“‘He is not worth much,’ continued the innkeeper; ’we have kept him for charity’s sake.  Perhaps he would have turned out better if he had been brought up like other folks.  But what could one do, monsieur?  No father, no mother, no money!  My parents took pity on him, but he was not their child, you understand.’

“I said nothing.

“I slept in my old room, and all night long I thought of this frightful stableman, saying to myself:  ’Supposing it is my own son?  Could I have caused that girl’s death and procreated this being?  It was quite possible!’

“I resolved to speak to this man and to find out the exact date of his birth.  A variation of two months would set my doubts at rest.

“I sent for him the next day.  But he could not speak French.  He looked as if he could not understand anything, being absolutely ignorant of his age, which I had inquired of him through one of the maids.  He stood before me like an idiot, twirling his hat in ’his knotted, disgusting hands, laughing stupidly, with something of his mother’s laugh in the corners of his mouth and of his eyes.

“The landlord, appearing on the scene, went to look for the birth certificate of this wretched being.  He was born eight months and twenty-six days after my stay at Pont Labbe, for I recollect perfectly that we reached Lorient on the fifteenth of August.  The certificate contained this description:  ‘Father unknown.’  The mother called herself Jeanne Kerradec.

“Then my heart began to beat rapidly.  I could not utter a word, for I felt as if I were choking.  I looked at this animal whose long yellow hair reminded me of a straw heap, and the beggar, embarrassed by my gaze, stopped laughing, turned his head aside, and wanted to get away.

“All day long I wandered beside the little river, giving way to painful reflections.  But what was the use of reflection?  I could be sure of nothing.  For hours and hours I weighed all the pros and cons in favor of or against the probability of my being the father, growing nervous over inexplicable suppositions, only to return incessantly to the same horrible uncertainty, then to the still more atrocious conviction that this man was my son.

“I could eat no dinner, and went to my room.

“I lay awake for a long time, and when I finally fell asleep I was haunted by horrible visions.  I saw this laborer laughing in my face and calling me ‘papa.’  Then he changed into a dog and bit the calves of my legs, and no matter how fast I ran he still followed me, and instead of barking, talked and reviled me.  Then he appeared before my colleagues at the Academy, who had assembled to decide whether I was really his father; and one of them cried out:  ’There can be no doubt about it!  See how he resembles him.’  And, indeed, I could see that this monster looked like me.  And I awoke with this idea fixed in my mind and with an insane desire to see the man again and assure myself whether or not we had similar features.