“Yes, I know; he has been arrested,” interrupted Lafcadio dryly. “Are you going to advise me to allow an innocent man to be condemned in my place?” “Innocent? He has just murdered a woman--you knew her too.” “Very comforting, isn’t it?” “I don’t mean that exactly, but....” “You mean he’s just the only person who could denounce me.” “There’s some hope left still, you see.” Julius got up, walked to the window, straightened the folds of the curtain, came back and then leaning forward with his arms folded on the back of the chair he had just left: “Lafcadio, I shouldn’t like to part from you without a word of advice. It lies entirely with you, I’m convinced, to become an honest man again and to take your place in the world--as far, that is, as your birth permits.... The Church is there to help you. Come, my lad, a little courage; go and confess yourself.” Lafcadio could not suppress a smile. “I will think over your kind words.” He took a step forward and then: “No doubt you will prefer not to shake hands with a murderer. But I should like to thank you for your....” “Yes, yes,” said Julius with a cordial and distant wave of the hand. “Good-bye, my lad. I hardly dare say ‘au revoir.’ None the less, if later on, you....” “For the present you have nothing further to say to me?” “Nothing further for the present.” “Good-bye, Monsieur de Baraglioul.” Lafcadio bowed gravely and went out. * * * * * He went up to his room on the floor above, half undressed and flung himself on his bed. The end of the day had been very hot and no freshness had come with the night. His window stood wide open but not a breath stirred the air; the electric globes of the Piazza dei Termi, far away on the other side of the garden, shone into his room and filled it with a diffused and bluish light which might have been the moon’s. He tried to reflect, but a strange torpor--a despairing numbness--crept over his mind; it was not of his crime that he thought nor of how to escape; the only effort he could make was not to hear those dreadful words of Julius: “I was beginning to care for you.” ...If he himself did not care for Julius, were those words worth his tears?... Was that really why he was weeping?... The night was so soft that he felt as though he had only to let himself go for death to take him. He reached out for the water bottle by his bed-side, soaked his handkerchief and held it to his heart, which was hurting him. “No drink will ever slake again the thirst of my parched heart,” said he, letting the tears course down his face unchecked, so as to taste their bitterness to the full on his lips. A line or two of poetry, read he knew not where and unconsciously remembered, kept singing in his ears: “My heart aches and a drowsy numbness pains My senses....” He fell into a doze. * * * * *