There would be a train for Brussels about midnight, and he had ample time to take it.

He refused to let Morin accompany him.

No, no, said he, Morin was not a rich man, and moreover he had work to attend to.

Why should he take him away from his duties, when it was so easy, so simple, for him to go off alone?
He was going back into exile as into misery and grief which he had long known, like some Wandering Jew of Liberty, ever driven onward through the world.
When he took leave of the others at ten o'clock, in the little sleepy street just outside the house, tears suddenly dimmed his eyes.

"Ah! I'm no longer a young man," he said; "it's all over this time.