cannot you tell me everything now?"

Tantaine shook his head.

"Have patience, you rash boy!" said he. "Rome was not built in a day. Be
guided by me, and follow blindly the orders of those interested in you.
This is your first lesson; think it over seriously."

"My first lesson! What do you mean?"

"Call it a rehearsal if you like. All that the good woman told you,"
continued Tantaine, "you must look upon as true; nay, it is true, and
when you believe this thoroughly, you are quite prepared for the fray,
but until then you must remain quiescent. Remember this, you cannot
impress others unless you firmly believe yourself. The greatest
impostors of all ages have ever been their own dupes."

At the word impostor, Paul seemed about to speak, but a wave of
Tantaine's hand silenced him.

"You must cast aside your old skin, and enter that of another. Paul
Violaine, the natural son of a woman who kept a small drapery shop at
Poitiers, Paul Violaine, the youthful lover of Rose, no longer exists.
He died of cold and hunger in a garret in the Hotel de Perou, as M. de
Loupins will testify when necessary."

The tone in which Tantaine spoke showed his intense earnestness, and
with emphatic gestures he drove each successive idea into Paul's brain.

"You will rid yourself of your former recollections as you do of an old
coat, which you throw aside, and forget the very existence of. And not
only that, but you must lose your memory, and that so entirely, that if
any one in the street calls out Violaine, you will never even dream of
turning round."

Paul's brain seemed to tremble beneath the crime that his companion was
teaching him.

"Who am I then?" asked he.

A sardonic smile crossed Tantaine's face.

"You are just what the portress told you, Paul, and nothing more. Your
first recollections are of a Foundling Hospital, and you never knew your
parents. You have lived here fifteen months, and before that you resided
in the Rue Jacob. The portress knows no more; but if you will come with
me to the Rue Jacob, the people there can tell you more about your life
when you were a lodger in the house. Perhaps, if you are careful, we may
take you back to your more childish days, and even find you a father."

"But," said Paul, "I might be questioned regarding my past life: what
then? M. Rigal or Mademoiselle Flavia might interrogate me at any
moment?"

"I see; but do not disquiet yourself. You will be furnished with all
necessar