‘Be calm, madame, be calm. I am not a doctor, but I know a thing or two. What is the memory? Tut! It will return. Chut! Before you arrive at Toulon you will have your memory. Let me hear your name, madame?’ ‘My name?’ I exclaimed, and I thought and thought, and my mind seemed to wrestle and struggle within me, like something living that has been buried alive. A light effort to recollect speedily grows into a sort of pain. This is true of trifles--as, for instance, a name, the recollection of which is not important, but you desire to pronounce it; the mind explores the gallery of the memory in vain for it, and the failure to find it grows into a worry and presently into a torment. Think, then, how it was with me when this young Frenchman asked me for my name, and I could not recall it! Recall it! Oh, that is to speak too mildly. Why, when I turned my mental gaze inwards it was like looking into a black abysm of a profundity impenetrable, upon the unreachable bottom of which was strown the wreckage of my past, were scattered the memorials of my life, for ever to be hidden from me, as I then believed. ‘Let me hear your name, madame?’ said the young Frenchman. I thought and thought and answered, ‘I cannot remember my name.’ ‘Not remember your name! But that is droll. Does it begin with A? Does it begin with B?’ and he ran through the alphabet. I listened, and all these letters sounded as idly upon my ear as the noise of the wind or the sound of passing waters. ‘But you are English?’ said he. Again I thought and thought, and replied in a whisper, ‘I cannot tell.’ He ejaculated in French. ‘Will you not ask me some questions?’ said he. ‘Perhaps whilst you ask questions you will be able to recollect.’ ‘What shall I ask?’ I answered, ‘I remember nothing to ask.’ ‘Ask about the boat we found you in.’ ‘Yes, tell me about that boat,’ said I. ‘Aha!’ cried he, ‘you remember then. You know there was a boat?’ ‘I remember that you have told me that you took me from a boat.’ ‘Bravo! What does that signify? I am not a doctor, but I know a thing or two. Madame, if you can recollect what I say, memory you must have. Is it not so? The faculty you have. It is like a snake: all its body is asleep to the tip of its tail, but it is awake with its eyes. What do you think of that illustration, madame?’ I listened to him and viewed him in silence. I felt terribly weak and ill, but far worse to support than this feeling of weakness and illness was the horror that was upon me--a horror I could not understand, an inward presence that was made the more dreadful by my not being able to find a reason for it. ‘Do you ask me about the boat?’ said Alphonse. ‘She had two masts, but one was broken by us. Beyond that----’ he shrugged his shoulders. ‘She slipped away when it was still dark. That was a pity. There would no doubt have been a name upon her.’