"Then you take the doctor on your shoulders entirely?"
"Yes, and I am just going to set about the task."
"But you are at your own door; are you going in?
"You have hit it. I am going to recruit my strength so as to bring him bound hand and foot."
"I don't understand."
"You will, very soon."
"Good-night, my rival."
"Good-night, my friend."
CHAPTER VII.
M. de Morin went up two storeys of a house in the Rue Taitbout, and rang. His servant, who was waiting up for him, came at once to open the door. The young painter went straight towards his bedroom, and, addressing the individual who was following him, candlestick in hand, said—