Duration: 1m2s

Perhaps as a result of this general silence, I had established a casual and bantering familiarity with the hotel's concierge, a West-continental known only as Monsieur Jean, who struck one as being, at once, both lazy and, really, quite accommodating. I expect he was not well paid. In any case, one evening, as I stood conferring elbow-to-elbow with Monsieur Jean, as had become my habit, I noticed a new presence in our company. A small, elderly man, smartly dressed, with an exceptionally lively, intelligent face and an immediately perceptible air of sadness. He was, like the rest of us, alone, but also, I must say, he was the first that struck one as being deeply and truly lonely. A symptom of my own medical condition as well. Who's this interesting old fellow? I inquired of Monsieur Jean. To my surprise, he was distinctly taken aback. Don't you know? He asked. Don't you recognize him? He did look familiar. That's Mr. Moustafa himself. He arrived earlier this morning.