...of preoccupation

He now knocked gently on the door. There was no answer. Not daring to knock more loudly in the prevailing silence, he pushed open the door. Riviere was there. For the first time Robineau entered into Riviere's office almost on an equal footing, a bit like a friend. He felt a bit like a sergeant who joins the wounded general under fire, stands by him in defeat, and behaves like a brother to him in exile. 'Whatever happens, I am with you,' Robineau seemed to say.

Riviere spoke not a word; his head bowed, he was looking at his hands. Robineau standing before him, dared not speak. Even stricken, the old lion daunted him. Expressions of loyalty, of ever more rapt devotion kept mounting to his lips, but each time he raised his eyes he encountered the grey hair, the head three-quarters bowed, the lips tight-sealed over their bitter potion. Finally he screwed up his courage:

'Monsieur le Directeur...'

[Night Flight, Saint-Exupery, A. d.]