ght which inundated the landscape. He saw his twenty years
of cafe life--dull, monotonous, heartbreaking. He might have traveled as
others did, have gone among foreigners, to unknown countries beyond the
sea, have interested himself somewhat in everything which other men are
passionately devoted to, in arts and science; he might have enjoyed life
in a thousand forms, that mysterious life which is either charming or
painful, constantly changing, always inexplicable and strange. Now,
however, it was too late. He would go on drinking "bock" after "bock"
until he died, without any family, without friends, without hope,
without any curiosity about anything, and he was seized with a feeling
of misery and a wish to run away, to hide himself in Paris, in his cafe
and his lethargy! All the thoughts, all the dreams, all the desires
which are dormant in the slough of stagnating hearts had reawakened,
brought to life by those rays of sunlight on the plain.

Parent felt that if he were to remain there any longer he should lose
his reason, and he made haste to get to the Pavilion Henri IV for lunch,
to try and forget his troubles under--the influence of wine and alcohol,
and at any rate to have some one to speak to.

He took a small table in one of the arbors, from which one can see all
the surrounding country, ordered his lunch, and asked to be served at
once. Then some more people arrived and sat down at tables near him. He
felt more comfortable; he was no longer alone. Three persons were eating
luncheon near him. He looked at them two or three times without seeing
them clearly, as one looks at total strangers. Suddenly a woman's voice
sent a shiver through him which seemed to penetrate to his very marrow.
"George," it said, "will you carve the chicken?"

And another voice replied: "Yes, mamma."

Parent looked up, and he understood; he guessed immediately who those
people were! He should certainly not have known them again. His wife had
grown quite white and very stout, an elderly, serious, respectable lady,
and she held her head forward as she ate for fear of spotting her dress,
although she had a table napkin tucked under her chin. George had become
a man. He had a slight beard, that uneven and almost colorless
beard which adorns the cheeks of youths. He wore a high hat, a white
waistcoat, and a monocle, because it looked swell, no doubt. Parent
looked at him in astonishment. Was that George, his son? No, he did
not know that