Andre-Louis had won safely out of Paris last night with his mother
and Aline, and to-day they were to set out all of them for Coblenz.
To Andre-Louis, sauntering there with hands clasped behind him and
head hunched between his shoulders - for life had never been richer
in material for reflection - came presently Aline through one of
the glass doors from the library.
"You're early astir," she greeted him.
"Faith, yes. I haven't been to bed. No," he assured her, in answer
to her exclamation. "I spent the night, or what was left of it,
sitting at the window thinking."
"My poor Andre!"
"You describe me perfectly. I am very poor - for I know nothing,
understand nothing. It is not a calamitous condition until it is
realized. Then... " He threw out his arms, and let them fall again.
His face she observed was very drawn and haggard.
She paced with him along the old granite balustrade over which the
geraniums flung their mantle of green and scarlet.
"Have you decided what you are going to do?" she asked him.
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