Dubourg tore his hair and beat his breast as he strode through the streets of Lyon. At last he arrived at the hotel, and addressed himself in the following words: "Whatever happens, I must end by making the best of it. Even if I should pass the night chastising myself in the street, it wouldn't bring back a sou to my purse. So I may as well go to bed; to-morrow, we'll see about getting out of the scrape." VIII BEHOLD HER! Frédéric, when he returned to the hotel during the evening, found Ménard seated alone before the remains of a chicken with which the quondam tutor had passed a part of the time since Dubourg's departure. Surprised not to find the latter, the young count inquired of Ménard as to his whereabouts, and was told that monsieur le baron had gone to pass the evening with one of the leading families of the city, from whom he had received an invitation. It seemed very strange to Frédéric that Dubourg should receive invitations at Lyon, where he knew nobody, and he feared that this "leading family" might be an invention of his friend. However, he was careful not to convey his suspicions to Ménard, but simply informed him that he proposed to resume his journey the next day. "Monsieur le baron isn't in such a hurry as he was," said Ménard; "he is very well pleased with Lyon." "Why, only this morning he urged me to leave the place!" "This invitation seems to have changed his views." "Monsieur le baron may do as he pleases, but we shall start to-morrow." Ménard made no reply, but went to bed, considering that his pupil was taking great liberties with such a man as the palatine; and Frédéric did the same, although he was somewhat disturbed by Dubourg's absence. Early the next morning, Ménard and the young count met in the room where they were accustomed to meet for breakfast. But Dubourg did not appear. "Can it be that he stayed out all night?" asked Frédéric. "I beg your pardon, monsieur," said one of the servants of the hotel; "monsieur le baron came in about three o'clock this morning; he seemed very tired, and he is still in bed." "What folly to sit up all night when we were to start to-day! But where in the devil has he been?--Go and tell him that we are waiting for him." After some time, the servant returned and announced that monsieur le baron was sick and could not rise. "The rascal must have been drunk last night," thought Frédéric; and, followed by Ménard, who began by rubbing his nose and temples with vinegar to ward off contagion, he went to Dubourg's bedroom. They found him in bed; he had pulled his nightcap over his eyes and tied his handkerchief over it, and his face wore such a piteous expression, that one would have thought that he had been confined to his bed in agony for three months. Ménard halted in the middle of the room and held a smelling-bottle to his nose, saying in an undertone to Frédéric. "Mon Dieu! how he has changed!"