At the door we were met by a porter, far too polite a person to betray the surprise which my companions Joseph and Finois invariably excited in civilisation.  He helped to unfasten the pack, and as it disappeared into the vestibule, I was about to bid Joseph au revoir.  But his face gave me pause.  Like the key to a cipher, it told me all the secret workings of his mind.

“You might wait here before putting up Finois,” I said, “until I enquire inside whether the young Monsieur and Innocentina have arrived safely.  No doubt they have, as we did not catch them up on the road, and it would have been difficult to mistake the way.  Still——­”

“Voila, Monsieur!” exclaimed Joseph, his deep eyes brightening at something to be seen over my shoulder.

I turned, and there was meek, grey Souris leading the way for Innocentina and Fanny, who were trailing slowly towards us down the street.

I was delighted to see them.  Not until now had I realised how beautiful was Innocentina, how engaging the two little plush-coated donkeys.  I loved all three.

“Eh bien, Innocentina!” I gaily cried.  “How are you?  How is your young Monsieur?”

“He was well when I saw him last,” returned Innocentina.  “He must be very far away by this time.”

“Very far away?” I echoed her words blankly.  “Yes, Monsieur.  Here is a letter, which he told me to deliver to you without fail.  I was not to leave Chambery until I had put it into your hand, myself.  I was on my way to your hotel, to see if you had arrived.  Now that I have seen you”—­here a starry flash at Joseph—­“I can begin my journey.”

“Where, if I may ask?”

“Towards my home.  Monsieur had better read his letter.”

[Illustration:  “VOILA, MONSIEUR!”]

I had taken the sealed envelope mechanically, without looking at it.  Now I fixed my eyes upon the address, which was written in a firm, original, and interesting hand, that impressed me as familiar, though I could not think where I had seen it.  Certainly, so far as I could remember, in all my journeyings with him I had never happened to see the Boy’s handwriting.  Yet Innocentina said this letter was from him.

Suddenly it occurred to me that I could do something more enlightening than stare at the envelope:  I could open it.  I did so, breaking a seal with the same monogram I had noticed on the gold fittings in the celebrated bag.  Apparently the entwined letters were M.R.L.

“Forgive me, dear Man,” were the first words I read, and they rang like a knell in my heart.  Without going further I knew what was coming.  I was to hear that I had lost the Boy.