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"He's very nice," I told her. She stared at me a
moment.
"He hasn't been this happy for a while. I should
tell you, since you have become an instant member of
the family, that Pierre, your father, suffers from periods of melancholia. Do you know what that is?" I shook my head. "He falls into deep depressions from
time to time. Without warning," she added.
"Depressions?"
"Yes. He can lock himself away for hours, days
even, and not want to see or speak to anyone. You can
be speaking to him and suddenly, he'll take on a faroff look and leave you in midsentence. Later, he won't
remember doing it," she said. I shook my head. It
seemed incredible that this man with whom I had just
spent several happy hours could be described as she
had described him.
"Sometimes, he'll lock himself in his office and
play this dreadfully mournful music. I've had doctors
prescribe medications, but he doesn't like taking
anything.
"His mother was like that," she continued. "The
Dumas family history is clouded with unhappy
events."
"I know. He told me about his younger
brother," I said. She looked up sharply.
"He told you already? That's what I mean," she
said, shaking her head. "He can't wait to go into these
dreadful things and depress everyone."
"He didn't depress me although it was a very sad story," I said. Her lips tightened and her eyes
narrowed. She didn't like being contradicted. "I suppose he described it as a boating
accident," she said.
"Yes. Wasn't it?"
