A violet fell on my knees.

I picked it up.
He looked for a moment at the heap on the table.
"I keep none," said he: "I have too many reminders without them.

Cursed flowers!" With one motion of his arm he swept them all up and cast them upon the coals in the hearth.

They shrivelled, crackled, grew limp and discolored, and vanished in smoke.
"Now I am going back to my etching.

Good-by, Fabien.