To Cologne I immediately
despatched a line of inquiry as to his prosperity and the cause of his
silence. The next day I received three words in answer--a simple
uncommented request that I would come to him. I lost no time, and
reached him in the course of a few hours. It was dark when I arrived,
and the city was sheeted in a cold autumnal rain. Pickering had
stumbled, with an indifference which was itself a symptom of distress, on
a certain musty old Mainzerhof, and I found him sitting over a
smouldering fire in a vast dingy chamber which looked as if it had grown
gray with watching the _ennui_ of ten generations of travellers. Looking
at him, as he rose on my entrance, I saw that he was in extreme
tribulation. He was pale and haggard; his face was five years older.
Now, at least, in all conscience, he had tasted of the cup of life! I
was anxious to know what had turned it so suddenly to bitterness; but I
spared him all importunate curiosity, and let him take his time. I
accepted tacitly his tacit confession of distress, and we made for a
while a feeble effort to discuss the picturesqueness of Cologne. At last
he rose and stood a long time looking into the fire, while I slowly paced
the length of the dusky room.
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