Marriage!—and no woman by to tell the child what it was! The shocks and disillusions she would have to meet unsuspectingly—and bitterly. . Presently. ’ ‘Parbleu, it is I who am the idiot?’ she scolded furiously, removing one hand and digging it into her sleeve. “Yes, I see that. He refused to believe that Anna was not ‘Alcide. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. Kneebone assured her that he did say so; and, as a further proof of his sincerity, squeezed her hand very warmly under the table.
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