He bade them all adieu,--they did not know it was an eternal Farewell! What thoughts must have filled his sad soul as he crossed the sea to return to Paris! That Paris so different now for him from that which he had found without seeking in 1831! He was met upon his arrival by a surprise as painful as unexpected.

Dr.
Molin, whose advice and intelligent prescriptions had saved his life in the winter of 1847, to whom alone he believed himself indebted for the prolongation of his life, was dead.

He felt his loss painfully, nay, it brought a profound discouragement with it; at a time when the mind exercises so much influence over the progress of the disease, he persuaded himself that no one could replace the trusted physician, and he had no confidence in any other.

Dissatisfied with them all, without any hope from their skill, he changed them constantly.

A kind of superstitious depression seized him.