“No doubt,” said Mr. Cardan. “But as a practical man, I can only say that it’s going to be most horribly difficult to preserve that freedom. That balancing of haunches....” He waved his cigar from side to side. “I shall call again in six months and see how you feel about it all then. It’s extraordinary what an effect the natural appetites do have on good resolutions. Satiated, one thinks regeneration will be so easy; but when one’s hungry again, how hard it seems.” They were silent. From the depths of the valley the smoky shadows had climbed higher and higher up the slope. The opposite hills were now profoundly black and the clouds in which their peaks were involved had become dark and menacing save where, on their upper surfaces, the sun touched them with, as it declined, an ever richer light. The shadow had climbed up to within a hundred feet of where they were sitting, soon it would envelop them. With a great jangling of bells and a clicking of small hard hoofs the six tall piebald goats came trotting down the steep path from the road. The little boy ran behind them, waving his stick. “Eia-oo!” he shouted with a kind of Homeric fury; but at the sight of the three men sitting on the bench outside the house he suddenly became silent, blushed and slunk unheroically away, hardly daring to whisper to the goats while he drove them into their stable for the night. “Dear me,” said Chelifer, who had followed the movements of the animals with a certain curiosity, “I believe those are the first goats I have seen, or smelt, in the flesh since I took to writing about them in my paper. Most interesting. One tends to forget that the creatures really exist.” “One tends to forget that anything or any one really exists, outside oneself,” said Mr. Cardan. “It’s always a bit of a shock to find that they do.” “Three days hence,” said Chelifer meditatively, “I shall be at my office again. Rabbits, goats, mice; Fetter Lane; the family _pension_. All the familiar horrors of reality.” “Sentimentalist!” mocked Calamy. “Meanwhile,” said Mr. Cardan, “Lilian has suddenly decided to move on to Monte Carlo. I go with her, of course; one can’t reject free meals when they’re offered.” He threw away his cigar, got up and stretched himself. “Well, we must be getting down before it gets dark.” “I shan’t see you again for some time, then?” said Calamy. “I shall be here again at the end of six months, never fear,” said Mr. Cardan. “Even if I have to come at my own expense.” They climbed up the steep little path on to the road. “Good-bye.” “Good-bye.” Calamy watched them go, watched them till they were out of sight round a bend in the road. A profound melancholy settled down upon him. With them, he felt, had gone all his old, familiar life. He was left quite alone with something new and strange. What was to come of this parting? Or perhaps, he reflected, nothing would come of it. Perhaps he had been a fool.