She lay there, motionless on her bed, with the familiar, all-too-familiar phrase: "I love you." Three thin, pale words, it turned out. The seven letters barely stood out against the sheer brightness of the sheets. It was as if the little phrase were smiling at us. It was as if she were speaking to us: "I'm a little tired. Apparently, I've been working too hard. I need to rest a bit." "Come, come, I love you," Mr. Henri replied to her, "I've known you. Ever since you've existed. You're strong. A few days' rest and you'll be back on your feet." Mr. Henri was as moved as I was. Everyone says and repeats "I love you." We have to be careful with words. Not repeat them at random. Or use them haphazardly, to each other, while telling lies. Otherwise, the words wear out. And sometimes it's too late to save them."