Before going to bed, I had a long talk with Nadine. She was going out with Henri again and she was very pleased about it. She bombarded me with questions. The next day, I telephoned Paula to let her know I was coming; her voice was crisp and calm. It was about ten o'clock when I turned into that street which had seemed so tragic to me the past winter, and I was upset by its reassuring look. The windows were open to the mildness of the evening, people were calling to each other from house to house, a little girl was skipping with a rope. Under the sign 'Furnished Rooms To Let' I rang Paula's bell, and the door opened, normally. Too normally. Of what use were all those frenzies, those distortions, if everything had returned to its place, if reason and routine had triumphed? Of what use was my impassioned remorse if it was ordained that I would one day awake in indifference? I was almost hoping to see a hostile and haggard Paula appear in the doorway of her apartment.