was started. I learned that he was a
fellow-countryman of mine, that he had recently returned from America,
where he had lived many years, and whither he was intending to return
shortly. He said his name was Baron.... I did not catch the name well.
He, like my "nocturnal" father, wound up each of his remarks with an
indistinct, inward growl. He wanted to know my name.... On hearing it he
again showed signs of surprise. Then he asked me if I had been living
long in that town, and with whom? I answered him that I lived with my
mother.

"And your father?"

"My father died long ago."

He inquired my mother's Christian name, and immediately burst into an
awkward laugh--and then excused himself, saying that he had that
American habit, and that altogether he was a good deal of an eccentric.
Then he asked where we lived. I told him.

VI

The agitation which had seized upon me at the beginning of our
conversation had gradually subsided; I thought our intimacy rather
strange--that was all. I did not like the smile with which the baron
questioned me; neither did I like the expression of his eyes when he
fairly stabbed them into me.... There was about them something rapacious
and condescending ... something which inspired dread. I had not seen
those eyes in my dream. The baron had a strange face! It was pallid,
fatigued, and, at the same time, youthful in appearance, but with a
disagreeable youthfulness! Neither had my "nocturnal" father that deep
scar, which intersected his whole forehead in a slanting direction, and
which I did not notice until I moved closer to him.

Before I had had time to impart to the baron the name of the street and
the number of the house where we lived, a tall negro, wrapped up in a
cloak to his very eyes, approached him from behind and tapped him softly
on the shoulder. The baron turned round, said: "Aha! At last!" and
nodding lightly to me, entered the coffee-house with the negro. I
remained under the awning. I wished to wait until the baron should come
out again, not so much for the sake of entering again into conversation
with him (I really did not know what topic I could start with), as for
the purpose of again verifying my first impression.--But half an hour
passed; an hour passed.... The baron did not make his appearance. I
entered the coffee-house, I made the circuit of all the rooms--but
nowhere did I see either the baron or the negro.... Both of them must
have taken their departu