She decided to walk back, but took a wrong turn without realizing it. Instead of heading left down the boulevard Montparnasse as far as the École Militaire, she went straight and ended up on the rue de Rennes. It was beacause of the boutiques, the Christmas garlands, the atmosphere.
She was like an insect, drawn to the light and the warm blood of the crowds.
Camille wanted to be one of them, to be like them - busy, excited, in a hurry. She wanted to go into shops and buy silly things so she could spoil the people she loved. She began to walk more slowly: who, in fact, did she love? Come on, come on, she scolded, lifting the collar of her jacket, don't start, please, there was Mathilde and Pierre and Philibert and her comrades of the mop. Surely here in this jewellery shop she could find some pretty things for Mamadou, who was so careful about her looks. And for the first time in a very long time, Camille did the same thing everyone else was doing at the same time everyone else was doing it: she was walking along, trying to work out how much her bonus would be. For the first time in a very long time she stopped thinking about tomorrow. And that wasn't just a manner of speaking. It really was about tomorrow, the very next day.
For the first time in a long time the very next day seemed... conceivable. Yes, that was exactly it: conceivable.
by Carlo Err