Page:Gide - Strait is the Gate.pdf/167

165 STRAIT IS THE GATE

She stayed a few moments in the shadow, stooping down, as if she were engaged in taking the measurements of a chair cover, then she left the room abruptly, and did not return till later, when she brought in the tray with the cup of tisane which my uncle was in the habit of taking every evening. The next day she changed neither the way of doing her hair nor her dress; seated beside her father on a bench in front of the house, she went on with the mending on which she had already been engaged the evening before. On the bench or the table beside her was a great basket full of stockings and socks into which she dipped. A few days later it was towels and sheets. This work absorbed her, it seemed, to such a pitch that every gleam of expression vanished from her lips and her eyes. “Alissa!" I exclaimed the first evening, almost terrified by this obliteration of all poetry from her face, which I could hardly recognise, and at which I had been gazing for some moments without her seeming to feel my look. "What is it?" said she, raising her head. "I wanted to see if you would hear me. Your thoughts seemed so far away from me.”