THE TERRACE
661
birds you see in museums. And pardon the extravagance, but it's
true."
"Yes, a fishing bird," said Amer.
At that moment the orchestra was playing softly, with
muted instruments, and Arner kept still. Not a voice could be
heard on the terrace and the attorney admitted that it was true,
the director did look like a bird. But why stuffed?
Just then the director was thumbing his way through some
papers which he had removed from a small portfolio, and be–
tween his lips he was holding a silver pencil, crosswise. Now he
did have the profile of a bird with a fish in its beak.
Amer and Matilda continued dancing. The comer of a
tablecloth swaying in the breeze gave a sensation of pleasant
abandon. Matilda spoke:
"Since you are a doctor I'm going to confide in you."
Amer was about to tell her that he was not a medical doc–
tor, but she was speaking again:
"I am not insane," Matilda assured him.
Arner started talking about the errors of science. She shook
her head:
"No, that's not it. I am actually as sick as anybody else, but
at this moment I am as sane as you. I am only insane three or
four days every month. You can tell a doctor everything, can't
you? I'm only insane on my
lunar
days."
Amer was thinking that here was the first misunderstand–
ing of the evening. It was doubtless inevitable at a party of men–
tal patients, and this remark about lunar days must be common
among nurses and doctors. He looked at her eyes and saw in her
an immense trust. At that moment he heard an echo--the echo
of the orchestra-in some distant comer of the terrace, in some
fold of the high night.
Matilda waited for Arner to say something.
"Doesn't my sickness seem odd to you?" she asked.
"No. I don't believe that yours is a real sickness," Amer
ventured.
