For the rest, he seemed pleased with the beauty of the sky and the gayety
of the landscape, and although he had told no one whether he intended to
remain there long or not, the fact was that he did not go away. Doubtless
he grew tired of the life at the hotel, for one day he suddenly bought a
fine house and established himself in it like a prince. This edifice,
venerable from its antiquity, had the grandiose aspect of a palace, and
one of its angles fronted Berta's house.

This is all that was known about Adrian Baker. We now know, therefore,
that the mysterious Adrian Baker was neither more nor less than Berta's
neighbor himself.

One night, returning from his daily visit to Berta, he entered the house,
crossed the hall, and shut himself up in his own apartments. Shortly
afterwards the great door of the palace, creaking harshly on its hinges,
was closed; the lights were extinguished one by one, and everything
remained in profound silence. Adrian Baker, however, was not asleep.

At the further end of the room, which was lighted by the soft light of a
lamp, he sat with his elbows resting on a mahogany table and his face
buried in his hands, seemingly lost in thought. And his thoughts could not
be of a pleasant nature, for the stern frown upon his brow showed that
some storm was raging behind that forehead smooth as a child's and pale as
death. The light of the lamp, reflected from his golden hair, seemed to
envelop his head in fantastic lights and shadows.

After many moments of immobility and silence, he struck the table
violently with the palm of his hand, exclaiming:

"Accursed riches! Odious learning! Cruel experience!"