Monsieur Saval, who was called in Mantes "Father Saval," had just risen
from bed. He was weeping. It was a dull autumn day; the leaves were
falling. They fell slowly in the rain, like a heavier and slower rain.
M. Saval was not in good spirits. He walked from the fireplace to the
window, and from the window to the fireplace. Life has its sombre days.
It would no longer have any but sombre days for him, for he had reached
the age of sixty-two. He is alone, an old bachelor, with nobody about
him. How sad it is to die alone, all alone, without any one who is
devoted to you!
He pondered over his life, so barren, so empty. He recalled former
days, the days of his childhood, the home, the house of his parents; his
college days, his follies; the time he studied law in Paris, his
father's illness, his death. He then returned to live with his mother.
They lived together very quietly, and desired nothing more. At last the
mother died. How sad life is! He lived alone since then, and now, in
his turn, he, too, will soon be dead. He will disappear, and that will
be the end. There will be no more of Paul Saval upon the earth. What a
frightful thing! Other people will love, will laugh. Yes, people will
go on amusing themselves, and he will no longer exist! Is it not
strange that people can laugh, amuse themselves, be joyful under that
eternal certainty of death? If this death were only probable, one could
then have hope; but no, it is inevitable, as inevitable as that night
follows the day.