Pont Neuf

The Reprieve, p 307-8
Outside. Everything is outside: the trees on the quay, the two houses by the bridge that lend a pink flush to the darkness, the petrified prance of Henry IV's steed above my head; solid objects, all of them. Inside - nothing, not even a puff of smoke, there is no inside, there is nothing. Myself : nothing. I am free, he said to himself, and his mouth was dry. Half-way across the Pont-Neuf he stopped and began to laugh : liberty - I sought it far away : it was so near that I can't touch it, it is, in fact, myself. I am my own freedom.