They had both been unsuccessful. But that is men all over. Wood!—no," replied the turnkey. He kissed her lightly on the lips. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. A feeling of inexplicable awe crept over the carpenter as the sounds died away. “Thank you,” he said, “for letting me back. Just as he reached them, the Comte de St Erme drew Valade a little apart and began to converse with him in rapid French. “I may be leaving where I am in a few days, so very likely you will be no better off.
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