subtle? As a stranger he had arrived in this town
and had ruined one of its most revered natives;^ an
unwise, a foolhardy thing to have done, which might
well result in his own destruction.
On and on would hammer those merciless thoughts,
those vain regrets, those hysterical terrors. He must
fling himself at the feet of the mayor and implore the
old man to give him protection — the mayor knew
quite well that he was no spy. Yes, but the mayor
knew other things also: they had wanted to make him,
Kahn, their mayor — perhaps the old man had felt
angry and jealous. He might even deliver him over
to be shot; people were shot as spies every day, even
women, and upon the slenderest suspicion. He must
leave Saint Loup quietly after the auction, must slip
out of the town before they could catch him. But
where could he go, he, a ruined man? He would get
no more help from those scoundrels in. Paris, and at
least he still had a roof over his head in Saint Loup,
and that was better than nothing. No shop would
sell quickly at such a time, and surely they would
hesitate to turn him adrift until it was sold? Edouard
.would not do that — perhaps he might ask to remain
as caretaker. No, he could not face tramping the
streets for employment; he had done it once many
years ago, but then he had been a strong youth from
Alsace. Closing his eyes he could still feel the pain
of his boots as they rubbed on his blistered heels,
of his stomach as it seemed to devour its own entrails,
so famished had he been in those early days when he
tramped the Paris streets for employment. But now
he was soft and past middle-age — his skin had grown
soft and so had his muscles. His feet ached if he went
for a really long walk. How old was he . . . ? Bon
Dieu, he was nearly sixty; too late for a man to make
a fresh start, to go begging for work from door to
door — a man could not beg with distinction at sixty I
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