” “Won’t you postpone the attempt, then?” he said gallantly, “until I have done something to deserve your gratitude? You will not forget—seven-thirty, Café Maston, Boulevard des Italiennes. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. ” He stepped past her to the door and closed it. I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought. Poor soul! she nearly died when she heard he had robbed his master; and it might have been well if she had done so, for she never afterwards recovered her reason. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. I seek chaos, but not out of choice.
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