At lunch acquaintances honored me among themselves with their condolences, and during the day here and there in the theaters they spoke of the adventure, "Now that he is dead, they'll play him less, won't they?" "Do you know he left still another work?" "Ah, believe me, I loved him well! I have always had such great success in his works." A woman's lovely voice said that. They wept at my publishers, for there they loved me dearly. At home, Rue de Vaugirard, my wife, daughter, grandchildren and great-grandchildren gathered and almost found consolation in their sobs. The family was to reach Égreville the same evening, the night before my burial. And my soul (the soul survives the body) listened to all these sounds from the city left behind. As the carriage took me farther and farther away, the talking and the noises grew fainter and fainter, and I knew, for I had my vault built long ago, that the heavy stone once sealed would be a few hours later the portal of oblivion. THE END