"That's all I wanted to know," Julian said. "Valentine, shall we go?"
"By all means."
The landlord seemed relieved at their decision, and eagerly let them out into the pouring rain. When they were in the dismal strip of garden Julian turned and looked up at the lit windows of the bedroom on the first story. Marr was lying there in the bright illumination at ease, relieved of his soul. But, as Julian looked, the two windows suddenly grew dark. Evidently the economical landlord had hastened up, observed the waste of the material he had to pay for, and abruptly stopped it. At the gate they called a cab.
"No; let us have the glass up," Julian said; "a drop of rain more or less doesn't matter. And I want some air."
"So do I," said Valentine. "The atmosphere of that house was abominable."
"Of course there can be no two opinions as to its character," Julian said.
"Of course not."
"What a dreary place to die in!"
"Yes. But does it matter where one dies? I think not. I attach immense importance to where one lives."
"It seems horrible to come to an end in such a place, to have had that wretched Frenchman as the only witness of one's death. Still, I suppose it is only foolish sentiment. Valentine, did you notice how happy Marr looked?"