“And so,” said he, in very excellent English, “you have come to Paris to finish your studies.  But have you no fear, young gentleman, that the attractions of so gay a city may divert your mind from graver subjects?  Do you think that, when every pleasure may be had for the seeking, you will be content to devote yourself to the dry details of an uninteresting profession?”

“It is not an uninteresting profession,” I replied.  “I might perhaps have preferred the church or the law; but having embarked in the study of medicine, I shall do my best to succeed in it.”

The stranger smiled.

“I am glad,” he said, “to see you so ambitious.  I do not doubt that you will become a shining light in the brotherhood of Esculapius.”

“I hope so,” I replied, boldly.  “I have studied closer than most men of my age, already.”

He smiled again, coughed doubtfully, and insisted on filling my glass from his own bottle.

“I only fear,” he said, “that you will be too diffident of your own merits.  Now, when you call upon this Doctor....what did you say was his name?”

“Cheron,” I replied, huskily.

“True, Cheron.  Well, when you meet him for the first time you will, perhaps, be timid, hesitating, and silent.  But, believe me, a young man of your remarkable abilities should be self-possessed.  You ought to inspire him from the beginning with a suitable respect for your talents.”

“That’s precisely the line I mean to take,” said I, boastfully.  “I’ll—­I’ll astonish him.  I’m afraid of nobody—­not I!”

The stranger filled my glass again.  His claret must have been very strong or my head very weak, for it seemed to me, as he did so, that all the chandeliers were in motion.

“Upon my word,” observed he, “you are a young man of infinite spirit.”

“And you,” I replied, making an effort to bring the glass steadily to my lips, “you are a capital fellow—­a clear-sighted, sensible, capital fellow.  We’ll be friends.”

He bowed, and said, somewhat coldly,

“I have no doubt that we shall become better acquainted.”

“Better acquainted, indeed!—­we’ll be intimate!” I ejaculated, affectionately.  “I’ll introduce you to Dalrymple—­you’ll like him excessively.  Just the fellow to delight you.”

“So I should say,” observed the stranger, drily.

“And as for you and myself, we’ll—­we’ll be Damon and ... what’s the other one’s name?”

“Pythias,” replied my new acquaintance, leaning back in his chair, and surveying me with a peculiar and very deliberate stare.  “Exactly so—­Damon and Pythias!  A charming arrangement.”

“Bravo!  Famous!  And now we’ll have another bottle of wine.”

“Not on my account, I beg,” said the gentleman firmly.  “My head is not so cool as yours.”

Cool, indeed, and the room whirling round and round, like a teetotum!

“Oh, if you won’t, I won’t,” said I confusedly; “but I—­I could—­drink my share of another bottle, I assure you, and not—­feel the slightest....”