Fool that I was! Had I the strength to do it? I did not close my eyes that night, and the next morning I resolved to call on that young man I had seen at the Opera. I do not know whether it was wrath or curiosity that impelled me to this course, nor did I know just what I desired to learn of him; but I reflected that he could not avoid me this time, and that was all I wanted.
As I did not know his address, I asked Brigitte for it, pretending that I felt under obligations to call on him after all the visits he had made us; I had not said a word about my experience at the Opera. Brigitte's eyes betrayed signs of tears. When I entered her room she held out her hand, and said:
"What do you wish?"
Her voice was sad but tender. We exchanged a few kind words and I set out less unhappy.
The name of the young man I was going to see was Smith; he was living near by. When I knocked at his door, I experienced a strange sensation of uneasiness; I was dazed, as though by a sudden flash of light. His first gesture froze my blood. He was in bed, and with the same accent Brigitte had employed, with a face as pale and haggard as hers, he held out his hand and said:
"What do you wish?"
Say what you please, there are things in a man's life which the reason can not explain. I sat still, as though awakened from a dream, and began to repeat his questions. Why, in fact, had I come to see him? How could I tell him what had brought me there? Even if he had anything to tell me, how did I know he would speak? He had brought letters from N——-, and knew those who had written them. But it cost me an effort to question him, and I feared he would suspect what was in my mind. Our first words were polite and insignificant. I thanked him for his kindness in bringing letters to Madame Pierson; I told him that upon leaving France we would ask him to do the same favor for us; and then we were silent, surprised to find ourselves vis-a-vis.
I looked about me in embarrassment. His room was on the fourth floor; everything indicated honest and industrious poverty. Some books, musical instruments, papers, a table and a few chairs, that was all, but everything was well cared for and presented an agreeable ensemble.
As for him, his frank and animated face predisposed me in his favor. On the mantel, I observed a picture of an old lady. I stepped up to look at it, and he said it was his mother.
I then recalled that Brigitte had often spoken of him; she had known him since childhood. Before I came to the country, she used to see him occasionally at N——-, but at the time of her last visit there he was away. It was, therefore, only by chance that I had learned some particulars of his life, which now came to mind. He had an honest employment that enabled him to support his sister and mother.