People thought he was rich. In fact, he was poor. People told him he hadn’t kept a close enough eye on popular tastes and tried to follow them. He would answer, “I’m famous, and there are some poor souls who read me and say, ‘There now, that’s a decent sort of fellow.’ And they’re glad to know that a decent sort of fellow exists. What more do you want?” Yes, but it seems he’d been too careless about looking after his own commercial interests. Indeed, they spoke of his “own commercial interests,” when in fact he would lose interest in one of his books as soon as it came out, so as to be able to devote himself entirely to the new one he was about to write. “You have to do some promoting,” people would say to him. Ah! He did have some promoting to do, but for something other than his books: “Window displays for God the Father’s storefront, that’s my life work.”

He was seeing clearly. He could say it to himself, there, alone in his bed, while a broad smile moistened his whiskers: “I don’t live to keep an eye on my commercial interests. I live to keep an eye on the gods.” What’s more, he’d be ready to earn his keep, starting tomorrow if necessary, doing no matter what kind of work, even something other than writing. Not a “man of letters” in the least.

On this evening, he felt strangely free, strangely decided. He called out softly, “Are you there?” No, the fire was dying out. The embers were crackling, that was all. “That one,” he said, “as soon as he wins, he takes off. Well, as soon as he believes he’s won, because—hold on a minute there, boy!—it hasn’t been stated yet that I will write this book.”

Truly, he didn’t feel he was capable of it, unless he had a real change of heart. He looked at the sailor’s clothes he’d just bought, lying over there on the armchair. What’s he scheming? he thought. What does he have in store for me? What’s he going to turn me into?

•

At six in the morning, the sky above Gray’s Inn was clear. Delicate cirrus clouds were spread out like an immense wing, exploding with whiteness, in the soaring rays of a green dawn. Moment by moment, new feathers were unfurling, causing tufts of pink air to boil up underneath. “Oh!” says Herman. “This time it’s the great game. You’re as beautiful as can be! You’ve given the old outfit a complete shake-up. I’ve never seen you so lovely. The only thing is, those . . . those are wings for a wedding ceremony. Aren’t you afraid they’ll be a little awkward for traveling? You won’t always be flying over open fields where you can spread them out wide. I also plan to stay in little inns. Oh well, so much the worse for you. I’ve warned you, you’ll stay outside. And I might as well tell you straight out, you’re sure to make everybody notice us.” The first rays of sunlight were beginning to puff up the whole cloud-quilt with gold.