At last he addressed the envelope, Heaven knew
when the letter would reach them in Paris — the posts
from Provence had always been bad, and now they
were fast becoming abysmal. Then he suddenly
dropped his head onto his arms. Dieu, but he was
tired! perhaps he could sleep. He would try to sleep
just where he sat — at his desk; better this than to
risk the insomnia that generally set in after undressing.

35*