There, right in front of him, plain to his sight, in the very middle of his plate, fallen from God knows where, frightful and unmistakable among a thousand--don’t doubt it for an instant, Lafcadio--there lies Carola’s sleeve-link! The sleeve-link which had been missing from Fleurissoire’s second cuff! The whole thing was becoming a nightmare.... But the waiter is bending over him with the dish. With a sweep of his hand, Lafcadio wipes his plate and brushes the horrid trinket on to the table-cloth; he puts his plate back on to the top of it, helps himself abundantly, fills his glass with champagne, empties it at a draught and fills it again. For if a man who hasn’t dined is to have drunken visions.... But no! it was not an hallucination; he hears the squeak of the link against his plate; he raises his plate, seizes the link, slips it into his waistcoat pocket beside his watch, feels it again, makes certain--yes! there it is, safe and sound! But who shall say how it came on his plate? Who put it there?... Lafcadio looks at Defouqueblize. The learned gentleman is innocently eating, his nose in his plate. Lafcadio tries to think of something else; he looks once more at the widow; but everything about her demeanour and her attire has become proper again and commonplace; he doesn’t think her as pretty as before; he tries to imagine afresh the provocative gesture--the red stocking--but he fails; he tries to imagine afresh the sleeve-link on his plate and if he did not actually feel it in his pockets, there’s no question but that he would doubt his senses.... But now he comes to reflect, why did he take a sleeve-link which doesn’t belong to him? What an admission is implied by this instinctive and absurd action--what a recognition! How he has given himself away to the people--whoever they may be--who are watching him--the police, perhaps! He has walked straight into their booby trap like a fool. He feels himself grow livid. He turns sharply round; there, behind the glass door leading into the corridor.... No! no one.... But a moment ago there may have been someone who saw him! He forces himself to go on eating, but his teeth clench with vexation. Unhappy young man! it is not his abominable crime that he regrets, but this ill-starred impulse.... What has come over the professor now? Why is he smiling at him? Defouqueblize had finished eating. He wiped his lips; then with both elbows on the table, fiddling nervously with his napkin, he began to look at Lafcadio; his lips worked in an odd sort of grin; at last, as though unable to contain himself any longer: “Might I venture to ask for just a little more?” He pushed his glass timidly towards the almost empty bottle. Lafcadio, surprised out of his uneasiness and delighted at the diversion, poured him out the last drops. “I’m afraid it’s impossible to give you much.... But shall I order some more?” “Oh, well, not more than half a bottle then.”