"At the far end of the cafy, in the semi-darkness of the back room, a woman was lying motionless on the floor. A man was crouched over her, clutching her shoulders, and saying quietly:

"'Darling. My darling.'

"He turned and looked at the crowd; they saw his eyes, which were expressionless, except for the stricken, indelible, inward look of his desire. The patronne stood calmly near the van and waited.

"'I tried to call you three times.

"'Poor woman,' someone said.

"'Why?' Anne Desbaresdes asked.

"'No one knows.'

"In his dilirium [sic] the man threw himself on the inert body. An inspector took him by the arm and pulled him up. He did not resist. It seemed that all dignity had left him forever. He looked absently at the inspector. The inspector let go of him, took a notebook and pencil from hick pocket...