A singularly happy idea had just struck me about a church bell--a church bell that was to peal out at a certain point in my drama. All was going ahead with overwhelming rapidity. Then I heard a step on the stairs. I tremble, and am almost beside myself; sit ready to bolt, timorous, watchful, full of fear at everything, and excited by hunger. I listen nervously, just hold the pencil still in my hand, and listen. I cannot write a word more. The door opens and the pair from below enter. Even before I had time to make an excuse for what I had done, the landlady calls out, as if struck of a heap with amazement: "Well, God bless and save us, if he isn't sitting here again!" "Excuse me," I said, and I would have added more, but got no farther; the landlady flung open the door, as far as it would go, and shrieked: "If you don't go out, now, may God blast me, but I'll fetch the police!" I got up. "I only wanted to say good-bye to you," I murmured; "and I had to wait for you. I didn't touch anything; I only just sat here on the chair...." "Yes, yes; there was no harm in that," said the man. "What the devil does it matter? Let the man alone; he--" By this time I had reached the end of the stairs. All at once I got furious with this fat, swollen woman, who followed close to my heels to get rid of me quickly, and I stood quiet a moment with the worst abusive epithets on my tongue ready to sling at her. But I bethought myself in time, and held my peace, if only out of gratitude to the stranger man who followed her, and would have to hear them. She trod close on my heels, railing incessantly, and my anger increased with every step I took. We reached the yard below. I walked very slowly, still debating whether I would not have it out with her. I was at this moment completely blinded with rage, and I searched for the worst word--an expression that would strike her dead on the spot, like a kick in her stomach. A commissionaire passes me at the entrance. He touches his hat; I take no notice; he applies to her; and I hear that he inquires for me, but I do not turn round. A couple of steps outside the door he overtakes and stops me. He hands me an envelope. I tear it open, roughly and unwillingly. It contains half-a-sovereign--no note, not a word. I look at the man, and ask: "What tomfoolery is this? Who is the letter from?" "Oh, that I can't say!" he replies; "but it was a lady who gave it to me." I stood still. The commissionaire left.