Chapter 33 Thirty-three

Two or three days later, Dirk Stroeve came to see me. "I heard you saw Blanche?" he said. "How do you know?" "Someone saw you sitting with them and told me. Why didn't you tell me?" "I'm afraid it will hurt you." "What does it matter if it hurts me? You must know, as long as it is about her, even the most trivial thing, I want to know." I waited for him to ask me questions. "What is she like now?" he asked. "It hasn't changed at all." "Do you think she looks happy?" I shrugged. "How should I know? We were in a café and I was playing chess with Strickland. I had no chance of talking to her."

"Ah, but can't you tell from her face?" I shook my head.I could only tell him what came to my mind: she revealed to me neither words nor gestures any of her feelings.He must have known better than I what her power of self-control was.Dirk clasped his hands together emotionally. "Oh, I'm very afraid. I know something is going to happen, something terrible, but I can't stop it." "What's going to happen?" I asked. "Oh, I don't know," he moaned, throwing his head in his hands, "I foresee a terrible disaster." Stroeve, who had always been easily excitable, was now almost insane.I couldn't reason with him at all.I think it is quite probable that Blanche Stroeve found it impossible to live with Strickland any longer, but the common saying, "You've got yourself," is the most unreasonable thing.What life experience shows us is that although people continue to do things that are bound to cause disaster, they can always find a way to escape the consequences of these stupid things.When Blanche had quarreled with Strickland, she had no choice but to leave him, while her husband waited humbly, ready to forgive her and forget the past.I have no great sympathy for Blanche.

"You know you don't like her," said Stroeve. "At the end of the day, there's no sign yet that she's unhappy. From what we know, the two may be living as husband and wife." Stroeve glared at me with his sad eyes. "Of course, it doesn't matter to you, but to me it's very important, extremely important." If I looked a little impatient or not serious enough, I was a little sorry for Stroeve. "Would you like to do something for me?" Stroeve asked me. "willing." "Will you write a letter to Blanche for me?"

"Why don't you write it yourself?" "I've written countless letters. I've thought she wouldn't answer. I guess she doesn't read the ones I write." "You don't take a woman's curiosity into account. Do you think she can resist her own?" "She has no curiosity—for me." I took a quick look at him.He lowered his eyelids.His answer sounded strangely self-defeating to me.He clearly realized that she was extremely indifferent to him, and she didn't have the slightest reaction when she saw his handwriting. "Do you really believe that one day she will come back to you?" I asked.

"I want her to know that she can count on me in case anything unfortunate happens. That's all I want you to write to her." I took out a piece of letter paper. "What exactly are you trying to say?" Here is the letter I wrote: