N. N. is rather indisposed."

"What is the matter with him?"

"He does not say, but he has taken to his bed, neither eats nor
drinks, and is sadly out of humour."

I was touched; he was suffering and had no one to console him.

"I will write him a few lines," exclaimed I.

"I will take them this evening, then," said Tremerello, and he went
out.

I was a little perplexed on sitting down to my table: "Am I right
in resuming this correspondence? was I not, just now, praising
solitude as a treasure newly found? what inconsistency is this! Ah!
but he neither eats nor drinks, and I fear must be very ill. Is it,
then, a moment to abandon him? My last letter was severe, and may
perhaps have caused him pain. Perhaps, in spite of our different
ways of thinking, he wished not to end our correspondence. Yes, he
has thought my letter more caustic than I meant it to be, and taken
it in the light of an absolute and contemptuous dismission.



CHAPTER XLI.