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. ‘No one is here, Melusine, except you and I. Her father and her husband, who had both been a little pale at their first encounter, were growing now just faintly flushed. Surely his calculated desire to sit near her meant that his attention had surely been brought from its normal diversions into her realm. Picked up the photograph, looked at it, handed it back, and never batted an eye! The act was as clear as daylight, but the motive was as profoundly mysterious as the race itself.
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