st inarticulate word that, no doubt, meant
'thank you.'

"My day passed in the same distress of mind as on the previous night. I
sent for the landlord, and, with the greatest caution, skill and tact, I
told him that I was interested in this poor creature, so abandoned by
every one and deprived of everything, and I wished to do something for
him.

"But the man replied: 'Oh, do not think of it, monsieur; he is of no
account; you will only cause yourself annoyance. I employ him to clean
out the stable, and that is all he can do. I give him his board and let
him sleep with the horses. He needs nothing more. If you have an old pair
of trousers, you might give them to him, but they will be in rags in a
week.'

"I did not insist, intending to think it over.

"The poor wretch came home that evening frightfully drunk, came near
setting fire to the house, killed a horse by hitting it with a pickaxe,
and ended up by lying down to sleep in the mud in the midst of the
pouring rain, thanks to my donation.

"They begged me next day not to give him any more money. Brandy drove him
crazy, and as soon as he had two sous in his pocket he would spend it in
drink. The landlord added: 'Giving him money is like trying to kill him.'
The man had never, never in his life had more than a few centimes, thrown
to him by travellers, and he knew of no destination for this metal but
the wine shop.

"I spent several hours in my room with an open book before me which I
pretended to read, but in reality looking at this animal, my son! my son!
trying to discover if he looked anything like me. After careful scrutiny
I seemed to recognize a similarity in the lines of the forehead and the
root of the nose, and I was soon convinced that there was a resemblance,
concealed by the difference in garb and the man's hideous head of hair.

"I could not stay here any longer without arousing suspicion, and I went
away, my heart crushed, leaving with the innkeeper some money to soften
the existence of his servant.

"For six years now I have lived with this idea in my mind, this horrible
uncertainty, this abominable suspicion. And each year an irresistible
force takes me back to Pont Labbe. Every year I condemn myself to the
torture of seeing this animal raking the manure, imagining that he
resembles me, and endeavoring, always vainly, to render him some
assistance. And each year I return more uncertain, more tormented, more
worried.

"I tried to have him ta