The utmost he would assent to was
that he should be my guest till he could find a room for himself, which
he would set about doing at once.
He was still much agitated, but grew better as he ate a breakfast, not of
prison fare and in a comfortable room. It pleased me to see the delight
he took in all about him; the fireplace with a fire in it; the easy
chairs, the _Times_, my cat, the red geraniums in the window, to say
nothing of coffee, bread and butter, sausages, marmalade, etc. Everything
was pregnant with the most exquisite pleasure to him. The plane trees
were full of leaf still; he kept rising from the breakfast table to
admire them; never till now, he said, had he known what the enjoyment of
these things really was. He ate, looked, laughed and cried by turns,
with an emotion which I can neither forget nor describe.
He told me how his father and mother had lain in wait for him, as he was
about to leave prison. I was furious, and applauded him heartily for
what he had done. He was very grateful to me for this. Other people, he
said, would tell him he ought to think of his father and mother rather
than of himself, and it was such a comfort to find someone who saw things
as he saw them himself.
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