Though distressed beyond measure at my own weakness, I could not make up my mind to leave the place. In fact, by that same wonderful process of the imagination which in a few moments of sleep shows you a long series of diverse objects, my imagination pictured to me spontaneously the steep and winding staircase leading to the attics of the Hôtel de Calais, and my relentless landlord waiting there, my bill in his hand, in order to bar further progress, as he had barred it to my expelled predecessor. There was more than this, however. Some horrid words had in reality fallen upon my ear. Juliet, the friend and companion of my infancy, no longer remembered even my name. During this mental colloquy, Joseph, rigid, motionless, constantly watching a curtain in the hall, showed but too plainly his impatience to close the door upon me for ever. In spite of his looks, I did not budge. I felt it impossible to abandon my last hope. All at once, by one of the spontaneous inspirations often due to desperate positions, it flashed upon me that during my infancy I bore only a pet name, and that Mme. Récamier never called me by any other. That was enough. Tightly grasping Joseph’s arm, I exclaimed: ‘Please, monsieur, go back to Mme. Récamier, and tell her that it’s Lolo who has come back from Sweden, who begs of her to see him for one moment.’ To judge by Joseph’s face at this new request, I felt certain that he considered me bereft of my senses. The man was, no doubt, asking himself what possible connection there could possibly be between Lolo, Sweden, and his mistress. Consequently, he did not seem disposed to attempt this new message, but I begged so hard that finally he decided in my favour, just as one grants to a patient whose physician has given him up the last whim from which he expects his cure. Behold me alone once more, striding up and down the huge hall, not even trying to restrain my fears now that there is no stranger to witness them, and recommending myself to that Providence which hovered over our vessel in the storm-tossed Baltic, which had protected me at Copenhagen, and from Whom at that moment I seemed to request a miracle not less decisive than any of the former to which I owed my life.