read whenever he read at all.
He spoke German fluently, but said he was an American. Thereupon the
landlady, who had a cousin who had a nephew who had gone to Brazil,
asked the tourist if he did not know August Buergin, and was very much
disappointed to find that he did not.

The excitement outside of Madame Patoff's room was intense. But the Herr
Doctor, as the landlord called Cutter, had admitted no one but the maid,
and as yet had not given any news of the patient. The little group stood
in the passage a long time before Cutter came out.

"She is not badly hurt," he said, and was about to re-enter the
apartment, when his eye fell on the tall tourist, who, on hearing the
news, had turned quickly away. Cutter went hastily after him, and,
grasping his hand, thanked him warmly for his timely help.

"Don't mention it," said the stranger. "You did the thing beautifully
when once you had got hold of the rope. Excuse me--I have an
engagement--good-by--glad to hear the lady is not hurt." Wherewith the
tourist quickly shook the professor's hand once more, and was gone
before the latter could ask his name.

"Queer fellow," muttered Cutter, as he returned to Madame Patoff's side.

She was not injured, as he had at once announced, but it was impossible
to say what effect the awful shock might produce upon her overwrought
brain. She opened her eyes, indeed, but she did not seem to recognize
any one; and when the professor asked her how she felt, in order to see
if she could speak intelligibly, she laughed harshly, and turned her
head away. She was badly bruised, but he could discover no mark of any
blow upon the head which could have caused a suspension of intelligence.
There was therefore nothing to be done but to take care of her, and if
she recovered her normal health she must be removed to her home at once.
All day he sat beside her bed, with the patience of a man accustomed to
tend the sick, and to regard them as studies for his own improvement.
Towards evening she slept, and Cutter went out, hoping to find the
tourist again. But the landlord said he was gone, and as the little inn
kept no book wherein strangers were asked to register their names, and
as the landlord could only say that the gentleman had declared his name
to be Paul, Cutter was obliged to suffer the pangs of unsatisfied
curiosity.

"I am sick of the name of Paul!" exclaimed the professor, half angrily.
"Is the fellow a Russian, too, I wonder? Paul, Paul