Guy Wetmore Carryl

“ They laughed together at Le Pochard, and laughed again at their own amusement. So the days went by and still their paths diverged, — Jean’s toward the sun-gilt hills of promise and prosperity, Grégoire’s toward the valley of shadow that a man must tread alone. ”

“ And Grégoire, looking across at Jean, knew that the moment had come, and dropped his glance, ashamed, fingering the tattered clothes of Le Pochard.
“One might have expected it,” said Jean, with a smile that was not a smile. “I suppose we must forgive him his faults, now that he is gone. De mortuis nil nisi bonum!”
Then, as Grégoire made no reply, he added,
“I shall not work to-night. I am tired. Que veux-tu? I have been doing too much. So we will sit by the fire, n’est ce pas, vieux? And thou shalt read to me as before. Dieu! It is a long time since the moths have shown their wings!” ”

“ Jean, who was dawdling over a demi, and watching the familiar ebb and flow of life on the Boul’ Miche’, was at first passively pleased at the distraction provided by the appearance of the toy, and then, of a sudden, consumedly absorbed in the progress of his operations. For what was plain to any but a blind man was the fact that Le Pochard was the precise counterfeit of Jean’s friend and comrade, Grégoire — Grégoire, with his flat-brimmed hat, and his loose working blouse, and his loud checked trousers — Grégoire, hélas! ”

“ A little throng of curious idlers paused on the narrow sidewalk, gaping at the new trunk with the glaring lettering. The cocher was already untying the nose-bag in which his lean brown horse had been nuzzling for fifteen minutes. And, on the curb, arm linked in arm, the two comrades stood watching him, with no courage to meet each other’s eyes. For each had a thousand things to say and never a word in which to say so much as one.
At the end, as their hands met, it was only a commonplace that came to Jean’s tongue. ”

“ Le Pochard, with his absurd inanity, was yet a feature of every dinner in the rue de Seine, and because Grégoire invented daily some new drollery in connection with their senseless toy, Jean was unaware that things were no longer the same, — that his friend was thinner and more nervous, that the circles had deepened under his eyes, that he said no word of his work. ”

“ For as the gift was beautiful, so was it also frail, and as the curse was subtle, so was it also strong. I have seen the end — long, long. Now it is here. My work is finished. The curse has knocked at the door of my body, and, at the signal, the gift has flown forth from the window of my soul. ”

“ It was Jean’s good fortune to have a father who believed in him — not a usual condition of mind in a provincial merchant whose son displays an unaccountable partiality for architecture — and, what was more to the point, who could afford to demonstrate his confidence by remittances, which were inspiring, if not on the score of magnitude, at least on that of regularity. ”