The mist had yet to disperse, and Paris began to drizzle again.
Shire stood in the corridor of the Salpêtrière Hospital, a lit half-cigarette between his fingers, silently watching the raindrops fall from the sky, listening to their crisp "pop" as they hit the leaves of the plane trees.
He felt he had grown accustomed to Gallieni's presence and took it for granted.
Just like being accustomed to the love of parents, accustomed to having air, accustomed to having his own limbs.
Only at the moment of facing loss does one suddenly realize how important they are.
"General." Major Fernan interrupted Shire's thoughts: "General Gallieni has awakened."
Shire uttered a sound, discarded his cigarette butt and crushed it, and turned to walk towards Gallieni's hospital room.
Gallieni lay on the bed, his face pale as paper due to excessive blood loss. He did not look old but rather as if his vitality were ebbing away.
