to
bed. Caravan, mechanically obeying that wish to forget oneself which
possesses all unhappy persons, helped himself to brandy again several
times, and his dull eyes grew bright. At last the doctor rose to go, and
seizing his friend's arm, he said:

"Come with me; a little fresh air will do you good. When one is in
trouble, one must not remain in one spot."

The other obeyed mechanically, put on his hat, took his stick, and
went out, and both of them walked arm-in-arm towards the Seine, in the
starlight night.

The air was warm and sweet, for all the gardens in the neighborhood were
full of flowers at this season of the year, and their fragrance, which
is scarcely perceptible during the day, seemed to awaken at the approach
of night, and mingled with the light breezes which blew upon them in the
darkness.

The broad avenue with its two rows of gas lamps, that extended as far as
the Arc de Triomphe, was deserted and silent, but there was the distant
roar of Paris, which seemed to have a reddish vapor hanging over it.
It was a kind of continual rumbling, which was at times answered by
the whistle of a train in the distance, travelling at full speed to the
ocean, through the provinces.

The fresh air on the faces of the two men rather overcame them at first,
made the doctor lose his equilibrium a little, and increased Caravan's
giddiness, from which he had suffered since dinner. He walked as if he
were in a dream; his thoughts were paralyzed, although he felt no great
grief, for he was in a state of mental torpor that prevented him from
suffering, and he even felt a sense of relief which was increased by the
mildness of the night.

When they reached the bridge, they turned to the right, and got the
fresh breeze from the river, which rolled along, calm and melancholy,
bordered by tall poplar trees, while the stars looked as if they were
floating on the water and were-moving with the current. A slight white
mist that floated over the opposite banks, filled their lungs with a
sensation of cold, and Caravan stopped suddenly, for he was struck by
that smell from the water which brought back old memories to his mind.
For, in his mind, he suddenly saw his mother again, in Picardy, as he
had seen her years before, kneeling in front of their door, and washing
the heaps of linen at her side in the stream that ran through their
garden. He almost fancied that he could hear the sound of the wooden
paddle with which she beat t