"No. I don't intend you to go to London."

"To Edinburgh, then, I suppose," said I, in a tone of disappointment.

"Nor to Edinburgh. You shall go to Paris."

"To Paris!"

"Yes--the French surgeons are the most skilful in the world, and Chéron
will do everything for you. I know no eminent man in London from whom I
should choose to ask a favor; and Chéron is one of my oldest
friends--nay, the oldest friend I have in the world. If you have but two
ounces of brains, he will make a clever man of you. Under him you will
study French practice; walk the hospitals of Paris; acquire the language
and, I hope, some of the polish of the French people. Are you
satisfied?"

"More than satisfied, sir," I replied, eagerly.

"You shall not want for money, boy; and you may start as soon as you
please. Is the thing settled?"

"Quite, as far as I am concerned."

My father rubbed his head all over with both hands, took off his
spectacles, and walked up and down the room. By these signs he expressed
any unusual degree of satisfaction. All at once he stopped, looked me
full in the face, and said:--

"Understand me, Basil. I require one thing in return."