"Before I saw Kristel I had pictured him in my mind as resembling his twin-brother--dark, like Silvain, with black hair, and brown, melancholy eyes. I had said to myself, 'I shall know Kristel, if I meet him for the first time when his brother is not present.' Another surprise awaited me. There was no resemblance between Silvain and Kristel; there was scarcely a brotherly likeness. Kristel was fair, his hair was light, his eyes were blue, and his frame was larger and more powerful. "They had much to relate to each other of their travels and adventures, and I frequently left them alone, in order that they might indulge freely in brotherly communion. I heard, however, from Kristel's lips the particulars of his accident, which tallied exactly with the account I had received from Silvain. "'You must have dreamt of it,' he said to Silvain, 'at the precise moment of its occurrence.' "Silvain nodded and smiled. He was happy because he was with Kristel, and because Kristel was recovering strength, slowly it was true, but surely. "'Has Kristel,' I said to Silvain, 'ever spoken to you of the beautiful girl who presented herself to you in your dreams?' "'No,' replied Silvain, 'he has not mentioned her.' "'Is that not strange?' I asked. "Silvain did not reply, and, gazing at him, I saw that he was lost in reverie. I had recalled the image of the girl, and he was musing upon it. "At another time I asked Silvain whether he himself had referred to her in his conversations with his brother. He confessed that he had not. There was, then, a secret which these brothers held close in their hearts. I was not wise enough to fix instantly upon the correct solution of this secret which each was keeping from the other. It required, in a third party, a riper experience than was at my command, to read the riddle aright. "Two months passed by, and Kristel hoped in a few days to be able to move out of the hut in which he had been so long confined, Silvain was in the habit of going to the post-office in the village, which lay at the foot of the mountain. He went one morning as usual for letters, and I was left with Kristel. We conversed freely, and Kristel asked me to bring his desk, which was on a table at a little distance from the couch upon which he was lying. I brought the desk, and he opened it. He took letters from it which he did not read, and then some drawings in water-colours, an art in which he was proficient. He glanced at them, and laid them singly aside, retaining one, upon which he gazed long and earnestly. "'You are an artist,' I said, for, seeing that I had moved my chair from the bed, so that I should not intrude upon his private matters, he had called me closer, and invited me by a gesture to examine the sketches. "'But a poor one,' he said, still gazing at the drawing in his hand. 'Still, this is not bad, I think.' And he held it out to me.