ied:

"I tell you that I have not. I am old because I never take air. There
is nothing that vitiates the life of a man more than the atmosphere of
a cafe." I could not believe him.

"You must surely have been married as well? One could not get as
baldheaded as you are without having been much in love."

He shook his head, sending down his back little hairs from the scalp:

"No, I have always been virtuous."

And raising his eyes toward the luster, which beat down on our heads,
he said:

"If I am baldheaded, it is the fault of the gas. It is the enemy of
hair. Waiter, a 'bock.' You must be thirsty also?"

"No, thank you. But you certainly interest me. When did you have your
first discouragement? Your life is not normal, is not natural. There is
something under it all."

"Yes, and it dates from my infancy. I received a heavy blow when I was
very young. It turned my life into darkness, which will last to the
end."

"How did it come about?"

"You wish to know about it? Well, then, listen. You recall, of course,
the castle in which I was brought up, seeing that you used to visit it
for five or six months during the vacations? You remember that large,
gray building in the middle of a great park, and the long avenues of
oaks, which opened toward the four cardinal points! You remember my
father and my mother, both of whom were ceremonious, solemn, and severe.

"I worshiped my mother; I was suspicious of my father; but I respected
both, accustomed always as I was to see everyone bow before them. In
the country, they were Monsieur le Comte and Madame la Comtesse; and
our neighbors, the Tannemares, the Ravelets, the Brennevilles, showed
the utmost consideration for them.

"I was then thirteen years old, happy, satisfied with everything, as
one is at that age, and full of joy and vivacity.

"Now toward the end of September, a few days before entering the Lycee,
while I was enjoying myself in the mazes of the park, climbing the
trees and swinging on the branches, I saw crossing an avenue my father
and mother, who were walking together.

"I recall the thing as though it were yesterday. It was a very windy
day. The whole line of trees bent under the pressure of the wind,
moaned and seemed to utter cries--cries dull, yet deep--so that the
whole forest groaned under the gale.

"Evening had come on, and it was dark in the thickets. The agitation of
the wind and the branches excited me, made me skip about like an idiot,