This was the
secret, then of his absorption.
"I've not seen it yet. I've not been able to get away. And the Paris
factories have held me every minute. But now I'm here, I'm--I'm
wondering--You see that dot beyond, standing separate?"
"Yes."
"That's where I sleep to-night. That's the house."
"But can you sleep there?" she asked, still shocked that she had not
realised what this journey was to him.
"Can I?"
"I mean is the house ruined?"
"Oh, the house is in bad order," he said. "Not ruined. 'Looted,' my old
_concierge_ writes. She was my nurse a hundred years ago. She has been
there through the occupation. I wrote to her, and she expects me
to-night. To-night it will be too dark, but to-morrow before I leave I
shall see what they have done to the factories."
"Don't you know at all how bad they are?"
"I've had letters. The agent went on ahead five days ago and he has
settled there already. But letters don't tell one enough. There are
little things in the factories--things I put in myself--" He broke off
and drew her to another side of the plateau. "See down there! That
unfortunate railway crosses two more bridges. I can't see now, but
they're blown up, since all the others are. And such a time for
business! It hurts me to think of the things I can't set going till that
railway works. Every one is crying out for the things that I can
make here.
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