When the carpenter a moment afterwards stretched out his hand, scarcely knowing whether he was alive or dead, he found himself alone. ‘To what do you go, mademoiselle? The life of a nun in a convent, in a country where nuns are unwelcome. ‘Sapristi,’ he gasped. (“No, no. It seemed to her that her father was in some inexplicable way meaner-looking than she had supposed, and yet also, as unaccountably, appealing. ” “But—” “He left her alone. Before her stretched blank spaces, dotted with running people coming toward her, and below them railings and a statue. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. She did not question or analyze the craving; she took the plunge joyously.
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