I had sat for some time, when suddenly a young man entered the _cafe_, whose face, were I to live for a century, I shall never forget.

He was perfectly livid, his features rigid, and his eyes wild and full of anguish.

He was evidently in intense agony of mind or body.

Evidently, however, it was not poverty that was oppressing him, for as he cast himself upon a sofa, all the waiters rushed forward to receive his orders.

In a voice that was almost unintelligible, he asked for a bottle of brandy, and pen, ink, and paper.