"
He stops speaking to look at the view of Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, now
wholly illuminated.
"Same with the kid; when she found herself alongside a simpleton
that doesn't tell her to go and play with herself, she ends by
wanting to get on his knee. Perhaps she'd prefer that it was her
uncle or a friend or her father--perhaps--but she tries it on all
the same with the only man that's always there, even if it's a great
hog in spectacles.
"Ah," he cries, as he gets up and comes gesticulating before me.
"There's a good answer one could give me. If I didn't come back from
the war, I should say, 'My lad, you've gone to smash, no more
Clotilde, no more love! You'll be replaced in her heart sooner or
later; no getting round it; your memory, the portrait of you that
she carries in her, that'll fade bit by bit and another'll come on
top of it, and she'll begin another life again.' Ah, if I didn't
come back!"
He laughs heartily. "But I mean to come back. Ah, yes! One must be
there. Otherwise--I must be there, look you," he says again more
seriously; "otherwise, if you're not there, even if you're dealing
with saints and angels, you'll be at fault in the end. That's life.
But I am there." He laughs. "Well, I'm a little there, as one might
say!"
I get up too, and tap him on the shoulder. "You're right, old pal,
it'll all come to an end."
He rubs his hands and goes on talking. "Yes, by God! it'll all
finish, don't worry.
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