Don't name me.

And for the present good-bye, my dear fellow, good-bye." Pierre once more found himself on the Piazza Navona, quite dazed, no longer knowing what to believe or hope.

A cowardly idea was coming over him; why should he continue this struggle, in which his adversaries remained unknown and indiscernible?
Why carry obstinacy any further, why linger any longer in that impassionating but deceptive Rome?
He would flee that very evening, return to Paris, disappear there, and forget his bitter disillusion in the practice of humble charity.

He was traversing one of those hours of weakness when the long-dreamt-of task suddenly seems to be an impossibility.

However, amidst his great confusion he was nevertheless walking on, going towards his destination.