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THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL 27
He sent for his little girl, but her presence only
aggravated the bitter feeling of regret at our loss.
It was now nine o’clock in the morning. He had come
to the end of his powers of endurance, and invited me to
take a nap on the sofa while he went to lie down on his
bed. He put a cushion under my head, covered me with
his military cloak and wished me a sound sleep, thanking
me cordially for having taken compassion on his loneliness.
His brotherly kindness was like an echo of his wife’s
tenderness ; she seemed to fill his thoughts completely.
I sank into a deep sleep, dimly aware, at the moment
before losing consciousness, of his huge form stealing to
my improvised couch with a murmured question as to
whether I was quite comfortable.
It was noon when I awoke. He was already up. He
hated the idea of being alone, and proposed that we
should breakfast together in the Park. I readily fell in
with his suggestion.
We spent the day together, talking about all sorts of
things, but every subject led us back to her on whose life
our own lives seemed to have been grafted.
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