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. Unlocking it, he entered the chamber, which by no means belied its external appearance. ‘Léonore, then?’ She shook her head animatedly, enjoying his attention. One must be on guard. ’ She bit her lip and thought deeply. “My dear boy,” she exclaimed. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted.
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