ng well, if he had not
committed the imprudence of entering the cafe. Why had he gone there
and remained long enough to attract attention? What might not be the
consequences of this stupidity?

As soon as he reached home and his door was closed, he carried out his
intentions regarding the bank-notes, dividing them into ten packages.
His first thought was to place them in the nearest letterbox, but
reflection showed him that this would be unwise, and he decided to mail
each one in a different quarter of the city.

After his long walk of the morning, and the emotions of the evening, he
felt a fatigue that he had never known before, but he comprehended that
he was not at liberty to yield to this weariness. A new situation was
made for him, and henceforth he no longer belonged to himself. For the
rest of his life he would be the prisoner of his crime. And it was this
crime which, from this evening, would command, and he must obey.

Why had he not foreseen this situation when, weighing the pro and con
like an intelligent man who can scrutinize the future under all its
phases, he had examined what must happen? But surprising as it was, the
discovery was no less certain, and the sad and troublesome proof
was that, however intelligent one may be, one can always learn by
experience.

What was there yet to learn? He confessed that he found himself face to
face with the unknown, and all that he wished was, that this lesson he
had learned from experience might be the hardest. It would be folly to
imagine that it was the last. Time would show.

When he returned home, after posting his letters, it was long past one
o'clock. He went to bed immediately, and slept heavily, without waking
or dreaming.

It was broad daylight when he opened his eyes the next morning.
Surprised at having slept so late, he jumped up and looked at his watch,
which said eight o'clock. But as he should not leave until a quarter
past eleven, he had plenty of time.

How should he employ it?

It was the first time in years that he had asked himself such a
question; he, who each day always found that he needed three or four
hours more to carry out his programme.

He dressed slowly, and then thought of writing to Phillis to tell her of
his trip to Nice. But suddenly he changed his mind, and decided to go to
see her.

The preceding year he attended Madame Cormier, who had been stricken
with paralysis, and he could occasionally present himself at her hous