'I don't sleep,' he said hurriedly. 'It's the noise. The Nord station is never quiet. Well, mind you've got to bring that off. Keep the papers safe. Good-bye, for a long time'.
'I can come over when I want?' she said half sullenly.
'Yes,' he assented, 'but you won't want.'
He drew her by the hand with a solemn tremulous feeling, and kissed her on the cheek. He would have liked to give her their father's dying letter. It was there, in his coat-pocket. But he shrank from the emotion of it. No, he must go. He had done all he could.
She opened the door for him, and took him to the garden-gate in silence.
'When I'm married,' she said shortly, 'if ever I am—Lord knows! —you can tell Uncle Reuben and Dora?'
'Yes. Good-bye.'
The gate closed behind him. He went away, hurrying towards the Auteuil station.
When he landed again in the Paris streets, he stood irresolute.
'One more look,' he said to himself, 'one more.'