that: they never understand each other as long as there is no love; and, when there is no love and no understanding, there is bitterness . . . oh, and often hatred! . . . No, it was not hatred yet, it was bitterness: I knew it. Don't cry: the bitterness couldn't be helped. We did not reach each other across that bitterness. . . . Also you were young still, dear, and it was I who had to go to you on Henri's birthday . . . and yet I do not believe that there was any wrong on my side. Tell me, was there any wrong on my side? Was it not your bitter, implacable youth that refused the reconciliation? . . . Hush, don't cry: reconciliation always comes, sooner or later; sooner or later, all bitterness melts away . . . if not here . . . then there. . . . But with you and me, dear, it is here. With you and me it is here. I am certain that you gradually felt the bitter grudge melting away in you, because you learnt to understand . . . learnt to understand that old people have different ideas from young people; you learnt to understand their ideas, the ideas of the older people, folk before your time, old-fashioned folk, my dear. You learnt to understand them; and your soul became more gently disposed towards them . . . and you said to yourself, 'I understand them: they could not be any different.' You can even understand, can't you, dear, that the old man has not yet, has not even now forgiven and forgotten as completely as I forgave and forgot,
