When we once more came out into the open air, the stars had disappeared and the air was heavy with the damps of approaching daybreak.

Fortunately, we caught an empty _fiacre_ in the next street and, as we were nearer the Rue du Faubourg Montmartre than the Chaussee d' Antin, Dalrymple set me down first.
"Adieu, Damon," he said, laughingly, as we shook hands through the window.

"If we don't meet before, come and dine with me next Sunday at seven o'clock--and don't dream of dreadful murders, if you can help it!" I did not dream of dreadful murders.

I dreamt, instead, of Madame de Marignan, and never woke the next morning till eleven o'clock, just two hours later than the time at which I should have presented myself at Dr.Cheron's.
* * * * *.