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“Don’t you remember me? Why, I’m here because of
something you said to me. You changed my whole life for me. I’m
Stephens.”
I had not the least notion what he was talking about. He
reminded me of our interview, he repeated to me what we had said,
and gradually, out of the night, a dim recollection of the incident
came back to me.
“I was wondering if I’d ever see you again,” he said, “I was
wondering if ever I’d have a chance of thanking you for all you’ve
done for me.”
“It’s been a success then?”
I looked at him. He was very fat now and bald, but his eyes
twinkled gaily and his fleshy, red face bore an expression of perfect
good humour. The clothes he wore, terribly shabby they were, had
been made obviously by a Spanish tailor and his hat was the wide-
brimmed sombrero of the Spaniard. He looked to me as though he
knew a good bottle of wine when he saw it. He had a dissipated,
though entirely sympathetic, appearance. You might have hesitated to
let him remove your appendix, but you could not have imagined a
more delightful creature to drink a glass of wine with.
“Surely you were married?” I said.
“Yes. My wife didn’t like Spain, she went back to Camberwell,
she was more at home there.”
“Oh, I’m sorry for that.”
His black eyes flashed a bacchanalian smile. He really had
somewhat the look of a young Silenus.
“Life is full of compensations,” he murmured. The words were
hardly out of his mouth when a Spanish woman, no longer in her first
youth, but still boldly and voluptuously beautiful, appeared at the
door. She spoke to him in Spanish, and I could not fail to perceive
that she was the mistress of the house. As he stood at the door to let
me out he said to me: “You told me when last I saw you that if I came
here I should earn just enough money to keep body and soul together,
but that I should lead a wonderful life. Well, I want to tell you that
you were right. Poor I have been and poor I shall always be, but by
heaven I’ve enjoyed myself. I wouldn’t exchange the life I’ve had
with that of any king in the world.”
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