“Just as the train was leaving, a big, fat lady, escorted by four little girls, got into my car. I hardly looked at this mother hen, very big, very round, with a face as full as the moon framed in an enormous, beribboned hat. “She was puffing, out of breath from having been forced to walk quickly. The children began to chatter. I unfolded my paper and began to read. “We had just passed Asnieres, when my neighbor suddenly turned to me and said: “'Excuse me, sir, but are you not Monsieur Garnier?' “'Yes, madame.' “Then she began to laugh, the pleased laugh of a good woman; and yet it was sad. “'You do not seem to recognize me.' “I hesitated. It seemed to me that I had seen that face somewhere; but where? when? I answered: “'Yes--and no. I certainly know you, and yet I cannot recall your name.' “She blushed a little: “'Madame Julie Lefevre.' “Never had I received such a shock. In a second it seemed to me as though it were all over with me! I felt that a veil had been torn from my eyes and that I was going to make a horrible and heartrending discovery. “So that was she! That big, fat, common woman, she! She had become the mother of these four girls since I had last her. And these little beings surprised me as much as their mother. They were part of her; they were big girls, and already had a place in life. Whereas she no longer counted, she, that marvel of dainty and charming gracefulness. It seemed to me that I had seen her but yesterday, and this is how I found her again! Was it possible? A poignant grief seized my heart; and also a revolt against nature herself, an unreasoning indignation against this brutal, nefarious act of destruction. “I looked at her, bewildered. Then I took her hand in mine, and tears came to my eyes. I wept for her lost youth. For I did not know this fat lady. “She was also excited, and stammered: “'I am greatly changed, am I not? What can you expect--everything has its time! You see, I have become a mother, nothing but a good mother. Farewell to the rest, that is over. Oh! I never expected you to recognize me if we met. You, too, have changed. It took me quite a while to be sure that I was not mistaken. Your hair is all white. Just think! Twelve years ago! Twelve years! My oldest girl is already ten.' “I looked at the child. And I recognized in her something of her mother's old charm, but something as yet unformed, something which promised for the future. And life seemed to me as swift as a passing train. “We had reached. Maisons-Laffitte. I kissed my old friend's hand. I had found nothing but the most commonplace remarks. I was too much upset to talk. “At night, alone, at home, I stood in front of the mirror for a long time, a very long time. And I finally remembered what I had been, finally saw in my mind's eye my brown mustache, my black hair and the youthful expression of my face. Now I was old. Farewell!” THE WOLF