“Monsieur le Docteur is at present engaged,” said the servant, with an air of profound respect.  “Will Monsieur have the goodness to be seated for a few moments.”

I sat down.  I rose up.  I examined the books upon the table, and the pictures on the walls.  I wished myself “anywhere, anywhere out of the world,” and more than once was on the point of stealing out of the house, jumping into my cab, and making off without seeing the doctor at all.  One consideration alone prevented me.  I had lost all my money, and had not even a franc left to pay the driver.  Presently the door again opened, the grave footman reappeared, and I heard the dreaded announcement:—­“Monsieur le Docteur will be happy to receive Monsieur in his consulting-room.”

I followed mechanically.  We passed through a passage thickly carpeted, and paused before a green baize door.  This door opened noiselessly, and I found myself in the great man’s presence.

“It gives me pleasure to welcome the son of my old friend John Arbuthnot,” said a clear, and not unfamiliar voice.

I started, looked up, grew red and white, hot and cold, and had not a syllable to utter in reply.

In Doctor Cheron, I recognised—­

PYTHIAS!

CHAPTER XI.

MYSTERIOUS PROCEEDINGS.

The doctor pointed to a chair, looked at his watch, and said:—­

“I hope you have had a pleasant journey.  Arrived this morning?”

There was not the faintest gleam of recognition on his face.  Not a smile; not a glance; nothing but the easy politeness of a stranger to a stranger.

“N—­not exactly,” I faltered.  “Yesterday morning, sir.”

“Ah, indeed!  Spent the day in sight-seeing, I dare say.  Admire Paris?”

Too much astonished to speak, I took refuge in a bow.

“Not found any lodgings yet, I presume?” asked the doctor, mending a pen very deliberately.

“N—­not yet, sir.”

“I concluded so The English do not seek apartments on Sunday.  You observe the day very strictly, no doubt?”

Blushing 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 Hotel 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?”