To Rue d'Amsterdam I went. It seemed that Balloquet had not obtained the practice that he hoped for among the lorettes; perhaps he had decided to be a railroad doctor—that is to say, to be on hand to attend to arriving and departing travellers. That would not be a bad idea.
I arrived at No. 42. It was a handsome house, and quite new, naturally enough, as the street was new. I asked for Dr. Balloquet. The concierge pointed to a staircase at the rear of the courtyard:
"Top floor, door facing you. He must be in."
The top floor was at least the fifth. It seemed to me that it must be a bad thing for a doctor to live so far up. Some of the patients who came to consult him would certainly find it hard work to climb so high. Probably Balloquet loved fresh air, and made more visits than he received.
The hall was quite light and very clean and neat; but I had to climb six flights of stairs before I reached the top landing. I got there at last, and found the name of Balloquet, with his professional title, on a little card nailed to the door that faced me. It occurred to me that a copper plate would be better. I thought that I remembered that he had a very fine one at his other lodgings; probably he was having it changed.
I pulled a dilapidated tassel, which had at one time done duty on a curtain. The bell rang shrilly, but nobody opened the door. Perhaps the apartment was very large. I rang again, but nobody appeared. Still, the concierge had said:
"He must be in."
I tried another method. Sometimes young men dread a woman's visit, especially when they have another woman with them. I coughed in several keys, and in a moment the door opened a little way and Balloquet's nose appeared. When he spied me, he threw the door wide open, crying:
"Why, it's my dear Rochebrune! Come in, my dear fellow, come in! That was a good idea of yours, to cough. I was apprehensive of other visits."
"A doctor doesn't ordinarily fear them."