hungry, and he went into a wine dealer's for dinner.

The meal was served in front of the store, on the sidewalk. It consisted
of some mutton, salad and asparagus. It was the best dinner that
Monsieur Leras had had in a long time. He washed down his cheese with
a small bottle of burgundy, had his after-dinner cup of coffee, a thing
which he rarely took, and finally a little pony of brandy.

When he had paid he felt quite youthful, even a little moved. And he
said to himself: "What a fine evening! I will continue my stroll as far
as the entrance to the Bois de Boulogne. It will do me good." He set
out. An old tune which one of his neighbors used to sing kept returning
to his mind. He kept on humming it over and over again. A hot, still
night had fallen over Paris. Monsieur Leras walked along the Avenue du
Bois de Boulogne and watched the cabs drive by. They kept coming with
their shining lights, one behind the other, giving horn a glimpse of the
couples inside, the women in their light dresses and the men dressed in
black.

It was one long procession of lovers, riding under the warm, starlit
sky. They kept on coming in rapid succession. They passed by in the
carriages, silent, side by side, lost in their dreams, in the emotion of
desire, in the anticipation of the approaching embrace. The warm shadows
seemed to be full of floating kisses. A sensation of tenderness filled
the air. All these carriages full of tender couples, all these people
intoxicated with the same idea, with the same thought, seemed to give
out a disturbing, subtle emanation.

At last Monsieur Leras grew a little tired of walking, and he sat down
on a bench to watch these carriages pass by with their burdens of love.
Almost immediately a woman walked up to him and sat down beside him.
"Good-evening, papa," she said.

He answered: "Madame, you are mistaken."

She slipped her arm through his, saying: "Come along, now; don't be
foolish. Listen----"

He arose and walked away, with sadness in his heart. A few yards away
another woman walked up to him and asked: "Won't you sit down beside
me?" He said: "What makes you take up this life?"

She stood before him and in an altered, hoarse, angry voice exclaimed:

"Well, it isn't for the fun of it, anyhow!"

He insisted in a gentle voice: "Then what makes you?"

She grumbled: "I've got to live! Foolish question!" And she walked away,
humming.

Monsieur Leras stood there bewildered. Other women were p