ss, and insisted that the money could not be
mine. The waiter was equally positive, and appealed to the Captain to
decide the question. Fleury, instead of replying, took out a much-worn
pocket-book, and proceeded to examine its contents.

"I'll wager as much," cried I, "that this gentleman is the owner of the
note."

"And you would win, sir," said Fleury, taking it from the waiter's
reluctant fingers, and carefully enclosing it within his case.

The waiter never uttered a syllable, but, with a look that revealed an
entire history, bowed and retired. I complimented the Captain on the
good fortune of his presence in such a critical moment, touched my hat
to him, and departed.

It was only the next morning that I recollected the sum of money I had
had about me, and perceived that the note must have been my own. It was
of course too late to think of repairing the loss, but I was far from
desiring to do so. The man's appearance had interested me; I was deeply
struck by the signs of poverty in his dress, and only happy to have
had this slight occasion to serve him, without any infringement on his
self-respect. It was, indeed, a question I often debated with myself
whether or not he really believed that he was the owner of the note.

From that day forth we saluted whenever we met; and if by any chance we
came together, we exchanged the usual courtesies of acquaintance. There
was a degree of pleasure afforded him by even this much of recognition,
from one whose air betokened more prosperous circumstances, that I
gladly yielded. I had known even harder fortune than his, and could well
understand the importance he might attach to such a trifle.

By degrees I began to feel a strange kind of interest for this
man,--so calm, so self-possessed as he seemed in the midst of scenes of
passionate and violent excitement. What signified any sudden reverse of
fortune, thought I, in comparison with the daily misery of such a lot as
his? And yet day after day I saw him unmoved and tranquil; he came and
went like one to whom all the vicissitudes of life brought no emotion.
He was a study for me, whether I met him at the play-table or the
restaurant, or saw him at night in the theatre in his accustomed spot,
close to the orchestra, where, with folded arms and bent brows, he
stood the entire night without moving. I watched him closely during that
terrible week when, each night of Margot's appearance, the conflict of
public opinion grew str