gesture of indifference tinged with bitterness.

'Bah! what does it matter? Well, there's nothing hereafter. We are even
madder than the fools who kill themselves for a woman. When the earth
splits to pieces in space like a dry walnut, our works won't add one
atom to its dust.'

'That's quite true,' summed up Sandoz, who was very pale. 'What's the
use of trying to fill up the void of space? And to think that we know
it, and that our pride still battles all the same!'

They left the restaurant, roamed about the streets, and foundered again
in the depths of a cafe, where they philosophised. They had come by
degrees to raking up the memories of their childhood, and this ended
by filling their hearts with sadness. One o'clock in the morning struck
when they decided to go home.

However, Sandoz talked of seeing Claude as far as the Rue Tourlaque.
That August night was a superb one, the air was warm, the sky studded
with stars. And as they went the round by way of the Quartier de
l'Europe, they passed before the old Cafe Baudequin on the Boulevard des
Batignolles. It had changed hands three times. It was no longer arranged
inside in the same manner as formerly; there were now a couple of
billiard tables on the right hand; and several strata of customers had
followed each other thither, one covering the other, so that the old
frequenters had disappeared like buried nations. However, curiosity, the
emotion they had derived from all the past things they had been raking
up together, induced them to cross the boulevard and to glance into the
cafe through the open doorway. They wanted to see their table of yore,
on the left hand, right at the back of the room.

'Oh, look!' said Sandoz, stupefied.

'Gagniere!' muttered Claude.

It was indeed Gagniere, seated all alone at that table at the end of the
empty cafe. He must have come from Melun for one of the Sunday concerts
to which he treated himself; and then, in the evening, while astray in
Paris, an old habit of his legs had led him to the Cafe Baudequin. Not
one of the comrades ever set foot there now, and he, who had beheld
another age, obstinately remained there alone. He had not yet touched
his glass of beer; he was looking at it, so absorbed in thought that
he did not even stir when the waiters began piling the chairs on
the tables, in order that everything might be ready for the morrow's
sweeping.

The two friends hurried off, upset by the sight of that dim figure,
s