No doubt he had relatives and children of his own somewhere, but these matters remained vague and mysterious.

For the last three years he had been employed at the railway station as a superintendent in the goods department, a simple occupation, a little berth which had been given him by favour and which enabled him to live in perfect happiness.

A first stroke of apoplexy at fifty-five years of age had been followed by a second one three years later, which had left him slightly paralysed in the left side.

And now he was awaiting the third stroke with an air of perfect tranquillity.

As he himself put it, he was at the disposal of death, which might come for him that night, the next day, or possibly that very moment.