The cabman looked surprised when ordered to return. He turned and regarded his fare with amazement.
"Quai de la Fraternité," I said.
"Hup, alors!" The cabby shrugged his shoulders. And they trotted ploddingly through the dusk of Pontius Pilate to the burning cloud which was Marseilles....
§ 5
He knew he should meet her again, and where he should meet her, and he did, on the Prado. He knew when. In the Midi dusk. A touch of mistral was out, and the wind blew seaward. She was sitting down, looking toward Africa.
"You oughtn't to come out here alone," he said. "Marseilles is a bad port."
"I know," she said. "I know. But it draws me, this spot. You leave soon?" she asked.
"In a few days."
"But you will be back."
"Yes, I will be back," he told her. "I don't know why, but I think I'd rather die than not see Marseilles again. It is a second home, and yet I know so few people here."