uched some vital organ.

The door opened and Dr. Albant, a handsome old man, entered with smiles
and nods. He removed his coat and tied on a large apron. Trying the edge
of his scalpel on his nail, he turned to the students and physicians,
and began to talk of the German method of conducting a post mortem.

"We French, however, begin here," he said, lightly placing his scalpel
on the tender flesh.

"Dr. Albant!" cried a stentorian voice.

The surgeon turned. A messenger in the king's livery stood in the
doorway.

"Gentlemen, excuse me--the king communicates with me!"

A close observer would have thought it singular that the king should
send a letter by an ordinary servant, like a simple bourgeois. But this
did not seem to strike Dr. Albant, who, with a face beaming with smiles,
turned to the students, saying:

"Excuse me, gentlemen, but the king demands my presence."

"But the autopsy?"

"Oh! that may be given up. This man died from cerebral congestion--I see
it as plain as day!"

As he spoke he tore off his apron, and got himself into his coat again
with all possible speed.

"Bury the man at once!" he said as he left the room. A carriage awaited
him at the door, and he drove off.

The royal messenger waited a moment and then he, too, walked away, and
going down a narrow alley he entered a little wineshop by a back door,
and throwing himself on a bench, exclaimed:

"I was just in time, Bobichel. A second later and Fanfar would have been
no more!"

The hospital was now anxious to get rid of this useless body, and orders
were given that it should be buried without delay. Gudel and his friends
had bribed the functionaries.

All went smoothly, and in an hour the hearse was to take Fanfar away.
But before this, a card was brought in to the governor of the hospital.
On this card was the name of the Marquis de Fongereues, and in the
corner of the glossy bit of pasteboard was a tiny sign, which signified
that his visitor was especially recommended by the Society of which he
was a member. He gave orders that the Marquis should be shown in at
once.

Fongereues appeared, leaning on the arm of Pierre Labarre. The Marquis
had suddenly grown old, his strength was gone, and his feet were as
uncertain as those of a drunken man.

The governor rose to receive him. Fongereues tried to speak, but his
voice died in his throat. He handed the governor an order from the
minister, directing that the body of the man named