and confused, I stammered some incoherent words and sat twirling my hat, the very picture of remorse.
"At what hotel have you put up?" he next inquired, without appearing to observe my agitation.
"The--the Hôtel des Messageries."
"Good, but expensive. You must find a lodging to-day."
I bowed again.
"And, as your father's representative, I must take care that you procure something suitable, and are not imposed upon. My valet shall go with you."
He rang the bell, and the sad-colored footman appeared on the threshold.
"Desire Brunet to be in readiness to walk out with this gentleman," he said, briefly, and the servant retired.
"Brunet," he continued, addressing me again, "is faithful and sagacious. He will instruct you on certain points indispensable to a resident in Paris, and will see that you are not ill-accommodated or overcharged. A young man has few wants, and I should infer that a couple of rooms in some quiet street will be all that you require?"
"I--I am very grateful."
He waved down my thanks with an air of cold but polite authority; took out his note-book and pencil; (I could have sworn to that massive gold pencil!) and proceeded to question me.
"Your age, I think," said he, "is twenty-one?"
"Twenty, sir."
"Ah--twenty. You desire to be entered upon the list of visiting students at the Hotel Dieu, to be free of the library and lecture-rooms, and to be admitted into my public classes?"
"Yes, sir."
"Also, to attend here in my house for private instruction."
"Yes, sir."
He filled in a few words upon a printed form, and handed it to me with his visiting card.
"You will present these, and your passport, to the secretary at the hospital," said he, "and will receive in return the requisite tickets of admission. Your fees have already been paid in, and your name has been entered. You must see to this matter at once, for the bureau closes at two o'clock. You will then require the rest of the day for lodging-seeking, moving, and so forth. To-morrow morning, at nine o'clock, I shall expect you here."
"Indeed, sir," I murmured, "I am more obliged than. … "
"Not in the least," he interrupted, decisively; "your father's son has every claim upon me. I object to thanks. All that I require from you are habits of industry, punctuality, and respect. Your father speaks well of you, and I have no doubt I shall find you all that he represents. Can I do anything more for you this morning?"
I hesitated; could not bring myself to utter one word of that which I had come to say; and murmured--
"Nothing more, I thank you, sir."
He looked at me piercingly, paused an instant, and then rang the bell.
"I am about to order my carriage," he said; "and, as I am going in that direction, I will take you as far as the Hôtel Dieu."
"But--but I have a cab at the door," I faltered, remembering, with a sinking heart, that I had not a sou to pay the driver.
The servant appeared again.
"Let the carriage be brought round immediately, and dismiss this gentleman's cab."
The man retired, and I heaved a sigh of relief. The doctor bent low over the papers on his desk, and I fancied for the moment that a faint smile flitted over his face. Then he took up his hat, and pointed to the door.
"Now, my young friend," he said authoritatively, "we must be gone. Time is gold. After you."
I bowed and preceded him. His very courtesy was sterner than the displeasure of another, and I already felt towards him a greater degree of awe than I should have quite cared to confess. The carriage was waiting in the courtyard. I placed myself with my back to the horses; Dr. Chéron flung himself upon the opposite seat; a servant out of livery sprang up beside the coachman; the great gates were flung open; and we glided away on the easiest of springs and the softest of cushions.
Dr. Chéron 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. Chéron, whom I had been ready to accuse, half an hour ago, of having stolen my watch and purse. Petty larceny and Dr. Chéron! how ludicrously incongruous! And yet, where was my property? Was the Hôtel des Messageries a den of thieves? And again, how was it that this same Dr. Chéron 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.
"Hôtel Dieu, M'sieur," said the servant, touching his hat.
Dr. Chéron 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 Hôtel 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 Hôtel 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:--
"Learn from the events of last night the value of temperance, the wisdom of silence, and the danger of chance acquaintanceships. Accept the lesson, and he by whom it is administered will forget the error."
The paper dropped from my hands and fell upon the floor. The impenetrable Brunet picked it up, and returned it to me.
"Brunet!" I ejaculated.
"Monsieur?" said he, interrogatively, raising his hand to his forehead by force of habit, although his hat stood beside him on the floor.
There was not a shadow of meaning in his face--not a quiver to denote that he knew anything of what had passed. To judge by the stolid indifference