Thieves and pickpockets are his constant companions. “You know nothing about the stage. What was the alternative to going home? No alternative appeared in that darkness. Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. 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. She began to act.
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