“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 Hotel 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. Cheron 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.