that to regret—no use boxing his ears, just about as
much use as smashing his fiddle! La Tarasque re-
mained but its spirit had fled, perhaps to some limbo
expressly reserved for the unregenerate spirits of places.

Beauvais leaned back and closed his eyes; the pain
of his leg had grown more insistent, while the smoke
of the endless cigarettes had filtered into his injured
lung; at that moment he was thinking that he would
not much, care if a bomb were to drop and complete
his destruction. In any case he was tired of Saint Loup,
it was now September, he had been here for weeks,
better make up his mind to return to Paris.

And seeing that they' were unobserved, ^Eliana
moved quietly nearer to Christophe: 'To-morrow,5
she whispered, 'to-morrow night at the old citadel;
meet me there after supper. Do not fail me, you
who mean all the world. . . /

The breath caught in his throat as her face brushed
his, as he heard the ardour of those last words: cYou
must know that I shall not fail you,' he muttered.

DD