“I joined him as he was going to mass (it was Sunday) and I gave him five francs as I gazed at him anxiously.  He began to laugh in an idiotic manner, took the money, and then, embarrassed afresh at my gaze, he ran off, after stammering an almost inarticulate word that, no doubt, meant ‘thank you.’

“My day passed in the same distress of mind as on the previous night.  I sent for the landlord, and, with the greatest caution, skill and tact, I told him that I was interested in this poor creature, so abandoned by every one and deprived of everything, and I wished to do something for him.

“But the man replied:  ’Oh, do not think of it, monsieur; he is of no account; you will only cause yourself annoyance.  I employ him to clean out the stable, and that is all he can do.  I give him his board and let him sleep with the horses.  He needs nothing more.  If you have an old pair of trousers, you might give them to him, but they will be in rags in a week.’

“I did not insist, intending to think it over.

“The poor wretch came home that evening frightfully drunk, came near setting fire to the house, killed a horse by hitting it with a pickaxe, and ended up by lying down to sleep in the mud in the midst of the pouring rain, thanks to my donation.

“They begged me next day not to give him any more money.  Brandy drove him crazy, and as soon as he had two sous in his pocket he would spend it in drink.  The landlord added:  ‘Giving him money is like trying to kill him.’  The man had never, never in his life had more than a few centimes, thrown to him by travellers, and he knew of no destination for this metal but the wine shop.

“I spent several hours in my room with an open book before me which I pretended to read, but in reality looking at this animal, my son! my son! trying to discover if he looked anything like me.  After careful scrutiny I seemed to recognize a similarity in the lines of the forehead and the root of the nose, and I was soon convinced that there was a resemblance, concealed by the difference in garb and the man’s hideous head of hair.

“I could not stay here any longer without arousing suspicion, and I went away, my heart crushed, leaving with the innkeeper some money to soften the existence of his servant.

“For six years now I have lived with this idea in my mind, this horrible uncertainty, this abominable suspicion.  And each year an irresistible force takes me back to Pont Labbe.  Every year I condemn myself to the torture of seeing this animal raking the manure, imagining that he resembles me, and endeavoring, always vainly, to render him some assistance.  And each year I return more uncertain, more tormented, more worried.

“I tried to have him taught, but he is a hopeless idiot.  I tried to make his life less hard.  He is an irreclaimable drunkard, and spends in drink all the money one gives him, and knows enough to sell his new clothes in order to get brandy.