This light advanced slowly, and irregularly, stopping occasionally, moving on again, and going first to the right, then to the left, then, for a minute, coming straight on, and again diverging. Bussy leaned against a door, and waited. The light continued to advance, and soon he could see a black figure, which, as it advanced, took the form of a man, holding a lantern in his left hand. He appeared to Bussy to belong to the honorable fraternity of drunkards, for nothing else seemed to explain the eccentric movements of the lantern. At last he slipped over a piece of ice, and fell. Bussy was about to come forward and offer his assistance, but the man and the lantern were quickly up again, and advanced directly towards him, when he saw, to his great surprise, that the man had a bandage over his eyes. “Well!” thought he, “it is a strange thing to play at blind man’s buff with a lantern in your hand. Am I beginning to dream again? And, good heavens! he is talking to himself. If he be not drunk or mad, he is a mathematician.” This last surmise was suggested by the words that Bussy heard. “488, 489, 490,” murmured the man, “it must be near here.” And then he raised his bandage, and finding himself in front of a house, examined it attentively. “No, it is not this,” he said. Then, putting back his bandage, he recommenced his walk and his calculations. “491, 492, 493, 494; I must be close.” And he raised his bandage again, and, approaching the door next to that against which Bussy was standing, began again to examine. “Hum!” said he, “it might, but all these doors are so alike.” “The same reflection I have just made,” thought Bussy. However, the mathematician now advanced to the next door, and going up to it, found himself face to face with Bussy. “Oh!” cried he, stepping back. “Oh!” cried Bussy. “It is not possible.” “Yes; but it is extraordinary. You are the doctor?” “And you the gentleman?” “Just so.” “Mon Dieu! how strange.” “The doctor,” continued Bussy, “who yesterday dressed a wound for a gentleman?” “Yes, in the right side.” “Exactly so. You had a gentle, light, and skilful hand.” “Ah, sir, I did not expect to find you here.” “But what were you looking for?” “The house.” “Then you do not know it?” “How should I? They brought me here with my eyes bandaged.” “Then you really came here?” “Either to this house or the next.” “Then I did not dream?” “Dream?” “I confess I feared it was all a dream.” “Ah! I fancied there was some mystery.” “A mystery which you must help me to unravel.” “Willingly.” “What is your name?” “Monsieur, to such a question I ought, perhaps, to reply by looking fierce, and saying, ‘Yours, monsieur, if you please; but you have a long sword, and I only a lancet; you seem to me a gentleman, and I cannot appear so to you, for I am wet and dirty. Therefore, I reply frankly: I am called Rémy-le-Haudouin.” “Very well, monsieur; I thank you. I am Louis de Clermont, Comte de Bussy.”