"Monsieur Rampaille is rich now, because of the War."
Then it was a woman, dressed in fluttering white and blue, disappearing round the corner of a house:
"That's Antonia Véron. She's been in the Red Cross service. She's got a decoration because of the War."
"Ah!" I said, "everything's changed."
Now we are in sight of the house. The distance between the corner of the street and the house seems to me smaller than it should be. The court comes to an end suddenly; its shape looks shorter than it is in reality. In the same way, all the memories of my former life appear dwindled to me.
The house, the rooms. I have climbed the stairs and come down again, watched by Marie. I have recognized everything; some things even which I did not see. There is no one else but us two in the falling night, as though people had agreed not to show themselves yet to this man who comes back.
"There—now we're at home," says Marie, at last.
We sit down, facing each other.
"What are we going to do?"
"We're going to live."