I remained seated there, at the end of the day, opposite the looking-glass.

In the setting of the room that the twilight began to invade, I saw the outline of my forehead, the oval of my face, and, under my blinking eyelids, the gaze by which I enter into myself as into a tomb.
My tiredness, the gloominess (I heard rain outside), the darkness that intensified my solitude and made me look larger, and then something else, I knew not what, made me sad.

It bored me to be sad.

I shook myself.

What was the matter?
Nothing.