- Venezia...
- I confessed my love to him. And he thanked me for my feelings and for his unforgettable moments. Then he asked me to leave. He was simply unable to lie. Neither to others nor to himself. And I left, with only his incomparable moments and a painting of me as a gift.
- A painting that André discovered.
- Just today. Hence his anger, which I would describe as legitimate.
- But it is only a memory.
- He has probably long since forgotten me. Twenty years is a long time, especially for the young man he was, just standing on the threshold of life, having a simple affair with a woman twice his age who loved him beyond all words.
Ariadne blinked and swallowed.
- I'm sorry.
- I'm sorry, too. I'll never see him again. But his memory will always remain. Like the terrible pain. And I had to go on living. And I succeeded, especially with André.
Ariane sighed briefly and smiled.
- Then perhaps that's just what André would like to hear.
