But though I was no less convinced than Stroeve that the connexion between Strickland and Blanche would end disastrously,I did not expect the issue to take the tragic form it did.The summer came,breathless and sultry,and even at night there was no coolness to rest ones jaded nerves.The sunbaked streets seemed to give back the heat that had beat down on them during the day,and the passersby dragged their feet along them wearily.I had not seen Strickland for weeks.Occupied with other things,I had ceased to think of him and his affairs.Dirk,with his vain lamentations,had begun to bore me,and I avoided his society.It was a sordid business,and I was not inclined to trouble myself with it further.

　　One morning I was working.I sat in my pyjamas.My thoughts wandered,and I thought of the sunny beaches of Brittany and the freshness of the sea.By my side was the empty bowl in which the concierge had brought me my caf au lait and the fragment of croissant which I had not had appetite enough to eat.I heard the concierge in the next room emptying my bath.There was a ......