Still, it’s strange that Guillaume didn’t do more to get her back. She’s baffled by this. He had suffered a terrible blow, of course, when she told him about her passion for Jude the Obscure: but after that? Why did he lend so much credence to her story? Why didn’t he just say to himself: I’ll place my body between them, I’ll lead Anna away, I’ll take her on a trip somewhere, move her out of harm’s way and get her back? In the past, the moment a tiny thunderstorm appeared on the horizon he would leap into action, with Anna under his arm; nothing, but nothing, could be allowed to jeopardize their great romance. So why hadn’t he intervened this time round? Had he immediately thrown in the towel — this man who never gave in? Had he panicked, overwhelmed by the novelty of the situation? Or had he simply grown a little tired of this relationship where there was never a cloud? Were she to question him about this, he would undoubtedly reply, “No, no, it’s not that at all.” But why had he made so little effort of late? Why had he made so little effort to please her and charm her? Did he think she’d be smitten with him forever? Yet it wasn’t like him to rest on his laurels. Impulsive, overflowing with life, Guillaume always wanted to explore new paths, to push on just for the pleasure of advancing and feeling himself at work. What on earth had happened in the secrecy of his soul that he should let go of Anna and allow her to escape? Might there have also been another woman? Or had he, too — since they were so well-aligned that even the most trivial incidents in their lives ran curiously parallel much of the time — found himself at a turning, a crossroads, at precisely the same moment as her? Perhaps he was just desperate to break away? Perhaps things weren’t so awful after all?