dary: his eternal suspense between a romantic and realistic attitude toward life. For the moment, he mused, he was pursuing a quixotic goal, making his way towards it by an avenue paved with solid realities.
An air from the fortune-telling scene in the evening's opera came into his head, and as he undressed he softly hummed it:
"Et maintenant, parlez mes belles; de l'avenir donnez-nous des nouvelles. Dites-nous qui nous trahira; dites-nous qui nous aimera."
He was buoyed up with youthful confidence. Why consult cards to ascertain who would fall in love with one, and who betray? Every creature was a potential lover and a potential traitor. One had only to inspire the love and forestall the treachery as the case might require. An unfair game? Not unless one deliberately cheated. There were well-recognized rules, with a certain margin allowed for insidious graces. Besides, if the end were a good end, one gave oneself the benefit of the doubt where means were concerned. Paul was convinced that the end, in this case—which consisted in helping to solidify the welfare of a man who had gone out of his way to rescue him—was an end worth attaining by any means at his disposal.
In bed the music of the card scene kept running in his head:
"Dans le livre d'en haut si ta page est heureuse, mêle et coupe sans peur; la carte sous tes doigts se tournera joyeuse, t'annonçant le bonheur.
"Mais si tu dois mourir, si le mot redoutable est écrit par le sort, recommence vingt fois, la carte impitoyable répètera la mort."
It was grim. Now that the lights were turned out and the resplendent dress suit put aside, he felt less sanguine. What could a single man's fanciful darts avail against the stone walls of worldliness! And when that
