The Cure was perturbed. Was he, then, to know who this man was--his name
and history? Was the story of his life now to be told?

Charley broke the silence. "Tell the girl to come in." Instantly
afterwards the postmaster's daughter entered. The look of the girl's
face, at once delicate and rosy with health, almost put the question of
the letter out of his mind for an instant. Her dark eyes met his as he
came forward with outstretched hand.

"This is addressed, as you will see, 'To the Sick Man at the House of Jo
Portugais, at Vadrome Mountain.' Are you that person, Monsieur?" she
asked.

As she handed the parcel, Charley's eyes scanned her face quickly. How
did this habitant girl come by this perfect French accent, this refined
manner? He did not know the handwriting on the parcel; he hastily tore
it open. Inside were a few dozen small packets. Here also was a sheet
of paper. He opened and read it quickly. It said:

Monsieur, I am not sure that you have recovered your memory and your
health, and I am also not sure that in such case you will thank me
for my work. If you think I have done you an injury, pray accept my
profound apologies. Monsieur, you have been a drunkard. If you
would reverse the record now, these powders, taken at opportune
moments, will aid you. Monsieur, with every expression of my good-
will, and the hope that you will convey to me without reserve your
feelings on this delicate matter, I append my address in Paris, and
I have the honour to subscribe myself, with high consideration,
Monsieur, yours faithfully,
MARCEL LOISEL.