" "I don't know. She would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. She is my only family. Her hair had begun to grow back, it now swept to her shoulders. 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. "I knew it. Aunt and niece regarded each other silently. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. Everything in the world to live for!—fame that he could not reap, love that he must not take! What was all this pother about hell as a future state? By and by things began to stir on the table: little invisible things.
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