Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/108

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the flower-vendor was right, she thought. It's all a vision, a hallucination. People look at you coldly, they hurry by to follow their own paths. They loved a parade their terrible isolation in a common dream of life. But it was only a dream. Sooner or later they were cast back in themselves, lonely stones in a stone world.

And then she thought of Eric, her lost love. Or was he lost? Could the passion that flared up between them ever be extinguished? Had not their souls fused in a hunger for communion?

She looked at the withered daisies, and then she thought what the flower-woman had said to her: "They'll bring you luck, my dear; you'll be lucky in love."

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