On the 16th day of October, 1869, as he was sitting in his hotel at Madrid, having just returned from the carnage of Valencia, a telegram was handed him. The thunder of cannon and tumult of battle had scarce ceased echoing in his ear when this telegram startled him from his reverie: "Come to Paris on important business." In a moment all was hurry and confusion, his books and pictures were packed, his washed and unwashed clothes were stowed away, and in two hours his trunks were strapped and labeled "Paris." The train started at 3 o'clock, and he still had some time to say good-bye to his friends, and here by mere accident comes out one of the most pleasing traits of his character. Of the friends he is thus to leave, he merely refers to those of the American legation, but dwells with regret on the farewell he must give to two little children, whom he calls his "fast friends." Like a sudden burst of sunlight on a landscape, this unconscious utterance reveals a heart as tender as it is strong, and increases our interest in the man quite as much as in the explorer. At 3 o'clock he was thundering on toward Paris, ready, as he said, to go to the battle or the banquet, all the same. His interview with Mr. Bennett reveals the character of both these men so clearly that we give it in Stanley's own words: "At 3 P. M. I was on my way, and being obliged to stop at Bayonne a few hours, did not arrive at Paris until the following night. I went straight to the 'Grand Hotel,' and knocked at the door of Mr. Bennett's room. "'Come in,' I heard a voice say. Entering, I found Mr. Bennett in bed. "'Who are you?' he asked. "'My name is Stanley,' I answered. "'Ah, yes, sit down; I have important business on hand for you.' "After throwing over his shoulders his _robe de chambre_, Mr. Bennett asked: 'Where do you think Livingstone is?' "'I really do not know, sir.' "'Do you think he is alive?' "'He may be, and he may not be,' I answered. "'Well, I think he is alive, and that he can be found, and I am going to send you to find him.' "'What,' said I, 'do you really think I can find Dr. Livingstone? Do you mean me to go to Central Africa?' "'Yes; I mean that you shall go and find him, wherever you hear that he is, and get what news you can of him; and, perhaps'--delivering himself thoughtfully and deliberately--'the old man may be in want. Take enough with you to help him, should he require it. Of course, you will act according to your own plans, and you will do what is best--but FIND LIVINGSTONE!' "Said I, wondering at the cool order of sending one to Central Africa to search for a man whom I, in common with most other men, believed to be dead: 'Have you considered seriously the great expense you are liable to incur on account of this little journey?' "'What will it cost?' he asked abruptly. "'Burton and Speke's journey to Central Africa cost between £3,000 and £5,000, and I fear it cannot be done under £2,500.'