hand, how could I conceive of inconstancy or of caprice in
that woman, as I knew her? I was lost in an abyss of doubt, and I could
not discover a gleam of light, the smallest point, on which to base
conjecture.

In front of me in the gallery sat a young man whose face was not unknown
to me. As often happens when one is preoccupied, I looked at him without
thinking of him as a personal identity or trying to fit a name on him.
Suddenly I recognized him: it was he who had brought letters to Brigitte
from N------. I arose and started to accost him without thinking what I
was doing. He occupied a place that I could not reach without disturbing
a large number of spectators, and I was forced to await the entr'acte.

My first thought was that if any one could enlighten me it was this young
man. He had had several interviews with Madame Pierson in the last few
days, and I recalled the fact that she was always much depressed after
his visits. He had seen her the morning of the day she was taken ill.

The letters he brought Brigitte had not been shown me; it was possible
that he knew the reason why our departure was delayed. Perhaps he did not
know all the circumstances, but he could doubtless enlighten me as to the
contents of those letters, and there was no reason why I should hesitate
to question him. When the curtain fell, I followed him to the foyer; I do
not know that he saw me coming, but he hastened away and entered a box. I
determined to wait until he should come out, and stood looking at the box
for fifteen minutes. At last he appeared. I bowed and approached him. He
hesitated a moment, then turned and disappeared down a stairway.

My desire to speak to him had been too evident to admit of any other
explanation than deliberate intention on his part to avoid me. He surely
knew my face, and, whether he knew it or not, a man who sees another
approaching him ought, at least, to wait for him. We were the only
persons in the corridor at the time, and there could be no doubt he did
not wish to speak to me. I did not dream of such impertinent treatment
from a man whom I had cordially received at my apartments; why should he
insult me? He could have no other excuse than a desire to avoid an
awkward interview, during which questions might be asked which he did not
care to answer. But why? This second mystery troubled me almost as much
as the first. Although I tried to drive the thought from my head, that
young man's action in av