
	And so, the only reasons Dr. Rieux could glean for Cottard's peculiarities were pieced together from half mentions in conversation and small statements about their surroundings. These fragments, combined with Cottard's reticence on nearly all personal matters, would not have been conductive to any sort of profound discovery on why he acted as he did, and, indeed, the doctor gained very little in the way of concrete conclusions during these evening sabbaticals. The true problem, however, likely lay in the search for a profound discovery, very few of the population have any truly profound secrets, though those that do are no more likely to be found than not on such unexceptional circumstances as an evening stroll.
	Those conclusions that Dr. Rieux was able to draw were based more on what the man avoided than what he spoke about. Cottard avoided [something], and quite routinely skipped the proper areas of the town (if any section could still sustain that description). He seemed quite comfortable in his newfound friends, the smugglers, mistrust of everyone and everything, perhaps because they resembled a sort of distorted mirror, reflecting his own mistrust. Cottard avoided the exceptional, though not as rule. He preferred the almost mindless fear of the common people, perhaps because its manifestations in this group where less threatening than any extreme. This fear was perhaps best described as menacing background noise. It was merely a new part of life, by no means a pleasant or welcome addition, be it had become an expected one. This undercurrent of tension present was likely very similar to Cottard’s own fear. The comfort he found here, however, nearly served to isolate him again, were it not for the supreme powers of denial the general public possessed his genuine good spirits might never have been mistaken for false cheer.
	By the time it became much too cold for evening strolls Dr. Rieux had only a few clues, he was, perhaps, less certain of Cottard’s reasons and past than he had been previously. He was no further to answers than he had been before he had begun to speak with Cottard, he knew only what he had know before; what Cottard had told him when they had first become acquainted. Cottard’s “secret grief” seemed as if it would remain so forever. Rieux had no intimation on how this grief could have driven Cottard to attempt suicide. What had connected this oppressive grief with specialized and omnipresent fear? Certainly Cottard’s actions pointed toward a great fear in his past, but had this fear become so overwhelming as to twist itself to grief, or had the grief been so unbearable it gave rise to an incredible fear of the circumstances that spawned it? Rieux had only suppositions, and Cottard seemed entirely too perceptive to have simply snapped. The source of his grief must have been too intensely personal, perhaps stemming from some perceived fault of his own, for him to express, even merely adequately, to any other.
