Our evenings, one after another, were spent in such stirring and fervent talk. I gave up society and visited my neighbors much less frequently. Besides, my vogue was somewhat over. I say this, not as blame, for they still loved me and treated me good-humoredly, but there’s no denying that fashion is a great power in society. I began to regard my mysterious visitor with admiration, for besides enjoying his intelligence, I began to perceive that he was brooding over some plan in his heart, and was preparing himself perhaps for a great deed. Perhaps he liked my not showing curiosity about his secret, not seeking to discover it by direct question nor by insinuation. But I noticed at last, that he seemed to show signs of wanting to tell me something. This had become quite evident, indeed, about a month after he first began to visit me. “Do you know,” he said to me once, “that people are very inquisitive about us in the town and wonder why I come to see you so often. But let them wonder, for _soon all will be explained_.” Sometimes an extraordinary agitation would come over him, and almost always on such occasions he would get up and go away. Sometimes he would fix a long piercing look upon me, and I thought, “He will say something directly now.” But he would suddenly begin talking of something ordinary and familiar. He often complained of headache too. One day, quite unexpectedly indeed, after he had been talking with great fervor a long time, I saw him suddenly turn pale, and his face worked convulsively, while he stared persistently at me. “What’s the matter?” I said; “do you feel ill?”—he had just been complaining of headache. “I ... do you know ... I murdered some one.” He said this and smiled with a face as white as chalk. “Why is it he is smiling?” The thought flashed through my mind before I realized anything else. I too turned pale. “What are you saying?” I cried. “You see,” he said, with a pale smile, “how much it has cost me to say the first word. Now I have said it, I feel I’ve taken the first step and shall go on.” For a long while I could not believe him, and I did not believe him at that time, but only after he had been to see me three days running and told me all about it. I thought he was mad, but ended by being convinced, to my great grief and amazement. His crime was a great and terrible one.