But, as he cast a last glance at the house opposite, Auguste saw the window opened, of which the torn curtain had prevented a view of the interior. A not unnatural curiosity led the young man to continue to look; and, his light having gone out, he did not turn to relight it, although it did not occur to him that he was able thus to see without being seen. The room, which he could now see quite plainly, presented a melancholy appearance: bare walls, a wretched sack of straw in one corner, a table, and a chair or two--nothing else was to be seen in that poor abode, where want and misfortune seemed to dwell. The room was dimly lighted by a flickering lamp. An elderly man was alone in the room; his dress, although shabby, was not that of a workman; his hair was white and his face looked worn and haggard; everything about his person and in his manner denoted an ominous and desperate agitation. Auguste's heart swelled with pity as he gazed at that old man; curiosity gave place at once to profound interest, and it was a secret apprehension that led him to follow his every movement. After opening the window, the old man went to the back of the room, walking with care and apparently listening. He opened softly the door of a small dressing-room, in which Auguste caught sight of a bed. Doubtless the bed had an occupant, for the old man stopped, and stood for some moments gazing at the person who was sleeping there; then he wiped away with his hand the tears that flowed from his eyes. After a few moments he stepped forward, taking care to make no noise, and imprinted a kiss on the brow of the person in the bed; he seemed unable to tear himself away and to give over his silent contemplation. He fell on his knees and raised his hands as if praying to God for the person from whom it was so hard for him to part. Then he rose and sank into a chair, as if overwhelmed by grief. At that moment Auguste could distinguish nothing clearly; his eyes were filled with tears, which rolled unnoticed down his cheeks. But suddenly the old man, as if he had ceased to listen to aught save his despair, sprang to his feet and ran to the window, cast a last glance about him, and climbed out. His foot was already on the edge when a cry of horror arose.--"Stop! stop!" Those were the only words that Auguste was able to articulate. His own body was half out of the window; he wished to save the unfortunate man, but was afraid to leave his post lest he should accomplish his deadly purpose before he could go downstairs and up again. Auguste's cry startled the poor fellow; he stopped and turned his head toward the little room, thinking that the tones that had gone to his heart had come from there. His strength abandoned him, the gloomy frenzy which impelled him gave place to weakness, to the prostration which always succeeds paroxysms of nervous excitement. He sank into a chair, a woman's name issued from his mouth, and his tears flowed afresh.