rs in more or less concentric circles, receiving
unflinchingly the great waves of sonority that ebbed out into the
darkness. The Count penetrated the throng, drifted with it in tranquil
enjoyment, listening and looking at the faces. All people of good
society: mothers with their daughters, parents and children, young men
and young women all talking, smiling, nodding to each other. Very many
pretty faces, and very many pretty toilettes. There was, of course, a
quantity of diverse types: showy old fellows with white moustaches, fat
men, thin men, officers in uniform; but what predominated, he told
me, was the South Italian type of young man, with a colourless, clear
complexion, red lips, jet-black little moustache and liquid black eyes
so wonderfully effective in leering or scowling.

Withdrawing from the throng, the Count shared a little table in front
of the cafe with a young man of just such a type. Our friend had some
lemonade. The young man was sitting moodily before an empty glass.
He looked up once, and then looked down again. He also tilted his hat
forward. Like this--

The Count made the gesture of a man pulling his hat down over his brow,
and went on:

"I think to myself: he is sad; something is wrong with him; young men
have their troubles. I take no notice of him, of course. I pay for my
lemonade, and go away."

Strolling about in the neighbourhood of the band, the Count thinks he
saw twice that young man wandering alone in the crowd. Once their eyes
met. It must have been the same young man, but there were so many there
of that type that he could not be certain. Moreover, he was not very
much concerned except in so far that he had been struck by the marked,
peevish discontent of that face.

Presently, tired of the feeling of confinement one experiences in a
crowd, the Count edged away from the band. An alley, very sombre by
contrast, presented itself invitingly with its promise of solitude
and coolness. He entered it, walking slowly on till the sound of the
orchestra became distinctly deadened. Then he walked back and turned
about once more. He did this several times before he noticed that there
was somebody occupying one of the benches.

The spot being midway between two lamp-posts the light was faint.

The man lolled back in the corner of the seat, his legs stretched out,
his arms folded and his head drooping on his breast. He never stirred,
as though he had fallen asleep there, but when the Count p