per; he does not know it; I go out and visit all the bakers
and the druggists that I meet with. Every one eats bread and takes
medicine; it is impossible that one of those manufacturers should not
know the address of Monsieur de Frechede. I did find it there, in fact;
I dust off my blouse, I buy a black cravat, gloves, and I go and ring
gently, in the Rue Chatrain, at the iron grating of a private residence
which rears its brick facade and slate roofs in the clearing of a sunny
park. A servant lets me in. Monsieur de Frechede is absent, but Madame
is at home. I wait for a few seconds in a salon; the portiere is raised
and an old lady appears. She has an air so affable that I am reassured.
I explain to her in a few words who I am.

"Sir," she says with a kind smile, "I have often heard speak of your
family. I think, even, that I have met at Madame Lezant's, madame, your
mother, during my last journey to Paris; you are welcome here."

We talked a long time; I, somewhat embarrassed, covering with my kepi
the spot on my neck; she trying to persuade me to accept some money,
which I refuse.

She says to me at last: "I desire with all my heart to be useful to you.
What can I do?" I reply: "Heavens, Madame, if you could get them
to send me back to Paris, you would render me a great service;
communications will be interrupted very soon, if the newspapers are to
be believed; they talk of another _coup d'etat_, or the overthrow of the
Empire; I have great need of seeing my mother again; and especially of
not letting myself be taken prisoner here if the Prussians come."

In the mean while Monsieur de Frechede enters. In two words he is made
acquainted with the situation.

"If you wish to come with me to the doctor of the hospital," he says,
"you have no time to lose."

To the doctor! Good heavens! and how account to him for my absence from
the hospital? I dare not breathe a word; I follow my protector, asking
myself how it will all end. We arrive; the doctor looks at me with a
stupefied air. I do not give him time to open his mouth, and I deliver
with prodigious volubility a string of jeremiads over my sad position.

Monsieur de Frechede in his turn takes up the argument, and asks him, in
my favor, to give me a convalescent's leave of absence for two months.

"Monsieur is, in fact, sick enough," says the doctor, "to be entitled to
two months' rest; if my colleagues and if the General look at it as I do
your protege will be