She gazed at him, but was more
absorbed in herself than in him, absorbed in a gradual change which was
taking place within her, and which was making her different, making her
irrecognisable to herself; a still confused and blind sense of immense
truth, which was being borne in upon her, in mysterious ways, and
which strained painfully at the innermost fibres of her heart. Her
brother-in-law's religious arguments might have troubled her mind, but
they had never touched her heart. Why was it touched now? And how? What
had that pale, emaciated man said, after all? Ah I but the look, the
voice, the-what else? Something it was impossible to grasp. Perhaps
a presentiment--But of what? _Ma! Chi sa?_ Who knows? A presentiment of
some future bond between this man and herself. She had followed him, had
entered the church that she might not lose the opportunity of speaking
to him, and now she was almost afraid of him. And then to talk to him of
Jeanne! Had Jeanne understood him? How had Jeanne, loving him, been able
to resist the current of higher thought which was in him, which perhaps,
at that time, was latent, but which a Jeanne should have felt? What had
she loved? The lower man? If she, Noemi, spoke with him, she would speak
not only of Jeanne, but of religion also.
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