He threw himself into an armchair, and let his head drop between his hands.
I looked at him in astonishment; his hair was dripping with rain; his shoes, his knees, and the bottom of his trousers were covered with mud. I went to the window; I saw at the door his servant and his cabriolet; I could make nothing out of it all.
He saw my surprise.
"I have been to the cemetery of Pére-Lachaise," said he.
"At ten o'clock in the morning?"
"I was there at seven—cursed bal masqué!"
I could not imagine what a bal masqué and Pére-Lachaise had to do with one another. I resigned myself, and turning my back to the mantelpiece began to roll a cigarette for him between my fingers with the phlegm and the patience of a Spaniard.
While he was coming to the point I hinted to Anthony that I, for my part, was commonly very susceptible to attentions of that kind.
He made me a sign of thanks, but pushed my hand away.
Finally I bent over to light the cigarette for myself: Anthony stopped me.
"Alexandre," he said to me, "Listen, I beg of you."
"But you have been here already a quarter of an hour and have not told me anything."
"Oh! it is a most strange adventure."
I got up, placed my cigarette on the mantelpiece and crossed my arms like a man resigned; only I began to believe, as he did, that he was fast becoming mad.
