'It's so sad,'� she said, dabbing her eyes with the paper napkin as he placed the cappuccino before her.

'What is?'� he asked, knowing it was a mistake as soon as the words came out of his mouth. He breathed a sigh of relief, realising she had not heard him.

'Can you imagine what it would be like, to find out you are dying? I mean, to be so alive, and yet be told you have only a few days to live.'�

'Yes, dear.'� He felt the small box in his pocket, waiting for the right moment.

'You really could imagine? See yourself with only a few days to live?'�

'No, dear. But I can empathise. Put myself in that position for a short while, maybe.'� like now, with that burning question almost on his lips.

'Oh, it's so sad. Everything to live for, and life being taken away from you.'� Another dabbing. 'And so romantic in a way, too. I wish you could be like that, sometimes.'�

'Dying?'�

'Of course not! Why can't you write such beautiful poetry? Or at least recite it to me, when I'm feeling really down. Just like Robert did to Greta.'�

'Well'�'�

'Of course, you are romantic in your own way. But'�'�

'But you'd rather I was more like he was?'�

'Sometimes. But then, of course, I'd have to have this tragedy about to happen. Consumption or some such terrible disease.'�

'Medicine's very much'�'�

'Then you'd have to take me away to a sanatorium, somewhere in the Swiss Alps, nestled in a romantic canton.'�

'Yes, dear. I'd just whisk you off in my jet plane, and...'�

'And then we'd spend my last hours, gazing out at the magnificent mountains, and I'd pass away in your strong arms.'�

He shook his head. Wouldn't she just let him ask?

'And then, you'd be lonely for the rest of your life, searching always for a love like me and never finding one. And I'd be looking down on you, guiding you towards your second love.'�

'Yes, dear.'� He glanced out the window at a hobo wheedling for change, wishing he were out there instead.

'Why can't you be romantic like Robert?'� she sighed. 'Why can't you be so in love with me that you'd never need another woman? Why can't you die with me? You who are so young--where can you have learned all you know about women like me?'�

He gave a long resigned sigh.

'You men! So totally unfeeling!'�

'Marguerite! It was only a movie! Robert Taylor's been dead for nearly forty years!'� said Armand in exasperation. Obviously, tonight wasn't the right time to produce that little box and ask THE question...


The End...

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