This time, however, there were unfortunate complications. He had still a long journey to make, and no time to do it in; and he had heavy expenses of travelling still to encounter, and no money to pay them. What was he to do? Cursing those husks of pleasure is one thing, and re-making them into the gold they represent is quite another. He did not dare to write to his mother, and show her that he was still in Paris. He would rather die, he thought, than compromise the position which was every thing to him, or betray the secret of his life. Yet he must go on somehow, and accomplish his mission. With a racking headache and a despairing heart he began to count up his remaining coins, and calculate the time necessary for his journey. Time and money alike would just suffice to take him to Pisa. He had but realized this fact, without drawing any conclusion from it, when some one knocked at his door. He was in a second-rate hotel, but occupied its best room--a chamber all gorgeous with mirrors and marble tables and bronze candelabra. He hurriedly drew the curtains of the alcove which held his bed, and in a querulous tone bade his visitor enter. To his disgust and confusion he saw, when the door opened, the only Englishman whom he had encountered--a middle-aged man, in sporting costume and with boisterous manners, who had joined Frederick’s party (always against his will) on various occasions, and now came forward with horrible cordiality, holding out a red, fat hand, which seemed to the unfortunate prodigal the greasiest and dirtiest that he had ever shaken. He touched this paw reluctantly, with a repugnance in which some alarm and a sense of the necessity of giving nobody offence was mingled. He did not know who the man was. Had he been in other circumstances he would have repudiated his acquaintance haughtily; but at present he had the painful consciousness upon him that he was in everybody’s power. “Well, sir, how are you after last night?” said his visitor. “Hope you find yourself tolerably well after _p’tey soupey_? It’s played the very deuce with me, though I ought to be seasoned. You young ones have all the odds in your favour. Thought you’d feel yourself pulled up hard this morning, after the champagne--and the bill. Ha, ha! the bill; that’s the worst fun of it all; barring that, sir, this sort of life would be too pleasant to be true. The bill keeps us in mind that we’re mortal, hey?” “I don’t feel myself in any danger of forgetting that fact,” said Frederick stiffly.