Chapter 26 Section 25

One Saturday morning, she opened the window and saw the spotless blue sky outside the window.She felt refreshed and frightened, as if she was in a fairyland.She said to Jean-Marc, who was about to leave: "What do you think my poor Britannica is doing these days?" "why?" "Is he still that horny? Is he still alive?" "Why do you think of him?" "I do not know either." Jean-Marc was gone, leaving her alone at home.She went to the bathroom, then to the closet.She wants to dress herself up beautifully.She looked at the shelves.Suddenly something caught her attention.On the underwear rack, she saw her shawl neatly folded on top of a pile of clothes.In front of her, she remembered that she just threw it there last time.Has anyone tidied up her things?The cleaning lady comes once a week, but she never touches her hangers.She was amazed by her genius observation ability, and told herself that the cultivation of this observation ability was all due to the days spent in that country tree villa a few years ago.At this time, she always felt that someone was watching her, so she learned to remember how she put her things.In this way, she can also see small changes after others have touched her things.She was glad that those days were finally over.She looked in the mirror with satisfaction, left the room, went downstairs, opened the mailbox, and there was another new letter waiting for her.She put the letter in her bag and wondered where to read it.She walked into a small, secluded street park and sat down under a huge linden tree whose autumn canopy-like crown gleamed in the sun.

"...your heels on the pavement, reminding me of roads I haven't walked. That thought stretches like a tree's weight. You know, my boyhood dream is awakened by you: I Think of the life in front of me as a tree. I used to call it the tree of possibilities. We used to see life that way for a short period of time. Later, we saw it as a trail stretching far, a A tunnel that no one can get out of. The ancient tree elves are with us in the form of deep-rooted memories. You remind me of this tree. In return, I will tell you what it looks like. You hear its whispers Yet?" She looked up.Above her head, the branches of the linden tree stretched out like a ceiling decorated with bird patterns.She suddenly felt that it was like the tree mentioned in the letter.The imaginary tree merged with the imaginary rose in her mind.She thought: I must go home.Before leaving, she turned her head again and glanced at the linden tree.

In fact, the fantasy rose of her adolescence had not brought her many adventures, it had not even brought her any special changes-except for the ridiculous memory of the Englishman.That person is much older than her.He has been in this company at least ten years ago.He begged her for half an hour of love.Later, she learned that he is a man who is famous for chasing women, a complete satyr.The accident had no repercussions, except that it later became a joke for Jean-Marc (that is, he nicknamed the guy: Brittany), and let her know some special meanings: for example, "carnival" Contrasted with the word "British", it represents both pleasant and evil.

On the way home, the chirping of the birds on the linden tree kept ringing in her ears.The image of that lecherous old man from England kept appearing in front of her eyes.Surrounded by those images, she walked briskly back to the street where she lived.Fifty meters ahead, on the sidewalk, there was a table belonging to a small bar, and her young correspondent was sitting there alone, neither reading a book nor a newspaper, just sitting there, what? Neither did.In front of him is a glass of red wine.He looked up at the sky with a contented, lazy expression very similar to Chantal's.Her heart started pounding.How ingeniously the whole thing was arranged!How did he know that she would meet him after reading the letter?Chantal felt as if she were naked in a crimson cloak.She angrily walks up to him, the spy spying on her private life.She was only a few steps away from him, and she was waiting for him to speak to herself, what should she do?She did not expect such an encounter.But she can't run away like a timid girl, she slows down and tries not to look at him (God, she really acts like a little girl, does that mean she's old ?) But strangely enough, he was still looking at the sky, as indifferent as the glass of red wine in front of him.He didn't seem to see her.

She has passed him, and is far away from him.She continued walking in the direction of the apartment.Didn't Du Barrou dare?Or is he restraining himself?But no, no, his indifference was so real that Chantal could not doubt it at all: she was wrong, how ridiculously wrong she was.