And now he must act the part of a diplomat, submitting to craftiness and rogueries that were not at all in accord with his open nature.
He had begun by not telling Caffie, instantly, what he thought of his propositions; but it is more difficult to act than to control one's self, to speak than to be silent.
What would he say, what would he do, when the time for action came?
He reached his house without having decided anything, and as he passed before the concierge's lodge absorbed in thought, he heard some one call him.
"Doctor, come in a moment, I beg of you." He thought some one wished to consult him, some countryman who had waited 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.