[Illustration:  LOSING TIME]

After such a catastrophe what remained for me to do?  Evidently to humble my pride and beg an obolus of young Berkley.  I represented to myself that the victory over my own false shame was worth many watches, and I began to compose a little speech intended for his ear, in which I compared myself to Dante at the convent door.

I found him in his office clasping a hand-valise.  “I am about to go away by your train,” he said, without waiting for me to speak or remarking my shabby-genteel expression of heroism.  He added, as he handed me a great sealed envelope, “There is your passport.  Nothing imperative requires my stay here:  I shall accompany you, then, as far as the station of Oos, and while you are continuing your route toward your beloved metropolis, I will go and finish my leave of absence at Baden-Baden, where I am claimed by certain conditions of my liver.”

[Illustration:  GRAND DUKE’S PALACE, BADEN.]

I was so nervous and uncertain of myself that this little change in the horizon upset me completely.  For the life of me I could not, at that moment, and at the risk of seeing him drop his bag and rain its contents over the official courtyard, rehearse my awkward accident and disreputable beggary.  On the other hand, it was much to gain a friendly companion and pass arm-in-arm with him to the ticket-office.  Leaving every other plan uncertain, I determined to start from Carlsruhe in his diplomatic shadow.

I dashed with surprising agility into the house to ask for my account with Francine.  I was about to explain that I would quickly settle with her from Paris, when the thoughtful little woman anticipated me.  “Monsieur Flemming,” she said, with her sweet supplicating air, “you left the city without meaning it.  If you would like a little advance, monsieur, I am quite well supplied just now.  Dispose of me:  I shall be so thankful!”

The money of Fortnoye! the thought was impossible.  It was impossible to resist taking her bright brown head between my hands and secreting a kiss somewhere in the laminations of the artisanne cap.

“Dear infant!  I shall be an unhappy old fellow if I do not see you again very soon.”

—­And I was off, dragged by those obligations of the time-table which have no tenderness toward human sentiment.  At one o’clock I was at the railway with Sylvester.  I was uncertain of my plans, and the confusion of the depot added nothing to the clearness inside my head.  Berkley advanced first to the ticket-seller’s window.  “A first-class place for Baden-Baden,” said he.

“How many?” briskly asked the clerk, seeing us together.

At that moment Sylvester heard a ghostly voice at his ear:  “You may get a couple.”  The voice was mine.

Berkley got them and paid.  I had reflected that my letter of credit from Munroe & Co. would undoubtedly be drawn on Baden-Baden, and had suddenly taken a resolution to try the effect of the springs on my unfortunate stoutness.