perceived that he was no other than the chief guest of the
evening, the Englishman of whom I have previously spoken.

His expression had altered. He looked now both anxious and
absorbed, particularly anxious and particularly absorbed; so much
so that I was not surprised that no one ventured to approach him.
Again I wondered and again I asked myself for whom or for what he
was waiting. For Mr. Durand to leave this lady's presence? No,
no, I would not believe that. Mr. Durand could not be there
still; yet some women make it difficult for a man to leave them
and, realizing this, I could not forbear casting a parting glance
behind me as, yielding to Mr. Fox's importunities, I turned
toward the supper-room. It showed me the Englishman in the act of
lifting two cups of coffee from a small table standing near the
reception-room door. As his manner plainly betokened whither he
was bound with this refreshment, I felt all my uneasiness vanish,
and was able to take my seat at one of the small tables with
which the supper-room was filled, and for a few minutes, at
least, lend an ear to Mr. Fox's vapid compliments and trite
opinions. Then my attention wandered.

I had not moved nor had I shifted my gaze from the scene before
me the ordinary scene of a gay and well-filled supper-room, yet I
found myself looking, as if through a mist I had not even seen
develop, at something as strange, unusual and remote as any
phantasm, yet distinct enough in its outlines for me to get a
decided impression of a square of light surrounding the figure of
a man in a peculiar pose not easily imagined and not easily
described. It all passed in an instant, and I sat staring at the
window opposite me with the feeling of one who has just seen a