and wish you a good morning and good luck.”
Helène knew not how she found herself in the street, but the sunshine seemed as if it had been washed from the sky suddenly as by a soiled rag. She walked mechanically, her heart numb, her brain dulled, without knowing where she was going. She had but one conscious feeling—to hide herself, to be alone. At the corner of the street she hailed a ’bus and shrank into its remotest corner. She allowed it to pass her pension; she would go into the park and sit there and think over what she should do. There at least she would not be molested. The trees and birds and children would not chide her.
In a quiet circular spot edged with boxwood she found a seat on a bench in a sunny corner where the tender green of the shrubbery spoke of a reawakened life. The sparrows hopped about her for the cake crumbs she threw them. It was too early in the season