Mademoiselle Cocotte by Guy De Maupassant — Read

We were about to leave the asylum when I noticed in a corner of the courtyard a tall, thin man, obstinately going through the motions of calling an imaginary dog. He would call out, in sweet, tender tones: "Cocotte, my little Cocotte, come here, Cocotte, come here, my beauty," striking his leg, as one does to attract the attention of an animal. I said to the doctor:

"What is the matter with him?"