I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives.
I am home after midnight, and the darkness has taken its toll on me. I have to sit down at the table and write down what I have seen.
The last week of my life was spent in France.
The days I spent in France were nothing less than a kind of "rehearsal" for the news of my escape. They were the first time I had an opportunity to think about the matter on my own terms. I know that other men saw it on my own terms, but I gathered nothing from the news of my escape.
I remember with satisfaction that my mistress was in Paris when I was gone. That she was to report to me the next day.
When I arrived in Paris, I found that the place was hopping with excitement.
It was a fine, handsome house, with a front-salute and a marvellous garden. Every expert in the art of French cooking had come here, and I was delighted to find that a large number of the friends of the old house had been anxious to see me. I was even more delighted to find that my mistress, whose mother had been in Paris for many years, had made her home in this fort.