But I had a confused idea that I was not alone in the tavern.  At the other end of the room stood a hideous group with haggard faces and harsh voices.  Their dress indicated that they belonged to the poorer class, but were not bourgeois; in short, they belonged to that ambiguous class, the vilest of all, which has neither fortune nor occupation, which never works except at some criminal plot, a class which, neither poor nor rich, combines the vices of one with the misery of the other.

They were quarrelling over a dirty pack of cards.  Among them was a girl who appeared to be very young and very pretty, was decently clad, and resembled her companions in no way, except in the harshness of her voice, which was as rough and broken as if it had performed the office of public crier.  She looked at me closely, as if astonished to see me in such a bad place, for I was elegantly attired.  Little by little she approached my table and seeing that all the bottles were empty, smiled.  I saw that she had fine teeth of brilliant whiteness; I took her hand and begged her to be seated; she consented with good grace and asked what we should have for supper.

I looked at her without saying a word, while my eyes began to fill with tears; she observed my emotion and inquired the cause.  I could not reply.  She understood that I had some secret sorrow and forebore any attempt to learn the cause; with her handkerchief she dried my tears from time to time as we dined.

There was something about this girl at once repulsive and sweet, a singular boldness mingled with pity, that I could not understand.  If she had taken my hand in the street she would have inspired a feeling of horror in me; but it seemed so strange that a creature I had never seen should come to me, and, without a word, proceed to order supper and dry my tears with her handkerchief, that I was rendered speechless; it revolted, yet charmed me.  What I had done had been done so quickly that I seemed to have obeyed some impulse of despair.  Perhaps I was a fool, or the victim of some supernatural caprice.

“Who are you?” I suddenly cried out; “what do you want of me?  How do you know who I am?  Who told you to dry my tears?  Is this your vocation and do you think I desire you?  I would not touch you with the tip of my finger.  What are you doing here?  Reply at once.  Is it money you want?  What price do you put on your pity?”

I arose and tried to go out, but my feet refused to support me.  At the same time my eyes failed me, a mortal weakness took possession of me and I fell over a stool.

“You are not well,” she said, taking me by the arm, “you have drunk, like the child that you are, without knowing what you were doing.  Sit down in this chair and wait until a cab passes.  You will tell me where you live and I will order the driver to take you home to your mother, since,” she added, “you really find me ugly.”

As she spoke I raised my eyes.  Perhaps my drunkenness deceived me, or perhaps I had not seen her face clearly before, but suddenly I detected in that unfortunate girl a fatal resemblance to my mistress.  I shuddered at the sight.  There is a certain shudder that affects the hair; some say it is death passing over the head, but it was not death that passed over mine.