Paul, in his bathrobe, stood at the end of the corridor, staring into space. The beige carpet beneath his bare feet smelt of dust, almost forgotten, like him. The smoke from his cigarette curled lazily around his trembling fingers. Every breath was heavy, laden with a ponderous silence. In Saint-Germain, everything seemed so far away, the laughter of yesteryear, the promises. He was there, alone, with no future.