A roar of laughter drowned conversation, and Paul groped his way along the passage, still clutching the red berries. He reached the door. Then he reconsidered the matter. He crept back to her bedroom. He placed the berries under the coverlet, and taking a sheet of paper, he wrote one word on it: “Good-by.”
He placed this on the berries, and then stole out into the night.
Paul was then twenty-two, and his life was finished. He was a crushed and broken man. He wandered the streets of Paris all night. He spent hours grimly watching the encircling waters of the Seine, the friend and comforter of so many broken hearts. At dawn he returned to his own apartment. He slept for several hours, and then woke up in a fever. He was very ill for some weeks.
But one must not despair forever. At the end of that time, he pulled himself together, and went out and sought employment. He eventually got a situation as a junior clerk in a wholesale store, and he went back to live at the old pension near the Luxembourg, and he resumed his friendship with Lucile. And in two years’ time he married Lucile. And then his life began. His life began. His life began. And lo! here was Lucile walking slowly up the hill, arm-in-arm with her daughter Louise. Yes, his life began....
“Ah! there you are! What did I say?” exclaimed Louise. “He’s been asleep!”
“And we’ve had such an interesting time,” added Madame Roget, panting with exertion. “We’ve been to the inn.”
“And there’s such a pretty girl there,” continued the daughter. “You’d fall in love with her, papa.”
“Is she very dark?” asked Monsieur Roget.
“Yes, she has blue-black hair and beautiful dark eyes.”
“Good God!”