He understood how he was hurting that old man, but bitterness and hopelessness were crowding all tender feelings out of Farr at that moment. Once more he put on the mask of cynicism. He feared to show anybody the depths of his soul.
In the good woman's little sitting-room they found Zelie Dionne.
“I have stopped in to say good-by, Miss Zelie. I am going away. I'm sorry that the grand young man from Tadousac is not here.”
“He comes to sit with me in the evening. You shall wait and see him.”
“No, I must hurry on.”
“I have been reading about you.” She tapped the newspaper in her hand. “The boy just passed, crying the news. It is very wonderful what you have done. Now you will be the great man. But I knew all the time that you were much more than you seemed to be.”
“However, you don't seem to understand me just now,” he declared. “I am going away from this city—from this state. I am going to stay away.”
“Oui, he have say that thing to me,” said old Etienne, brokenly. “And I do not understand.”
“And I do not understand.”
“I'm tired—put it that way.”