"I want to speak to the son, M. Louis Richard; is he at home?"
"He has just arrived in Paris; you will find him with his father."
"I must see him alone."
"That's rather difficult, as they have but one room between them."
The commander drew a card from his pocket, and wrote the following words above his own name: "Will expect M. Louis Richard at my home, between nine and ten o'clock tomorrow morning, to communicate something of grave importance, which admits of no delay."
"My dear fellow," he said, addressing the concierge, when he had replaced his pencil, "here are forty sous for a pourboire."
"Thank you, monsieur," rejoined the man, pocketing the money; "but what do you expect me to do for it?"
"Remit this card to M. Louis Richard."
"Nothing difficult about that."
"It must be given him to-morrow morning as he goes out, and without his father's knowledge; do you understand?"