There is no need for me to trouble you with a narrative of what I saw—­favored by Doctor Wybrow’s introduction—­at the French boy’s bedside.  It was simply a repetition of what I had already heard.  There he lay, at the height of the fever, asking, in the intervals of relief, intelligent questions relating to the medicines administered to him; and perfectly understanding the answers.  He was only irritable when we asked him to take his memory back to the time before his illness; and then he answered in French, “I haven’t got a memory.”

But I have something else to tell you, which is deserving of your best attention.  The envelope and its inclosures (addressed to “Bernard Winterfield, Esqre.”) are in my possession.  The Christian name sufficiently identifies the inscription with the Winterfield whom I know.

The circumstances under which the discovery was made were related to me by the proprietor of the asylum.

When the boy was brought to the house, two French ladies (his mother and sister) accompanied him and mentioned what had been their own domestic experience of the case.  They described the wandering propensities which took the lad away from home, and the odd concealment of his waistcoat, on the last occasion when he had returned from one of his vagrant outbreaks.

On his first night at the asylum, he became excited by finding himself in a strange place.  It was necessary to give him a composing draught.  On going to bed, he was purposely not prevented from hiding his waistcoat under the pillow, as usual.

When the sedative had produced its effect, the attendant easily possessed himself of the hidden garment.  It was the plain duty of the master of the house to make sure that nothing likely to be turned to evil uses was concealed by a patient.  The seal which had secured the envelope was found, on examination, to have been broken.

“I would not have broken the seal myself,” our host added.  “But, as things were, I thought it my duty to look at the inclosures.  They refer to private affairs of Mr. Winterfield, in which he is deeply interested, and they ought to have been long since placed in his possession.  I need hardly say that I consider myself bound to preserve the strictest silence as to what I have read.  An envelope, containing some blank sheets of paper, was put back in the boy’s waistcoat, so that he might feel it in its place under the lining, when he woke.  The original envelope and inclosures (with a statement of circumstances signed by my assistant and myself) have been secured under another cover, sealed with my own seal.  I have done my best to discover Mr. Bernard Winterfield.  He appears not to live in London.  At least I failed to find his name in the Directory.  I wrote next, mentioning what had happened, to the English gentleman to whom I send reports of the lad’s health.  He couldn’t help me.  A second letter to the French ladies only produced the same result.  I own I should be glad to get rid of my responsibility on honorable terms.”