Nothing. Fanny took up her box—this time the doctor did not offer to carry it for her.
"Where are you going?" he asked. "What have you decided?"
"I can get round by the Chemin de Fer de Ceinture to the Lyons station. I shall take the first cheap train which will take me to Berne."
"Bon voyage!" said the doctor, cheerfully, and shut the door.
It is a long journey from Paris to Berne even for those who can travel first class and express—that is, if sixteen hours can be called a long journey. For those who have to jog along by third class, stopping at all the little country stations, it is a long and tedious journey indeed. The longest journey ends at last. The train rolled slowly into the station of Berne, and Fanny descended with her box. Her wanderings were over for the present. She would find her mistress and be at rest.
She asked to be directed to the Hotel d'Angleterre. The Swiss guardian of the peace with the cocked hat stared at her. She repeated the question.
"Hotel d'Angleterre?" he echoed. "There is no Hotel d'Angleterre in Berne."
"Yes, yes; there is. I am the maid of a lady who is staying at that hotel."
"No; there is no Hotel d'Angleterre," he reported. "There is the Hotel Bernehof."
"No." She took out the paper and showed it to him—"Lady Harry Norland, Hotel d'Angleterre, Berne."