He had rushed away that morning after leaving Lucia at home, and found himself by the merest chance at St.Denis.He had got out there because his fellow-passengers did so, though at the railway station he had taken a ticket for a place much further on along the line.

He had looked about the little town, and seen, in a blind blundering kind of way, the Cathedral.

He had come out, with about half-a-dozen more visitors, and seeing an omnibus starting for Paris, had got into it, because it would take longer than the train--then after a while had got out again, because he could not bear the slow motion and perpetual babble of talk inside.

But through all, and still more in his solitary walk, he had been thinking--thinking perpetually; and, after all, his thinking seemed yet to do.

He would go back to England--that was necessary and right, whatever else might be.