“How?  How’s that?” said the sage, fumbling the papers eagerly.

“Why, crossing the stone bridge there over the Seen”—­

“Seine”—­interrupted the Doctor, giving the French pronunciation.—­“Always get a new word right in the first place, my friend, and you will never get it wrong afterwards.”

“Well, I was crossing the bridge there, and who should hail me, but a suspicious-looking man, who, under pretence of seeking to polish my boots, wanted slyly to unscrew their heels, and so steal all these precious papers I’ve brought you.”

“My good friend,” said the man of gravity, glancing scrutinizingly upon his guest, “have you not in your time, undergone what they call hard times?  Been set upon, and persecuted, and very illy entreated by some of your fellow-creatures?”

“That I have, Doctor; yes, indeed.”

“I thought so.  Sad usage has made you sadly suspicious, my honest friend.  An indiscriminate distrust of human nature is the worst consequence of a miserable condition, whether brought about by innocence or guilt.  And though want of suspicion more than want of sense, sometimes leads a man into harm, yet too much suspicion is as bad as too little sense.  The man you met, my friend, most probably had no artful intention; he knew just nothing about you or your heels; he simply wanted to earn two sous by brushing your boots.  Those blacking-men regularly station themselves on the bridge.”

“How sorry I am then that I knocked over his box, and then ran away.  But he didn’t catch me.”

“How? surely, my honest friend, you—­appointed to the conveyance of important secret dispatches—­did not act so imprudently as to kick over an innocent man’s box in the public streets of the capital, to which you had been especially sent?”

“Yes, I did, Doctor.”

“Never act so unwisely again.  If the police had got hold of you, think of what might have ensued.”

“Well, it was not very wise of me, that’s a fact, Doctor.  But, you see, I thought he meant mischief.”

“And because you only thought he meant mischief, you must straightway proceed to do mischief.  That’s poor logic.  But think over what I have told you now, while I look over these papers.”

In half an hour’s time, the Doctor, laying down the documents, again turned towards Israel, and removing his spectacles very placidly, proceeded in the kindest and most familiar manner to read him a paternal detailed lesson upon the ill-advised act he had been guilty of, upon the Pont Neuf; concluding by taking out his purse, and putting three small silver coins into Israel’s hands, charging him to seek out the man that very day, and make both apology and restitution for his unlucky mistake.

“All of us, my honest friend,” continued the Doctor, “are subject to making mistakes; so that the chief art of life, is to learn how best to remedy mistakes.  Now one remedy for mistakes is honesty.  So pay the man for the damage done to his box.  And now, who are you, my friend?  My correspondents here mention your name—­Israel Potter—­and say you are an American, an escaped prisoner of war, but nothing further.  I want to hear your story from your own lips.”