They retraced the steps they had taken four hours earlier, to wit the Pont au Change, Rue de la Barillerie, Pont Saint-Michel, and the quays; but they kept on by the Grands Augustins, and some three hundred yards beyond paused before a huge door in a recess in the wall, beside which was another smaller door for the servants' use. The duenna knocked at the great door, which was opened by the porter. The two archers, after saluting their charge with the utmost respect, returned to the Châtelet, and our artist found himself standing for the second time outside a closed door. He would probably have remained there until morning, for he was fairly embarked on the fourth series of his dreams; but chance willed that a passer by, who had imbibed something too freely, collided violently with him. "Hola there, friend!" said the new arrival, "by your leave, are you a man or a post? If so be you're a post, you're within your rights and I respect you; but if you be a man, stand back, and let me pass." "Pray pardon me," rejoined the distraught youth, "but I am a stranger in this good city of Paris, and--" "Oh! that's another matter; the Frenchman is always hospitable, and I ask your pardon; you're a stranger, good. As you have told me who you are, it's only fair that I should tell you who I am. I am a student, and my name is--" "Excuse me," interposed the young artist, "but before I know who you are, I would be very glad to know where I am." "Porte de Nesle, my dear friend; this is the Hôtel de Nesle," said the student, with a glance at the great door from which the stranger had not once removed his eyes. "Very good; and to reach Rue Saint-Martin, where I live, which direction must I take?" said our lovelorn youth, for the sake of saying something, and hoping thus to be rid of his companion. "Rue Saint-Martin, do you say? Come with me, I'm going that way, and at Pont Saint-Michel I'll show you how you must go. As I was saying, I am a student, I am returning from the Pré-aux-Clercs, and my name is--" "Do you know to whom the Hôtel de Nesle belongs?" asked the young stranger. "Marry! I rather think I know my University! The Hôtel de Nesle, young man, belongs to our lord, the king, and is at this moment in the hands of Robert d'Estourville, Provost of Paris." "How say you! that the Provost of Paris lives there?" "By no means did I tell you that the Provost of Paris lives there, my son: the Provost of Paris lives at the Grand Châtelet." "Ah, yes! at the Grand Châtelet! Then that's the explanation. But how happens it that the provost lives at the Grand Châtelet, and yet the king leaves the Hôtel de Nesle in his possession?"