I ask you for it. When I do, you may know that I am at my rope's end."

I took the letter, smiling. "And how long is your rope to be? The
Homburg season doesn't last for ever."

"Does it last a month? Let that be my season! A month hence you will
give it back to me."

"To-morrow if you say so. Meanwhile, let it rest in peace!" And I
consigned it to the most sacred interstice of my pocket-book. To say
that I was disposed to humour the poor fellow would seem to be saying
that I thought his request fantastic. It was his situation, by no fault
of his own, that was fantastic, and he was only trying to be natural. He
watched me put away the letter, and when it had disappeared gave a soft
sigh of relief. The sigh was natural, and yet it set me thinking. His
general recoil from an immediate responsibility imposed by others might
be wholesome enough; but if there was an old grievance on one side, was
there not possibly a new-born delusion on the other? It would be unkind
to withhold a reflection that might serve as a warning; so I told him,
abruptly, that I had been an undiscovered spectator, the night before, of
his exploits at roulette.

He blushed deeply, but he met my eyes with the same clear good-humour.

"Ah, then, you saw that wonderful lady?"

"Wonderful she was indeed. I saw her afterwards, too, sitting on the
terrace in the starlight. I imagine she was not alone."

"No, indeed, I was with her--for nearly an hour. Then I walked home with