much shame that they would turn away from me with
horror as from a mangy dog. . . . I quickened my
pace, rolling up the collar of my overcoat. . . . The
grocery owner, named Madame Henriette, who in the
past used to stuff me with cake, was standing in front
of her store and talking to her neighbors. . . . I was
afraid they might be talking about me and, leaving the
sidewalk I took to the roadway. . . . Fortunately a
cart passed by, the noise of which drowned the words
of these women: The Presbytery. . . the Convent of
the Sisters. . . the church. . . the Priory! . . . At
this hour the Priory was nothing but a huge black
mass in the sky. . . . My heart failed me. . . . I had
to lean against one of the posts of the gate to catch
my breath. . . . A few steps away the forest murmured, its dull voice growing in amplitude, angry, like the raging roar of breakers. . . .
Marie and Felix were waiting for me. . . . Marie older and more wrinkled, Felix, more stooping and shaking his head more than ever. . . .
"Ah! Monsieur Jean! . . . Monsieur Jean! . . ." And forthwith taking possession of my valise, Marie said:
"You ought to be pretty hungry by this time, Monsieur Jean! . . . I have some soup for you, the kind you used to like, and then I have put a nice chicken on the spit."
"Thank you!" I said. "I shall not dine."
I would have liked to embrace both of them, to open my arms for them, to cry upon their old, parched faces. . . And instead! my voice was harsh, trenchant. I uttered "I shall not dine" in the manner of a threat. They looked at me somewhat frightened, but never stopped repeating:
"Ah! Monsieur Jean! . . . It has been such a long
