With this he resumed his paper, the carriage rolled away, and I found myself at the Hôtel Dieu, with the servant out of livery standing respectfully behind me.
Go back to my hotel! Why should I go back? Letters there could be none, unless at the Poste Restante. I thought this a very unnecessary piece of advice, rejected it in my own mind, and so went into the hospital bureau, and transacted my business. When I came out again, Brunet took the lead.
He was an elderly man with a solemn countenance and a mysterious voice. His manner was oppressively respectful; his address diplomatic; his step stealthy as a courtier's. When we came to a crossing he bowed, stood aside, and followed me; then took the lead again; and so on, during a brisk walk of about half an hour. All at once, I found myself at the Hôtel des Messageries.
"Monsieur's hotel," said the doctor's valet, touching his hat.
"You are mistaken," said I, rather impatiently. "I did not ask to be brought here. My object this morning is to look for apartments."
"Post in at mid-day, Monsieur," he observed, gravely. "Monsieur's letters may have arrived."
"I expect none, thank you."
"Monsieur will, nevertheless, permit me to inquire," said the persevering valet, and glided in before my eyes.
The thing was absurd! Both master and servant insisted that I must have letters, whether I would, or no! To my amazement, however, Brunet came back with a small sealed box in his hands.
"No letters have arrived for Monsieur," he said; "but this box was left with the porter about an hour ago."