What would he say, what would he do, when the time for action came?

He reached his house without having decided anything, and as he passed before the concierge’s lodge absorbed in thought, he heard some one call him.

“Doctor, come in a moment, I beg of you.”

He thought some one wished to consult him, some countryman who had waited for his return; and, although he did not feel like listening patiently to idle complainings, he turned back and entered the lodge.

“Some one brought this,” the concierge said, handing him a paper that was stamped and covered with a running handwriting.  “This” was the beginning of the fire of which Caffie had spoken.  Without reading it, Saniel put it in his pocket and turned to go; but the concierge detained him.

“I would like to say two words to ‘monchieur le docteur’ about this paper.”

“Have you read it?”

“No, but I talked with the officer who gave it to me, and he told me what it meant.  It is unfortunate, doctor.”

To be pitied by his concierge!  This was too much.

“It is not as he told you,” he replied, haughtily.

“So much the better.  I am glad for you and for me.  You can pay my little bill.”

“Give it to me.”

“I have given it to you twice already, but I have a copy.  Here it is.”

To be sued by a creditor paralyzed Saniel; he was stunned, crushed, humiliated, and could only answer stupidly.  Taking the bill that the concierge handed him, he put it in his pocket and stammered a few words.

“You see, doctor, I must say what has been in my heart a long time.  You are my countryman, and I esteem you too much not to speak.  In taking your apartment and engaging your upholsterer, you did too much.  You ruin yourself.  Give up your apartment, and take the one opposite that costs less than half, and you will get on.  You will not be obliged to leave this quarter.  What will become of our neighbors if you leave us?  You are a good doctor; everybody knows it and says so.  And now, as for my bill, it is understood that I shall be paid first, shall I not?”

“As soon as I have the money I will pay you.”

“It is a promise?”

“I promise you.”

“Thank you very much.”

“If it could be to-morrow, it would suit me.  I am not rich, you know, but I have always paid the gas-bill for your experiments.”

With the paper in his pocket, Saniel returned to Caffie, who was just going out, and to whom he gave it.

“I will see about it this, evening,” said the man of business.  “Just now I am going to dinner.  Do not worry.  To-morrow I will do what is necessary.  Good-evening.  I am dying of hunger.”

But three days before, Saniel emptied his purse to soothe his upholsterer by an instalment as large as he was able to make it, keeping only five francs for himself, and with the few sous left he could not go to a resttaurant, not even the lowest and cheapest.  He could only buy some bread for his supper, and eat it while working, as he had often done before.