much shame that they would turn away from me with horror as from a mangy dog. ... I quickened my pace, rolling up the collar of my overcoat. . . . The grocery owner, named Madame Henriette, who in the past used to stuff me with cake, was standing in front of her store and talking to her neighbors. ... I was afraid they might be talking about me and, leaving the sidewalk I took to the roadway. ... Fortunately a cart passed by, the noise of which drowned the words of these women : The Presbytery. . . the Convent of the Sisters. . . the church. . . the Priory! ... At this hour the Priory was nothing but a huge black mass in the sky. . . . My heart failed me. ... I had to lean against one of the posts of the gate to catch my breath. ... A few steps away the forest murmured, its dull voice growing in amplitude, angry, like the raging roar of breakers. . . .

Marie and Felix were waiting for me. . . . Marie older and more wrinkled, Felix, more stooping and shaking his head more than ever. . . .

" Ah ! Monsieur Jean ! . . . Monsieur Jean ! . . ." And forthwith taking possession of my valise, Marie said:

" You ought to be pretty hungry by this time, Monsieur Jean! ... I have some soup for you, the kind you used to like, and then I have put a nice chicken on the spit."

" Thank you ! " I said. " I shall not dine."

I would have liked to embrace both of them, to open my arms for them, to cry upon their old, parched faces. . . And instead ! my voice was harsh, trenchant. I uttered " I shall not dine " in the manner of a threat. They looked at me somewhat frightened, but never stopped repeating:

" Ah ! Monsieur Jean ! ... It has been such