School of Engineering and in Monsieur Malet’s words “had no position.” Misa seemed more to
want
to love him than actually to love him. He, on the other hand, was very much in love. For some time my father had been looking for a director to run an additional paperworks he had set up at La Guichardie near Gandumas, and when he heard us discussing Misa’s marriage he had the idea of taking on our friend’s husband. This only half pleased me.I no longer felt I could trust Misa, but Odile, who so liked helping people and making them happy, thanked my father and immediately passed on the offer.
    “Be careful,” I told her. “You’re sending Misa off to live in Limousin and depriving yourself of her company in Paris.”
    “Yes, I know that, but I’m doing it for her, not for me. Anyway, I’ll see her