Chapter 37 thirty-seven

After the death of Blanche Stroeve, due to the complexity of the situation, many procedures had to be followed one by one, but in the end we obtained the funeral permit.Dirk and I were the only ones following the hearse to the cemetery for the funeral.Going slowly on the way back, the carriage trotted on the way back, and the hearse driver kept lashing the shaft horse, which aroused in me a strange horror, as if the coachman shrugged his shoulders to hurry death As if left behind.From time to time, in a carriage behind me, I saw the swaying hearse in front; and our coachman kept whipping to keep his carriage from falling behind.I felt a desire in myself to get this thing out of my mind as quickly as possible.I was beginning to tire of this tragedy which had nothing to do with me, and I began to talk to Stroeve about something else; though I did it to relieve my boredom, I deceived myself that it was for Stroeve was distracted.

"Don't you think it would be better to go somewhere else?" I said. "There's no point in staying in Paris now." He didn't answer me, but I kept asking: "Do you have any plans for the days ahead?" "No." "You must pick yourself up again. Why don't you go to Italy and start painting again?" Still he did not answer, when our coachman rescued me from my embarrassment.He slowed down a bit, leaned over and said something to me.I couldn't make out what he was saying, so I stuck my head out the window; he wanted to know where we got off.I told him to wait a little while.

"You'd better come and have lunch with me," I said to Dirk, "and I'll tell the coachman to stop at the Place Picard?" "I don't want to go. I want to go back to my studio." I hesitated for a while. "Do you want me to go with you?" I said. "No. I'd rather go back alone." "Ok." I told the coachman the direction to go, and the carriage continued on, and the two of us fell silent again.Dirk hadn't been back to the studio since the ill-fated morning when Blanche was taken to the hospital.Glad he didn't ask me to accompany him, I parted from him at his door and walked away alone, relieved.The streets of Paris gave me a new joy, and I watched with joy the passers-by in the streets.It was a fine, sunny day, and I felt my heart overflow with joy in life, stronger than ever.I could not help myself at all; I completely forgot about Stroeve and his troubles.I want to enjoy life.