needed sympathy, and that I could give it to him with both hands. I could
give, give! And the last thing that the egotist in me told me before it
expired was that I was worthy to give. My longing to assuage the lot of
Diaz became almost an anguish.

III

I returned at about half-past five, bright and eager, with vague
anticipations. I seemed to have become used to the house. It no longer
offended me, and I had no shame in entering it. I put the key into the
door of Diaz' flat with a clear, high sense of pleasure. He had entrusted
me with his key; I could go in as I pleased; I need have no fear of
inconveniencing him, of coming at the wrong moment. It seemed wonderful!
And as I turned the key and pushed open the door my sole wish was to be
of service to him, to comfort him, to render his life less forlorn.

'Here I am!' I cried, shutting the door.

There was no answer.

In the smaller of the two tiny sitting-rooms the piano, which had
been closed, was open, and I saw that it was a Pleyel. But both rooms
were empty.

'Are you still in bed, then?' I said.

There was still no answer.

I went cautiously into the bedroom. It, too, was empty. The bed was made,
and the flat generally had a superficial air of tidiness. Evidently the
charwoman had been and departed; and doubtless Diaz had gone out, to
return immediately. I sat down in the chair in which I had spent most of
the night. I took off my hat and put it by the side of a tiny satchel
which I had brought, and began to wait for him. How delicious it would be
to open the door to him! He would notice that I had taken off my hat, and
he would be glad. What did the future, the immediate future, hold for me?

A long time I waited, and then I yawned heavily, and remembered that for
several days I had had scarcely any sleep. I shut my eyes to relieve the
tedium of waiting. When I reopened them, dazed, and startled into sudden
activity by mysterious angry noises, it was quite dark. I tried to recall
where I was, and to decide what the noises could be. I regained my
faculties with an effort. The noises were a beating on the door.

'It is Diaz,' I said to myself; 'and he can't get in!'

And I felt very guilty because I had slept. I must have slept for hours.
Groping for a candle, I lighted it.

'Coming! coming!' I called in a loud voice.

And I went into the passage with the candle and opened the door.

It was Diaz. The gas was lighted on the stairs. Between