Up to that day he had turned away with horror from the accursed past and sought forgetfulness mainly in the excitement of his reckless bravery.
Suddenly, with the awakening of love, had come the strongest temptation that could check a man in the path of regeneration. He could win this beautiful girl and lead her to the altar, and all the world would commend that union of beauty and courage. It was a splendid dream, was that marriage, and for a moment he was dazzled by it. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again he beheld under the halo which crowned the woman he loved, strange letters and figures forming a word and a number: "Cayenne, 3213."
And now he had said his last word. Yes, he had had the courage to go away. He had had the further courage, compared with which the first was easy, the supreme courage, to say to himself: "No woman can marry me."
It was a fine gesture. He might suffer beyond measure, but he could look the convict settlement in the face without a blush. And that, at all events, was something. . . .
It was something to be able to say to himself: "I come from prison, from that vile, ignominious place. I have been an outcast from the world, an accursed being without a name, save the name that lies in the mouths of miscreants, and they called me 'lag,' 'lifer,' 'old offender.' . . . They called me the Nut, and now I am called Didier d'Haumont, but I . . . I call myself an honest man."
Such were the thoughts which were passing through his mind when the train arrived in Paris.
He alighted from the carriage, carrying his bag, and hurried through the yard leading into the street, towards the only taxi which stood on the rank near the iron gates.
At this juncture he was joined by the traveler who had entered his compartment and who, in the course of the journey, had vainly endeavored to engage him in conversation.
"Captain, my car has been sent to the station for me. Will you allow me to drive you home?"
Didier was on the point of accepting the offer, which seemed to come at the right moment, but suddenly, without any other reason than that of caution, which, in his case, kept him continually on the alert, he declined. He did not know this man who wished to make himself so agreeable. Didier's motto was to be suspicious of everybody and everything.