I was just going to drink my chocolate; but I was so astonished that I let it get cold. I searched my mind ... nobody owes me money. I have a fixed revenue, gentlemen, and with little economies each year, notwithstanding the continual fall in the value of stock, I manage to live within my income. I expected nothing, as I have said. I have never asked for anything. My usual regular life prevents me from even wishing for anything. I gave much thought to the question after the best methods: _Cur, unde, quo, qua?_--From where, for where, by where, why? And this note was not an answer, for this was the first time in my life I questioned anything. I thought: it must be a mistake; perhaps I can repair it. This sum was intended no doubt for some one of the same name. So I looked in the Post Office Directory for a homonym, who was perhaps expecting the letter. But my name cannot be common, as in looking through that enormous book I was the only one of that name indicated. I hoped to come to a better result by the writing on the envelope, and find out who sent the letter, if not to whom it was sent. It was then that I consulted the graphologists. But nothing--no nothing--they could tell me nothing; which only increased my distress. These £20 troubled me more and more every day; I would like to get rid of them, but I do not know what to do. For anyhow ... or if some one had given them to me, at least they deserve to be thanked. I should like to show my gratitude,--but to whom? Always in the hope of something turning up, I carry the note with me. It does not leave me day or night. I am at its disposal. Before, I was banal but free. Now I belong to that note. This adventure has decided me; I was nothing, now I am somebody. Since this adventure I am restless; I search for people to talk to, and if I come here for my meals it is because of this system of tables for three; among the people I meet here I hope one day to find the one who will know the writing on the envelope, here it is.... With these words Damocles drew from his breast a sigh and from his frock-coat a dirty yellow envelope. His full name was written there in a very ordinary handwriting. Then a strange thing happened: Cocles, who up to that time had been silent, kept silent,--but suddenly raised his hand and made a violent effort to strike Damocles, the waiter catching his hand just in time. Cocles recovered himself and sadly made this speech, which can be only understood later on: After all, it is better so, for if I had succeeded in returning you the blow you would have believed it your duty to give me back the note and ... it does not belong to me.--Then, seeing that Damocles was waiting for a further explanation:--It was I, he added, pointing to the envelope, who wrote your address. --But how did you know my name, cried Damocles, rather annoyed by the incident.