the lyrics for his songs deep inside me. What's more, they seemed so familiar to me that I only had to read them once or twice to learn them by heart.

Sometimes my words sound so bizarre;

On and on they go about the things I've felt.

Then comes your look to make my poor heart melt.

Sometimes I laugh just a little too much.

You don't get it at all.

You look at me appalled.

Don't ask too many questions.

The answer's in my eyes.

Between us lies the reason why.

Don't make me tell you everything,

'Cause you already know.

Everything I do today I do because I love you so.

As I sang, I'd tell myself: "He can't not understand." I spent my days and nights wondering what he was thinking, where his heart was, if he knew that I loved him, and how he could ignore it, and if he still loved Anne-Renee, if they made love together a lot ...

For the first time in five years, we had no upcoming project or tour, no show in France or Quebec, no TV appearances. We made the album C'est pour toi almost mechanically, without put­ting much heart or time into it—and without much hope inside our­selves. What is more, Rene didn't seem to be in a hurry to organize the publicity campaign as he had been in the past.

It was because he had other projects in mind for me that he had been thinking about for a long time. One evening he revealed them

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to me, a few days before the Adisq award ceremonies where I'd tri­umphed as the crying machine that couldn't be turned off.

He had decided that we were going to stop things cold.

"For how long?" I asked.

"For as long as it takes."

"As long as what takes?"

"For our luck to return."

"It's your wife that's left you, not luck."

He laughed. I liked his laugh, even when he sounded sad.

He reminded me about his theory of patterns, about bad things never coming alone, as well as victories and defeats. And that you needed to hide away for a while, take some time off, not act when you knew you were in danger, when you knew you'd make some foolish mistakes.

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