o the silent street; it seemed to him,
momentarily forgetful of the hour, like a city of the dead into which
he had wandered.

As he turned, from habit, towards the Park, the great houses on his
right frowned down upon him lightless and lifeless. The broad
pavement, pressed a few hours ago, and so soon to be pressed again by
the steps of an innumerable multitude, was deserted; his own footfall
seemed to awaken a strange and curiously persistent echo, as though
some one were indeed following him on the opposite side of the way
under the shadow of the drooping lime trees. Once he stopped and
listened. The footsteps ceased too. There was no one! With a faint
smile at the illusion to which he had for a moment yielded, he
continued his walk.

Before him the outline of the arch stood out with gloomy distinctness
against a cold, lowering background of vapourous sky. Like a man who
was still half dreaming, he crossed the road and entered the Park,
making his way towards the trees. There was a spot about half-way
down, where, in the afternoons, he usually sat. Near it he found two
chairs, one on top of the other; he removed the upper one and sat
down, crossing his legs and lighting a cigarette which he took from
his case. Then in a transitory return of his ordinary state of mind he
laughed softly to himself. People would say that he was going mad.

Through half-closed eyes he looked out upon the broad drive. With the
aid of an imagination naturally powerful, he was passing with
marvellous facility into an unreal world of his own creation. The
scene remained the same, but the environment changed as though by
magic. Sunshine pierced the grey veil of clouds, gay voices and
laughter broke the chill silence. The horn of a four-in-hand sounded
from the corner, the path before him was thronged with men and women
whose rustling skirts brushed often against his knees as they made
their way with difficulty along the promenade. A glittering show of
carriages and coaches swept past the railings; the air was full of
the sound of the trampling of horses and the rolling of wheels. With a
mental restraint of which he was all the time half-conscious, he kept
back the final effort of his imagination for some time; but it came at
last.

A victoria, drawn by a single dark bay horse, with servants in quiet
liveries, drew up at the paling, and a woman leaning back amongst the
cushions looked out at him across the sea of faces as she had indeed