Then suddenly his strength betrayed him. Despair, held back by his literary memories, rose to his throat in tears. He collapsed on a chair, his handkerchief over his eyes. "I shall not see her again," he whispered dramatically. "I shall never see her again, ... never ... never!" * * * * * He did, nevertheless, see her again, a few hours later, at the Cimetière Montparnasse, while a delegate of the Atheists' Association pronounced the eulogy of Uncle Cyprien, in front of the gaping tomb. There were not many people, owing to the season, few women especially. All those who had come wore black, but the black garments of Zozé among theirs seemed like a queen's dress. Her grace, her smartness were still triumphant in mourning. Her fine small face, paler than usual near the dark material, had a pleasant seriousness which would have made the master smile, had he not wept so much. His dull glances went successively from Zozé to the grave and from the grave to Zozé, while his tears ran confusedly for both. The delegate, on concluding his speech, laid on the marble a vast crown of red goldilocks. The family lined up with Schleifmann in a little side alley and the audience passed on file, murmuring their condolences. M. Raindal, without seeing anyone, pressed the hands of all, those of the indifferent like those of Zozé, Chambannes, the Marquis, even Gerald and the abbé Touronde, who was somewhat ill at ease among so many free-thinkers. Then the procession ceased. All walked to the entrance gate. Schleifmann lingered behind, prowling about the grave of his friend Cyprien. Once free from onlookers, he gave two twenty-sou pieces to one of the grave-diggers. Then, after the rite of Israel, scratching the ground of a nearby tomb-garden, he three times threw a handful of earth and gravel across the sepulture. The pebbles resounded on the wood of the coffin. In reply, the Galician murmured a Hebrew verse. His eyes looked up to the heavens. Their fervent glance seemed to desire to pierce the mystery of the clouds, into the inaccessible region of destinies. He no longer cursed. He was merely seeking a reply. Why did the Lord tolerate such iniquitous ruins? By what formidable designs did He associate His people with the accomplishment of such misdeeds? When would He at last raise up in His Temple, among His priests, someone, with a free and daring voice--to remind the Jews, the proudest and the meekest, of the solemn trust of purity and justice which they once received at the foot of Sinai? No sign answered these silent queries. The clouds pursued their peaceful promenade on the blue background of the sky.