“How happy they are!” he said. And then he added, with a tinge of melancholy, “When I return from Algeria no one is ever waiting for me.” As Marcel kissed his young sister, Jean came forward, crying: “Have you a greeting for me too?” “What, Jean!” said Marcel, and the two men embraced warmly. Jean was moved but in an instant he was again smiling gaily. “I shall see you soon,” he said. “I must run now. My train is going.” “Where are you off to?” asked Marcel. Jean, on his way to his carriage, half turned and shouted merrily: “We’re going to show ourselves off at Aix.” And his fingers seemed to point at random to the various groups clambering into the theatre-train. Marcel Guibert glanced quickly at the rout of gaily dressed figures. But Paule, looking round, saw Alice leaning out of the window of her carriage to bid her good-bye. She waved her hand to her quickly and undemonstratively, as though she had some misgiving or some superstitious feeling of fear about this seductive vision. Paule was very highly sensitized and her premature misfortunes had made her oversensitive. “Why all these advances?” she asked herself. As her dark eyes rested on her soldier brother, who was leading his mother away on his arm, she added to herself: “Too much good fortune and not enough courage.” Seeing Trélaz’s vehicle, Marcel cried: “What, our old carriage!” “It is the only one we have kept,” explained Madame Guibert, apologetically. This reply Marcel had not expected when he made the remark. The ancient conveyance had recalled his childhood to him, and now it seemed to him that it also signified the decay of the family. His face darkened. He understood all of a sudden the material difficulties which must have increased the suffering at Le Maupas. Having no personal needs, and accustomed as he was to live on very little, he felt now for his mother and sister and divined the bitterness of their straits. But Madame Guibert was saying to herself, “We ought to have taken a station carriage in his honor.”