Till then----" We take each other's hand in confused hesitation.
* * * * * * A little later there is a scraping at the door, then a timid knock, and a long figure appears.
It is Veron who presents himself with an awkward air.

His tall and badly jointed body swings like a hanging signboard.

He is an original and sentimental soul, but no one has ever troubled to find out what he is.

He begins, "My young friend--hum, hum--" (he repeats this formless sound every two or three words, like a sort of clock with a sonorous tick)--"One may be wanting money, you know, for something--hum, hum; you need money, perhaps--hum, hum; all this expense--and I'd said to myself 'I'll take him some----'" He scrutinizes me as he repeats, "Hum, hum." I shake his hand with tears in my eyes.

I do not need money, but I know I shall never forget that action; so good, so supernatural.
And when he has swung himself out, abashed by my refusal, embarrassed by the unusual size of his legs and his heart, I sit down in a corner, seized with shivering.