May,
that special feeling I have about a beautiful piece of sculpture, a good
picture, carries me back immediately to Felicia. In my early girlhood
she represented art to me, and it corresponded with her beauty. Her
nature was a little vague, but so kind, I always felt she was something
superior to myself, that bore me to great heights without frightening
me. Suddenly she stopped coming to see me. I wrote to her; no reply.
Later on, fame came to her; to me great sorrows, absorbing duties. And
of all that friendship, which was very deep, however, since I cannot
speak of it without--'three, four, five'--nothing now remains except old
memories like dead ashes."

Bending over her work, the brave girl made haste to count her stitches,
to imprison her regret in the capricious designs of her tapestry, while
de Gery, moved as he heard the testimony of those pure lips against the
calumnies of rejected young dandies or of jealous comrades, felt himself
raised, restored to the proud dignity of his love. This sensation was
so sweet to him that he returned in search of it very often, not only
on the evenings of the lessons, but on other evenings, too, and almost
forgot to go to see Felicia for the pleasure of hearing Aline talk about
her.

One evening, as he was leaving the Joyeuses' home, Paul met the
neighbour, M. Andre, on the landing, who was waiting for him and took
his arm feverishly.

"Monsieur de Gery," he said in a trembling voice, with eyes that
glittered behind their spectacles, the one feature of his face that was
visible in the darkness. "I have an explanation to ask from you. Will
you come up to my rooms for a moment?"

There had only been between this young man and himself the banal
relations of two persons accustomed to frequent the same house, whom no
tie unites, who seem ever separated by a certain antipathy of nature, of
manner of life. What explanation could there be called for between them?
He followed him with much perplexed curiosity.

The aspect of the little studio, chilly under its top-light, the empty
fireplace, the wind blowing as though they were out of doors and making
the candle flicker, the solitary light on the scene of the night's
labour of a poor and lonely man, reflected on sheets of paper scribbled
over and scattered about, in short, this atmosphere of habitations
wherein the soul of the inhabitants lives on its own aspirations, caused
de Gery to understand the visionary air of Andre Marann