A man who is the successful manager of a theatre is probably the last man in the civilized universe who is capable of being impressed with favourable opinions of his fellow-creatures.  Francis privately set the manager down as a humbug, and the story about the numbering of the rooms as a lie.

On the day of his arrival, he dined by himself in the restaurant, before the hour of the table d’hote, for the express purpose of questioning the waiter, without being overheard by anybody.  The answer led him to the conclusion that ‘13 A’ occupied the situation in the hotel which had been described by his brother and sister as the situation of ‘14.’  He asked next for the Visitors’ List; and found that the French gentleman who then occupied ‘13 A,’ was the proprietor of a theatre in Paris, personally well known to him.  Was the gentleman then in the hotel?  He had gone out, but would certainly return for the table d’hote.  When the public dinner was over, Francis entered the room, and was welcomed by his Parisian colleague, literally, with open arms.  ‘Come and have a cigar in my room,’ said the friendly Frenchman.  ’I want to hear whether you have really engaged that woman at Milan or not.’  In this easy way, Francis found his opportunity of comparing the interior of the room with the description which he had heard of it at Milan.

Arriving at the door, the Frenchman bethought himself of his travelling companion.  ‘My scene-painter is here with me,’ he said, ’on the look-out for materials.  An excellent fellow, who will take it as a kindness if we ask him to join us.  I’ll tell the porter to send him up when he comes in.’  He handed the key of his room to Francis.  ’I will be back in a minute.  It’s at the end of the corridor—­ 13 A.’

Francis entered the room alone.  There were the decorations on the walls and the ceiling, exactly as they had been described to him!  He had just time to perceive this at a glance, before his attention was diverted to himself and his own sensations, by a grotesquely disagreeable occurrence which took him completely by surprise.

He became conscious of a mysteriously offensive odour in the room, entirely new in his experience of revolting smells.  It was composed (if such a thing could be) of two mingling exhalations, which were separately-discoverable exhalations nevertheless.  This strange blending of odours consisted of something faintly and unpleasantly aromatic, mixed with another underlying smell, so unutterably sickening that he threw open the window, and put his head out into the fresh air, unable to endure the horribly infected atmosphere for a moment longer.

The French proprietor joined his English friend, with his cigar already lit.  He started back in dismay at a sight terrible to his countrymen in general—­the sight of an open window.  ’You English people are perfectly mad on the subject of fresh air!’ he exclaimed.  ‘We shall catch our deaths of cold.’