Dr. Cheron took a newspaper from his pocket, and began to read; so leaving me to my own uncomfortable reflections.

And, indeed, when I came to consider my position I was almost in despair.  Moneyless, what was to become of me?  Watchless and moneyless, with a bill awaiting me at my hotel, and not a stiver in my pocket wherewith to pay it....  Miserable pupil of a stern master! luckless son of a savage father! to whom could I turn for help?  Not certainly to Dr. Cheron, whom I had been ready to accuse, half an hour ago, of having stolen my watch and purse.  Petty larceny and Dr. Cheron! how ludicrously incongruous!  And yet, where was my property?  Was the Hotel des Messageries a den of thieves?  And again, how was it that this same Dr. Cheron looked, and spoke, and acted, as if he had never seen me in his life till this morning?  Was I mad, or dreaming, or both?

The carriage stopped and the door opened.

“Hotel Dieu, M’sieur,” said the servant, touching his hat.

Dr. Cheron just raised his eyes from the paper.

“This is your first destination,” he said.  “I would advise you, on leaving here, to return to your hotel.  There may be letters awaiting you.  Good-morning.”

With this he resumed his paper, the carriage rolled away, and I found myself at the Hotel Dieu, with the servant out of livery standing respectfully behind me.

Go back to my hotel!  Why should I go back?  Letters there could be none, unless at the Poste Restante.  I thought this a very unnecessary piece of advice, rejected it in my own mind, and so went into the hospital bureau, and transacted my business.  When I came out again, Brunet took the lead.

He was an elderly man with a solemn countenance and a mysterious voice.  His manner was oppressively respectful; his address diplomatic; his step stealthy as a courtier’s.  When we came to a crossing he bowed, stood aside, and followed me; then took the lead again; and so on, during a brisk walk of about half an hour.  All at once, I found myself at the Hotel des Messageries.

“Monsieur’s hotel,” said the doctor’s valet, touching his hat.

“You are mistaken,” said I, rather impatiently.  “I did not ask to be brought here.  My object this morning is to look for apartments.”

“Post in at mid-day, Monsieur,” he observed, gravely.  “Monsieur’s letters may have arrived.”

“I expect none, thank you.”

“Monsieur will, nevertheless, permit me to inquire,” said the persevering valet, and glided in before my eyes.

The thing was absurd!  Both master and servant insisted that I must have letters, whether I would, or no!  To my amazement, however, Brunet came back with a small sealed box in his hands.

“No letters have arrived for Monsieur,” he said; “but this box was left with the porter about an hour ago.”

I weighed it, shook it, examined the seals, and, going into the public room, desired Brunet to follow me.  There I opened it.  It contained a folded paper, a quantity of wadding, my purse, my roll of bank-notes, and my watch!  On the paper, I read the following words:—­