He threw himself to the ground. The sun beat down on him brutally; he buried his hands deeper into the sand to feel the moist freshness of the sea water; its sharp coolness made him shiver; he stood up.

He flew into a rage, furious, began lashing out at himself: ‘She’s gone … so what? I’m not in love with her, am I? Am I? So what then …? I couldn’t care less … I’m an idiot, a complete idiot.’

He passionately believed what he was thinking, but his lips were trembling and he automatically repeated again and again what he had first said: ‘She’s gone … that’s all there is to it … She’s gone.’

He walked back to the hotel and went to bed. For a long time he lay there without moving, his head turned to the wall, just the way he used to when he was a little boy and was feeling sad.

At five o’clock he went out, walked aimlessly around the terrace, paced up and down the garden several times, then, defeated, set off for the Casino, although she rarely went there. Young men, young women, their heads bare, danced on a platform set on pillars above the water. The endless movement of the sea around the pillars, the canopy flapping in the wind, the creaking noises and the smell of the salty sea air, everything made you feel as if you were on a boat moored in port. Yves thought he would enjoy the solace; he ordered a cocktail, drank only half of it and left.

At seven o’clock the sea was growing pale beneath the sun; very small pink clouds formed delicate coils in the sky. Yves listened to the sea; it had always consoled him and tonight he would entrust his poor, weary body to its core.

He took off his clothes and walked slowly towards the Bidassoa river. The sea wall was carefully kept in good condition for several metres, but further along it was riddled with fine sand; there was no railing any more; little bushes bristling with thorns sprung up between the stones. Then the sea wall suddenly stopped. Yves kept on walking until he got to the beach; it was a narrow arc, its shape carved out by the water. To the left was the bay; to the right the sea, and linking them was the Bidassoa, so calm that it did not even shimmer, and as pale as the watery reflection of the pallid sky. On the other side was Spain.

Yves sat down, folding his legs under him, his chin resting on his closed fist. There wasn’t a soul in sight. It was strange … The crashing of the waves did not disturb the magical silence of the evening. A small boat passed by, gliding along the river from one coast to the other, from France to Spain, without a sound. A golden glow, more delicate than the midday light, washed over the mountain tops, but shadows were already spreading across the valleys. Yves’s anger suddenly began to ebb and an inexplicable feeling of sadness rushed through him.

Night was falling very quickly; in the solitary darkness the sea seemed further away again, vast in its primal majesty. Yves felt very small, lost in the immensity of this ancient earth. He thought about himself, about his failed life. He was unhappy, he was alone, he was poor. From now on his days would be spent without joy. No one needed him. Life was hard, so hard … He wanted to cry; through one final desperate effort of masculine pride he held back his tears, but they welled up in his heart, rose to his throat, choking him.

A lovely dusk, hazy blue and pink, settled over the countryside, growing gradually darker. Church bells were ringing. On the opposite shore you could see the lights of Fuenterrabia: the windows in houses, bright tramways, the outline of its streets; only the large square tower of the old church looked dark and bleak. The bells rang out slowly, as if they were weary, discouraged, sad. And in the mountains farmhouses lit up, one by one, like stars. Night had fallen.

All around Yves a mysterious world was coming to life: murmurings, humming, the sounds of a swarm of living creatures, invisible insects that live in the sand and are heard only at night. Yves listened, trembling with inexplicable fear. Then, suddenly, overwhelmed by his sadness, he burst into tears. He put his head in his hands and cried – for the first time in so very many years – he cried like a child, letting the tears rush down his face.

‘Is that you?’ a voice he knew asked rather hesitantly.