When I came down again two hours later, after a nap and a bath, I found a _commissionnaire_ waiting for me.
"_Tiens_!" said Madame Bouisse (Madame Bouisse was the wife of the _concierge_).

"_V'la_! here is M'sieur Arbuthnot." The man touched his cap, and handed me a letter.
"I was told to deliver it into no hands but those of M'sieur himself," said he.
The address was in Dalrymple's writing.

I tore the envelope open.

It contained only a card, on the back of which, scrawled hastily in pencil, were the following words: "To have said good-bye would have made our parting none the lighter.

By the time you decipher this hieroglyphic I shall be some miles on my way: Address Hotel de Russie, Berlin.