The appearance of suspicion revolted me and filled me with horror.
On the other hand, how could I conceive of inconstancy or of caprice in
that woman such as I knew her? I was lost in the abyss of doubt and I
could not discover a gleam of light, the smallest point on which to base
conjecture.
In front of me in the gallery, sat a young man whose face was not unknown
to me. As often happens when one is preoccupied, I looked at him without
thinking of him as a personal identity or trying to fit a name on him.
Suddenly, I recognized him: it was he, who had brought letters to
Brigitte from N-----. I arose and started to accost him without thinking
what I was doing. He occupied a place that I could not reach without
disturbing a large number of spectators and I was forced to await the
entr'acte.
My first thought was that if any one could enlighten me it was this young
man. He had had several interviews with Madame Pierson the last few days,
and I recalled the fact that she was always much depressed after his
visits. He had seen her the morning of the day she was taken ill. The
letters he brought Brigitte had not been shown me; it was possible that
he knew the reason why our departure was delayed. Perhaps he did not know
all the circumstances, but he could, doubtless, enlighten me as to the
contents of those letters, and there was no reason why I should hesitate
about questioning him.
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