The agitation which had seized upon me at the beginning of our
conversation had gradually subsided; I thought our intimacy rather
strange--that was all. I did not like the smile with which the baron
questioned me; neither did I like the expression of his eyes when he
fairly stabbed them into me.... There was about them something rapacious
and condescending ... something which inspired dread. I had not seen
those eyes in my dream. The baron had a strange face! It was pallid,
fatigued, and, at the same time, youthful in appearance, but with a
disagreeable youthfulness! Neither had my "nocturnal" father that deep
scar, which intersected his whole forehead in a slanting direction, and
which I did not notice until I moved closer to him.
Before I had had time to impart to the baron the name of the street and
the number of the house where we lived, a tall negro, wrapped up in a
cloak to his very eyes, approached him from behind and tapped him softly
on the shoulder. The baron turned round, said: "Aha! At last!" and
nodding lightly to me, entered the coffee-house with the negro. I
remained under the awning. I wished to wait until the baron should come
out again, not so much for the sake of entering again into conversation
with him (I really did not know what topic I could start with), as for
the purpose of again verifying my first impression.--But half an hour
passed; an hour passed.... The baron did not make his appearance. I
entered the coffee-house, I made the circuit of all the rooms--but
nowhere did I see either the baron or the negro.... Both of them must
have taken their departure through the back door.
My head had begun to ache a little, and with the object of refreshing
myself I set out along the seashore to the extensive park outside the
town, which had been laid out ten years previously. After having
strolled for a couple of hours in the shade of the huge oaks and
plaintain-trees, I returned home.