What a frightened fool he was! If he could not remember her name, it was equally possible that already she had forgotten his. Like the parrot, she could memorize the lines, but she could not understand them. ’ Le Petit Journal said that the man was dead. The benches running round the room, though fastened to the walls by iron clamps, had been forcibly wrenched off; while the table, which was similarly secured to the boards, was upset, and its contents—bottles, jugs, glasses, and bowls were broken and scattered about in all directions. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. Here, it might be anything at all. .
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