for his return; and, although he did not feel like listening patiently to
idle complainings, he turned back and entered the lodge.

"Some one brought this," the concierge said, handing him a paper that was
stamped and covered with a running handwriting. "This" was the beginning
of the fire of which Caffie had spoken. Without reading it, Saniel put
it in his pocket and turned to go; but the concierge detained him.

"I would like to say two words to 'monchieur le docteur' about this
paper."

"Have you read it?"

"No, but I talked with the officer who gave it to me, and he told me what
it meant. It is unfortunate, doctor."

To be pitied by his concierge! This was too much.

"It is not as he told you," he replied, haughtily.

"So much the better. I am glad for you and for me. You can pay my
little bill."

"Give it to me."

"I have given it to you twice already, but I have a copy. Here it is."

To be sued by a creditor paralyzed Saniel; he was stunned, crushed,
humiliated, and could only answer stupidly. Taking the bill that the
concierge handed him, he put it in his pocket and stammered a few words.