Love Story yet again, this time a soggy French import--with the roles reversed so that the man kicks the bucket while the woman soldiers on. Bernard Lorin-Vallee--a successful Parisian businessman, married to competent Colette, father of 19-year-old Sylvia and two young boys--flies to Switzerland to the established clinic of a Dr. Mahler for a check-up; but instead of a wise greybeard there's Dr. Hilde Mahler--30-ish, blonde, and disturbing. Hilde and Bernard strike flints, and the affair heats up culminating in a weekend at Hilde's family chalet, an enchanted confection with, inevitably, heart-shaped cut-outs on the wooden shutters. Hilde spins out Alpine lore, and peasants in dear peasant costumes march about. Then passion strikes, and in ""an instant of divine action"" Hilde becomes ""a woman gone mad . . . . What had become of her glasses, her Frau Doktor's white blouse?"" What indeed. And there are those amorous ""wild animal howls . . . no longer French, no longer German."" By the time Hilde quits yipping in tongues, they both know it's brand new and forever (though they fret about Colette and the kids). Then Frau Doktor, presumably be-spectacled again, learns the results of Bernard's lab tests: he's a goner. And after Colette tries for a second honeymoon and fails, the lovers meet for the last time. Bernard will expire at his desk in Paris murmuring to his secretary, ""You'll tell her. . . so gluklich, so happy."" So glutinous. . . so sappy.