For it was conceivable that one day they would be too
strong and too proud to play the part of tragic buffoons in a senseless
farce.
In the meantime men might well be pitiful with one another.
"What was it she had said?"
"Nothing that you've gone through is of any use if it hasn't taught you
pity."
("Oh, Francey, Francey, if I had told you that Christine was dead would
it have helped? Would you have had more patience with me?")
The quiet and emptiness of his own street restored him in some measure
to his aloof scepticism. But even then he knew there was a disruptive
force secretly at work in him, tearing down stone by stone his
confidence and courage. He was afraid of shadows. A bowed figure
crouched against the railings of his house checked him as though a
ghost had lain in wait for him. He passed it hurriedly, running up the
stone steps. The sound of a thin, clear voice calling him made him
turn again, his head thrown up in a sort of defiance.
"Monsieur--excuse--excuse--I wait 'ere so long. They tell me you come
back 'ere perhaps. But they don't know I 'ave come. I creep out----
Monsieur she cannot sleep--she cannot sleep. They don't do nothing.
It is not right. I cannot 'ave it--that she suffer so."
He came back down the steps. He was conscious of having sighed deeply.
He looked into the shrivelled, up-turned face, and saw the tears that
filled the furrows with a slow moving stream. He had hardly noticed
her before.
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