THE WORLD SET FREE
"The danger is too great. The radiations eat into people's skins."
The eyebrows protested. "But is nothing to be done?"
"Nothing can be done."
"But, Monsieur, it is extraordinarily inconvenient, this living in exile and waiting. My wife and my little boy suffer extremely. There is a lack of amenity. And the season advances. I say nothing of the expense and difficulty in obtaining provisions. . . . When does Monsieur think that something will be done to render Paris—possible?"
Barnet considered his interlocutor.
"I'm told," said Barnet, "that Paris is not likely to be possible again for several generations."
"Oh! but this is preposterous! Consider, Monsieur! What are people like ourselves to do in the meanwhile? I am a costumier. All my connections and interests, above all my style, demand Paris. . . ."
Barnet considered the sky, from which a light rain was beginning to fall, the wide fields about them from which the harvest had been taken, the trimmed poplars by the wayside.
"Naturally," he agreed, "you want to go to Paris. But Paris is over."
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