hed to study it. Moreover,
during the first days of my convalescence he would not allow me to ask
a single question, and later on he never put one to me. For eight days
longer I remained in bed, feeling very weak and not even trying to
remember, for memory was a weariness and a pain. I felt half ashamed and
half afraid. As soon as I could leave the house I would go and find out
whatever I wanted to know. Possibly in the delirium of fever a name had
escaped me; however, the doctor never alluded to anything I may have
said. His charity was not only generous; it was discreet.

The summer had come at last, and one warm June morning I was permitted
to take a short walk. The sun was shining with that joyous brightness
which imparts renewed youth to the streets of old Paris. I went along
slowly, questioning the passers-by at every crossing I came to and
asking the way to Rue Dauphine. When I reached the street I had some
difficulty in recognizing the lodginghouse where we had alighted on
our arrival in the capital. A childish terror made me hesitate. If I
appeared suddenly before Marguerite the shock might kill her. It might
be wiser to begin by revealing myself to our neighbor Mme Gabin; still
I shrank from taking a third party into confidence. I seemed unable to
arrive at a resolution, and yet in my innermost heart I felt a great
void, like that left by some sacrifice long since consummated.

The building looked quite yellow in the sunshine. I had just recognized
it by a shabby eating house on the ground floor, where we had ordered
our meals, having them sent up to us. Then I raised my eyes to the last
window of the third floor on the left-hand side, and as I looked at it
a young woman with tumbled hair, wearing a loose dressing gown, appeared
and leaned her elbows on the sill. A young man followed and printed a
kiss upon her neck. It was not Marguerite. Still I felt no surprise. It
seemed to me that I had dreamed all this with other things, too, which I
was to learn presently.

For a moment I remained in the street, uncertain whether I had better
go upstairs and question the lovers, who were still laughing in the
sunshine. However, I decided to enter the little restaurant below. When
I started on my walk the old doctor had placed a five-franc piece in my
hand. No doubt I was changed beyond recognition, for my beard had grown
during the brain fever, and my face was wrinkled and haggard. As I took
a seat at a small table I