He remained motionless for a moment, his arms hanging listlessly; at length, raising them slowly, he crossed his hands over his head, one of his favorite attitudes, raised his eyes from the ground, and looked steadily at me. Oh! what a strange expression! His wild look, a sad and mysterious smile wandering over his lips, his mouth which tried to speak, but to which speech refused to come! That face has been constantly before me since last night; it pursues me, possesses me, and even at this moment its image is stamped in the paper I am writing on. This black velvet tunic, then, may be a forced disguise? Yes, the character of Stephane, his mind, his singularity of conduct,--all these things which astonished and frightened me are now explained. Gilbert, Gilbert! what have you done? into what abyss. . . And yet, perhaps I am mistaken, for how can I believe-- There is the dinner bell. . . I shall see HIM again! XVI Some hours later, Gilbert entered Stephane's room, and struck by his pallor and with the troubled expression of his voice, inquired about him anxiously. "I assure you I am very well," Stephane replied, mastering his emotion. "Have you brought me any flowers?" "No, I have had no time to go for them." "That is to say, you have not had time to think of me." "Oh! I beg your pardon! I can think of you while working, while reading Greek, even while sleeping. And last night I saw you in my dreams: you treated me as a pedant, and threw your cap in my face." "That was a very extravagant dream." "I am not so sure about that. It seems to me that one day--" "Yes, one day, two centuries ago." "Is it then so long since our acquaintance commenced?" "Perhaps not two centuries, but nearly. As for me, I have already lived three lives: my first I passed with my mother. The second-- let us not speak of that. The third began upon the night when, for the first time, you climbed into this window. And that must have been a long time ago, if I can judge of it by all which has passed since then, in my soul, in my imagination, and in my mind. Is it possible that these two centuries have only been two months? How can it be that such great changes have been wrought in me, in so short a time, for they are so marvelous that I can hardly recognize myself?" "One of these changes, of which I am proud, is that you no longer throw your cap at my head." "That was a liberty I took only with the pedant." "And are you at last reconciled to him?" "I have discovered that the pedant does not exist. There is a hero and a philosopher in you." "That is a discovery I did not expect from you, and one that astonishes as much as it flatters me." "When I tell you that I am changed throughout, and that I no longer recognize myself--"