And again shaking my hand cordially, he stood at his door watching me as I passed out and began to ascend the stairs leading to my room.  On the landing I paused, and, looking round, saw him still there.  I smiled and waved my hand.  He did the same in response, once—­twice; then turning abruptly, disappeared.

That afternoon I explained to Colonel and Mrs. Everard that I had resolved to consult a celebrated physician in Paris (whose name, however, I did not mention), and should go there alone for a few days.  On hearing that I knew of a well-recommended ladies’ Pension, they made no objection to my arrangements, and they agreed to remain at the Hotel de L—–­till I returned.  I gave them no details of my plans, and of course never mentioned Raffaello Cellini in connection with the matter.  A nervous and wretchedly agitated night made me more than ever determined to try the means of cure proposed to me.  At ten o’clock the following morning I left Cannes by express train for Paris.  Just before starting I noticed that the lilies of the valley Cellini had given me for the dance had, in spite of my care, entirely withered, and were already black with decay—­so black that they looked as though they had been scorched by a flash of lightning.

CHAPTER VI.

The hotel Mars and its owner.

It was between three and four o’clock in the afternoon of the day succeeding the night of my arrival in Paris, when I found myself standing at the door of the Hotel Mars, Champs Elysees.  I had proved the Pension kept by Madame Denise to be everything that could be desired; and on my presentation of Raffaello Cellini’s card of introduction, I had been welcomed by the maitresse de la maison with a cordial effusiveness that amounted almost to enthusiasm.

“Ce cher Cellini!” the cheery and pleasant little woman had exclaimed, as she set before me a deliciously prepared breakfast.  “Je l’aime tant!  Il a si bon coeur! et ses beaux yeux!  Mon Dieu, comme un ange!”

As soon as I had settled the various little details respecting my room and attendance, and had changed my travelling-dress for a quiet visiting toilette, I started for the abode of Heliobas.

The weather was very cold; I had left the summer behind me at Cannes, to find winter reigning supreme in Paris.  A bitter east wind blew, and a few flakes of snow fell now and then from the frowning sky.  The house to which I betook myself was situated at a commanding corner of a road facing the Champs Elysees.  It was a noble-looking building.  The broad steps leading to the entrance were guarded on either side by a sculptured Sphinx, each of whom held, in its massive stone paws, a plain shield, inscribed with the old Roman greeting to strangers, “Salve!” Over the portico was designed a scroll which bore the name “Hotel Mars” in clearly cut capitals, and the monogram “C.  H.”