“We will say, then, that I went up-stairs at half-past two, after sitting on the piazza for about half an hour.”
“Very good.”
“When I entered my room, Orizaba was there before me.”
“Ah! So he did come on the same train with you, and doubtless walked from the station with you also.”
“That I do not know. The point is that he seemed greatly surprised to see me—he appeared, when I entered the room, as if I was the last person he expected to see.”
“You were evidently sober enough to take cognizance of that fact.”
“There are reasons why, as you will understand. Orizaba was standing at my desk when I entered the room. He had turned on the lights, and he had opened my desk, although I supposed the only key that would open it was in my pocket. He was looking at something—some of my private letters, I suppose, when I entered the room, and he dropped them on the desk with an exclamation of rage, and flew at me like a tiger-cat.”
“Did you fight?”
“I don’t know. T don’t think so. I was not angry; only astonished. I know that we rolled to the floor together and that presently we both rose to our feet. Then, I remember that I ordered him from the room, and that he apologized—or tried to do so. But I remember, also, that I refused to listen to any apologies from him. I was angry, and I told him that I wanted nothing more to do with him. In fact, I told him many things that I had long had in mind to tell him some day, and ended by ordering him from my room again.”
“Did he go then?”