“In Paris, too. I tried to find a boy named Marcel, who worked on a farm near St. Germain. I met him out there one day. I found he'd gone to sea.... If it had not been that I had to see you, I should have gone straight to Bordeaux or Marseilles. They aren't too particular who they take as a seaman now.” “But in the army didn't you have enough of that dreadful life, always thrown among uneducated people, always in dirty, foulsmelling surroundings, you, a sensitive person, an artist? No wonder you are almost crazy after years of that.” Genevieve spoke passionately, with her eyes fixed on his face. “Oh, it wasn't that,” said Andrews with despair in his voice. “I rather like the people you call low. Anyway, the differences between people are so slight....” His sentence trailed away. He stopped speaking, sat stirring uneasily on the seat, afraid he would cry out. He noticed the hard shape of the revolver against his leg. “But isn't there something you can do about it? You must have friends,” burst out Genevieve. “You were treated with horrible injustice. You can get yourself reinstated and properly demobilised. They'll see you are a person of intelligence. They can't treat you as they would anybody.” “I must be, as you say, a little mad, Genevieve,” said Andrews. “But now that I, by pure accident, have made a gesture, feeble as it is, towards human freedom, I can't feel that.... Oh, I suppose I'm a fool.... But there you have me, just as I am, Genevieve.” He sat with his head drooping over his chest, his two hands clasping the gunwales of the boat. After a long while Genevieve said in a dry little voice: “Well, we must go back now; it's time for tea.” Andrews looked up. There was a dragon fly poised on the top of a reed, with silver wings and a long crimson body. “Look just behind you, Genevieve.” “Oh, a dragon fly! What people was it that made them the symbol of life? It wasn't the Egyptians. O, I've forgotten.” “I'll row,” said Andrews. The boat was hurried along by the current. In a very few minutes they had pulled it up on the bank in front of the Rods' house. “Come and have some tea,” said Genevieve. “No, I must work.” “You are doing something new, aren't you?” Andrews nodded. “What's its name?” “The Soul and Body of John Brown.” “Who's John Brown?” “He was a madman who wanted to free people. There's a song about him.” “It is based on popular themes?” “Not that I know of.... I only thought of the name yesterday. It came to me by a very curious accident.” “You'll come tomorrow?” “If you're not too busy.” “Let's see, the Boileaus are coming to lunch. There won't be anybody at tea time. We can have tea together alone.” He took her hand and held it, awkward as a child with a new playmate. “All right, at about four. If there's nobody there, we'll play music,” he said.