As I was about to leave the house, Pomponne handed me a card; it was Balloquet's. He had been several times to see me and had failed to find me. I was ashamed of my discourteous treatment of that young man, to whom I was indebted for my acquaintance with Armantine and Frédérique. It was not his fault if nothing had come of that acquaintance, neither love nor friendship. I was very sure that he had been more fortunate than I, and that the liaison he had begun at Monsieur Bocal's party had led to something. But there was no reason why I should not convince myself of the fact, and I determined to pay Balloquet a visit. I betook myself to the young physician's abode on Place Bréda. Balloquet had established himself there in the hope of obtaining patients among the lorettes. He considered that with such a clientage his fortune was assured. He had my best wishes, but it was not medicine that he practised with those ladies. As I was entering the house in which lived my jovial companion of the night of the weddings, the concierge stopped me. "Where is monsieur going?" "To see Monsieur Balloquet, physician." "He has not lived here for two months, monsieur." "His address, if you please?" "Rue d'Amsterdam, No. 42, near the railroad station." To Rue d'Amsterdam I went. It seemed that Balloquet had not obtained the practice that he hoped for among the lorettes; perhaps he had decided to be a railroad doctor--that is to say, to be on hand to attend to arriving and departing travellers. That would not be a bad idea. I arrived at No. 42. It was a handsome house, and quite new, naturally enough, as the street was new. I asked for Dr. Balloquet. The concierge pointed to a staircase at the rear of the courtyard: "Top floor, door facing you. He must be in." The top floor was at least the fifth. It seemed to me that it must be a bad thing for a doctor to live so far up. Some of the patients who came to consult him would certainly find it hard work to climb so high. Probably Balloquet loved fresh air, and made more visits than he received. The hall was quite light and very clean and neat; but I had to climb six flights of stairs before I reached the top landing. I got there at last, and found the name of Balloquet, with his professional title, on a little card nailed to the door that faced me. It occurred to me that a copper plate would be better. I thought that I remembered that he had a very fine one at his other lodgings; probably he was having it changed. I pulled a dilapidated tassel, which had at one time done duty on a curtain. The bell rang shrilly, but nobody opened the door. Perhaps the apartment was very large. I rang again, but nobody appeared. Still, the concierge had said: "He must be in."