Placing the sheets of the newspaper on a level with my face, I continued
to devour the stranger with my eyes.--He hardly stirred, and only raised
his drooping head a little from time to time. He was evidently waiting
for some one. I gazed and gazed.... Sometimes it seemed to me that I had
invented the whole thing, that in reality there was no resemblance
whatever, that I had yielded to the semi-involuntary deception of the
imagination ... but "he" would suddenly turn a little on his chair,
raise his hand slightly, and again I almost cried aloud, again I beheld
before me my "nocturnal" father! At last he noticed my importunate
attention, and, first with surprise, then with vexation, he glanced in
my direction, started to rise, and knocked down a small cane which he
had leaned against the table. I instantly sprang to my feet, picked it
up and handed it to him. My heart was beating violently.

He smiled in a constrained way, thanked me, and putting his face close
to my face, he elevated his eyebrows and parted his lips a little, as
though something had struck him.

"You are very polite, young man," he suddenly began, in a dry, sharp,
snuffling voice.--"That is a rarity nowadays. Allow me to congratulate
you. You have been well brought up."

I do not remember precisely what answer I made to him; but the
conversation between us was started. I learned that he was a
fellow-countryman of mine, that he had recently returned from America,
where he had lived many years, and whither he was intending to return
shortly. He said his name was Baron.... I did not catch the name well.
He, like my "nocturnal" father, wound up each of his remarks with an