cold, with no scruples, clear-sighted and admirably courageous, and indubitably enemies of society.
"I don't understand," I said. "But de Mersch then?"
She made a little gesture; one of those movements that I best remember of her; the smallest, the least noticeable. It reduced de Mersch to nothing; he no longer even counted.
"Oh, as for him," she said, "he is only a detail." I had still the idea that she spoke with a pitying intonation—as if she were speaking to a dog in pain. "He doesn't really count; not really. He will crumble up and disappear, very soon. You won't even remember him."
"But," I said, "you go about with him, as if you . . . You are getting yourself talked about . . . Everyone thinks—" . . . The accusation that I had come to make seemed impossible, now I was facing her. "I believe," I added, with the suddenness of inspiration. "I'm certain even, that he thinks that you . . ."
"Well, they think that sort of thing. But it is only part of the game. Oh, I assure you it is no more than that."
[187]
