“Andree!...”
He was face to face with the inexorability of the postponed decision. There was no time to work matters out gradually now, to hope for some miraculous solution. He must decide; he must answer yes or no.... What should he do about Andree?... Within twenty-four hours he must determine if she was to remain in his life, or if they had reached a point in the journey where one must turn to the right and one to the left to follow roads that never joined again on earth. He must determine whether or not he should marry Andree and take her home. It would be possible. There was time. He felt sure he could obtain the necessary permission to have her accompany him on the transport because he knew women were constantly returning on transports. Even failing that, she could demand her passport as his wife as a newly made citizen of the United States and go to America by way of Bordeaux and the French line.... But only as his wife could she cross the ocean; in no other way could she obtain the essential passport....
So that became the one question—to marry or not to marry!
If he did not take her with him, then what? How could he tell her?... What would she do if she discovered that she had lost him? There came to him a vision of the bridges crossing the Seine ... and it was harrowing!
The breaking of evil news is, perhaps, the most feared task that can fall to man. He fears it as he fears no other demand that can be made upon him.... It was inevitable that Ken should consider eluding such a black responsibility. Why not? It would be perfectly simple.... He was to see Andree to-morrow night. Well, there was no need to see her, and the night after that he would be on the train for Brest. He could step out of her life without a word, abandon her without farewell.... It would remove all complications—except the complication of conscience. It was a temptation which did not persist. Kendall Ware was no hero, but he was immeasurably above such an act of black cowardice. Besides, he could not bear to go without seeing her again ... if the decision were to leave her.
He must decide....
It was a sentence from which there could be no reprieve, implacable, inevitable. He had arrived at the most critical, the most momentous crisis in his life ... and nowhere could he turn for help. He stood alone, sole judge and executioner. There was no jury to pronounce verdict, no expert who could advise. He—Kendall Ware—must speak the word.... Never had he been so conscious of himself as an individual, of his existence as a distinct entity, of himself. It frightened him—that idea of himself as a responsible thing, of which life could require decisions. For the first time he realized the meaning of the words “free will” and he resented them. God had endowed him with the perilous gift of freedom to mold his own life, and he felt a cowardly resentment toward God.... But the stark fact was there. There was no avoiding it. There must be a choice, some choice ... and the combined populations of the earth could not take it out of his hands....
He was thankful for some minor matters of routine which would demand his attention until noon. After that he would be relieved from duty, with no occupation but to make ready for his departure.... It was a trifling postponement and he welcomed it eagerly. At eleven-thirty he left the office and walked down the Champs Élysées, almost for the last time. He pretended that he was walking aimlessly, but it was not true. He had a destination, and that destination was 12 rue d’Aguesseau and Maude Knox.
It was not that he felt the necessity of seeing Maude Knox, but that he wanted to talk to somebody, to talk to somebody who might have some understanding of his plight. It was not advice he sought so much as sympathy. Maude was the sort of person he could talk to, and talk was necessary.... He waited in the archway of the building until she came down.
“Well?” she said, in some surprise.