Chapter XXXVII

           

           ThecircumstancesofBlancheStroeve’sdeathnecessitatedallmannerofdreadfulformalities,butatlastwewereallowedtoburyher.DirkandIalonefollowedthehearsetothecemetery.Wewentatafoot-pace,butonthewaybackwetrotted,andtherewassomethingtomymindsingularlyhorribleinthewaythedriverofthehearsewhippeduphishorses.Itseemedtodismissthedeadwithashrugoftheshoulders.NowandthenIcaughtsightoftheswayinghearseinfrontofus,andourowndriverurgedhispairsothatwemightnotremainbehind.Ifeltinmyself,too,thedesiretogetthewholethingoutofmymind.Iwasbeginningtobeboredwithatragedythatdidnotreallyconcernme,andpretendingtomyselfthatIspokeinordertodistractStroeve,Iturnedwithrelieftoothersubjects.

           "Don’tyouthinkyou’dbettergoawayforabit?"Isaid."TherecanbenoobjectinyourstayinginParisnow."

           Hedidnotanswer,butIwentonruthlessly:

           "Haveyoumadeanyplansfortheimmediatefuture?"

           "No."

           "Youmusttryandgathertogetherthethreadsagain.Whydon’tyougodowntoItalyandstartworking?"

           Againhemadenoreply,butthedriverofourcarriagecametomyrescue.Slackeninghispaceforamoment,heleanedoverandspoke.Icouldnothearwhathesaid,soIputmyheadoutofthewindow.Hewantedtoknowwherewewishedtobesetdown.Itoldhimtowaitaminute.

           "You’dbettercomeandhavelunchwithme,"IsaidtoDirk."I’lltellhimtodropusinthePlacePigalle."

           "I’drathernot.Iwanttogotothestudio."

           Ihesitatedamoment

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