I could not turn my eyes away from it, and thus it happened that I went to the British Museum every day for the three weeks, in order to see the pigeons and the papyrus. I had an idea in my head of stealing the papyrus, but failed to accomplish that noble purpose owing to two policemen who were stationed close by, and who began to watch me suspiciously. Although the papyrus has, as I can see, not yet lost its old attraction, I must not forget to mention my visit to the famous "Tower." There, however, I did not care very much for the splendid armour which decorated the walls, nor for the large diamond in the jewel-room, round which the public crowded. I left rather quickly the narrow corridors, together with the gloomy rooms, and sat down on a bench in the court-yard, contemplating with melancholy feelings the bright brass plate in front of me, which stated that two young beautiful queens had been beheaded on that spot. The sunburnt leaves of autumn danced over it to-day. I returned to the home rather late from such excursions, expected most impatiently by the girl who had attached herself to me more and more closely. By-and-by a friendship sprang up between us, the cause of which I could never explain. I think it was her eyes, which at times looked so strangely sad, that had attracted me, and although she had never confided in me, I felt sure that she was troubled by some secret sorrow. One day when we sat together and chatted, a letter from my friend was handed to me. I had been expecting it for a long while, and was very pleased with it. He wrote that he worked until midnight every day, and begged me to forgive his silence. He would write more fully as soon as he could spare time. My friend noticed how happy the few lines had made me, and smilingly she asked me whether that letter was from someone for whom I cared very much, and was that someone perhaps a man? I hesitated a little, and then told her about him. While I did so, she grew more and more sad, and at last she cried. "I wish," she said, "I had known you before I went to Paris." At that I felt much consternation, and could not understand her. "Why," I asked at last, "did you have so little companionship there?" "No, no," she said, springing to her feet, "too much--far too much." Before I had understood what she meant, the door opened and some of the girls entered. We therefore began to talk about indifferent matters, but I could see that my friend was not at her ease. Her cheeks were very pale, and her smile affected. A few days later I received a note from my mistress telling me that she was coming back in a week's time, and that she wanted me to leave the home. This was very bad news for my friend; she kept with me constantly, and declared that she would not know what to do when I had gone. On the day before my departure she was again strangely moved, and often began sentences without finishing them. "Is there anything that troubles you?" I asked her. "Yes."