Chapter 11. Loneliness
The city lay basking in the brightness of a sunny morning. Mariolle climbed into the carriage that stood waiting at his door with a traveling bag and two trunks on top. He had made his valet the night before pack the linen and other necessaries for a long absence, and now he was going away, leaving as his temporary address Fontainebleau post-office. He was taking no one with him, it being his wish to see no face that might remind him of Paris and to hear no voice that he had heard while brooding over certain matters.
He told the driver to go to the Lyons station and the cab started. Then he thought of that other trip of his, last spring, to Mont Saint–Michel; it was a year ago now lacking three months. He looked out into the street to drive the recollection from hi
