Then, in the fulness of his returned strength, he was appalled anew by
the completeness of his own tragedy. He had become once more
insignificant. Forever, now, he must be afraid of policemen and all
earthly powers. People in crowds would dent his hat and take his new
watches. He must never again carry anything but a dollar watch.
And the Breedes saw through him. He must have confessed everything back
at that table when he had felt so inscrutably buoyant. Once in Paris
they would have him arrested. They might even have him put in irons
before the ship landed.
And back in the steam-heated apartment lay that mutilated head, a sheer
fabrication of _papier-mache_. He wondered if Mrs. Cassidy had swept it
out ... the head that had meant so much to him. There was no hope any
more. If he were still free in Paris he would have one look at that
tomb, and then ... well, he had had his day.
Two days later the little old steamer debarked many passengers in the
harbour of Cherbourg, carelessly confiding them to a much littler and
much older steamer that transported them to the actual land. Among these
were a feebly exploding father, a weak but faithful mother, and the
swathed wrecks of the Demon and the flapper.
Then began a five-hour train-ride to the one-time capital of a famous
upstart. There was but little talk among the members of the party. Bean
kept grimly to himself because the only friendly member slept.
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