"That is well," he said to himself. "I am rather sorry for the boy, but he has brought it on himself. Why must he be a fool, and threaten to blab? He was living in luxury, such as he has never been accustomed to before, and he might rest content with that. In me surely he had an indulgent master. I rarely gave him anything to do. He could live on the fat of the land, see the world at no expense to himself, and have all the advantages of a rich man's son. Well, he has made his own bed, and now he must lie in it. On some accounts it is more agreeable to me to travel alone, and have no one to bother me." To avert suspicion, Major Grafton left the Hotel des Bergues and took up his quarters at another hotel. At the end of two weeks he left for Italy, having arranged matters satisfactorily by sending M. Bourdon a month's payment in advance, an arrangement that suited the worthy doctor remarkably well. CHAPTER XXXI. A WANDERER IN FRANCE. A boy toiled painfully over a country road but a few miles from the city of Lyons. His clothes bore the marks of the dusty road over which he was travelling. It was clear by his appearance that he was not a French boy. There is no need of keeping up a mystery which my young readers will easily penetrate. This boy was our hero, Ben Baker. He was now more than half way to Paris, and might have reached that gay city days since but for his limited supply of money. When he gave Francois a hundred francs he nearly exhausted his limited capital, but there was no help for it. He had travelled a hundred miles on the railway, far enough to be beyond the danger of pursuit and the risk of a return to the asylum, which he could not think of without a shudder. Now he would walk, and so economize. He had walked another hundred miles, and had reached this point in his journey. But his scanty funds were now reduced to a piece of two sous, and he was between three and four thousand miles from home. This very day he had walked fifteen miles, and all he had eaten was a roll, which he had purchased in a baker's shop in a country village through which he had passed in the early morning. Hopeful as Ben was by temperament, he looked sober enough as he contemplated his position. How was he ever to return home, and what prospect was there for him in Europe? If he had been in any part of America he would have managed to find something to do, but here he felt quite helpless. He had walked fifteen miles on an almost empty stomach, and the result was that he was not only tired but sleepy. He sat down by the way-side, with his back against the trunk of a tree, and before he was conscious of it he had fallen asleep.