"I don't know whether that is your business. I have already told you that he is gone. If you join your mistress in Berne, you will very soon find out if he is there as well." Something in his tone made Fanny look up quickly. But his face revealed nothing. "What shall you do then?" asked the doctor. "You must make up your mind quickly whether you will go back to England or whether you will go on to Switzerland. You cannot stay here, because I am putting together the last things, and I shall give the landlord the key of the house this evening. All the bills are paid, and I am going to leave the place." "I do not understand. There is the patient," she murmured vaguely. "What does it mean? I cannot understand." "My good creature," he replied roughly, "what the devil does it matter to me whether you understand or whether you do not understand? Her ladyship is, as I have told you, at Berne. If you please to follow her there, do so. It is your own affair, not mine. If you prefer to go back to London, do so. Still--your own affair. Is there anything else to say?" Nothing. Fanny took up her box--this time the doctor did not offer to carry it for her. "Where are you going?" he asked. "What have you decided?" "I can get round by the Chemin de Fer de Ceinture to the Lyons station. I shall take the first cheap train which will take me to Berne." "Bon voyage!" said the doctor, cheerfully, and shut the door. It is a long journey from Paris to Berne even for those who can travel first class and express--that is, if sixteen hours can be called a long journey. For those who have to jog along by third class, stopping at all the little country stations, it is a long and tedious journey indeed. The longest journey ends at last. The train rolled slowly into the station of Berne, and Fanny descended with her box. Her wanderings were over for the present. She would find her mistress and be at rest. She asked to be directed to the Hotel d'Angleterre. The Swiss guardian of the peace with the cocked hat stared at her. She repeated the question. "Hotel d'Angleterre?" he echoed. "There is no Hotel d'Angleterre in Berne." "Yes, yes; there is. I am the maid of a lady who is staying at that hotel." "No; there is no Hotel d'Angleterre," he reported. "There is the Hotel Bernehof." "No." She took out the paper and showed it to him--"Lady Harry Norland, Hotel d'Angleterre, Berne." "There is the Hotel de Belle Vue, the Hotel du Faucon, the Hotel Victoria, the Hotel Schweizerhof. There is the Hotel schrodel, the Hotel Schneider, the Pension Simkin."