Having in this conversation broken the ice (and almost every rule of French grammar), Maitland began to lead up craftily to the great matter--the affair of the bearskin coat. Did many English use the hotel? Had any of his countrymen been there lately? He remembered that when he left England a friend of his had asked him to inquire about an article of dress--a great-coat--which he had left somewhere, perhaps in a cab. Could monsieur the Porter tell him where he ought to apply for news about the garment, a coat in _peau d’ours_? On the mention of this raiment a clerkly-looking man, who had been loitering in the office of the _concierge_, moved to the neighborhood of the door, where he occupied himself in study of a railway map hanging on the wall. The porter now was all smiles. But, certainly! Monsieur had fallen well in coming to him. Monsieur wanted a lost coat in skin of the bear? It had been lost by a compatriot of monsieur’s? Would monsieur give himself the trouble to follow the porter to the room where lost baggage was kept? Maitland, full of excitement, and of belief that he now really was on the trail, followed the porter, and the clerkly man (rather a liberty, thought Maitland) followed _him_. The porter led them to a door marked “private,” and they all three entered. The clerkly-looking person now courteously motioned Maitland to take a chair. The Englishman sat down in some surprise. “Where,” he asked, “was the bearskin coat?” “Would monsieur first deign to answer a few inquiries? Was the coat his own, or a friend’s?” “A friend’s,” said Maitland, and then, beginning to hesitate, admitted that the garment only belonged to “a man he knew something about.” “What is his name?” asked the clerkly man, who was taking notes. His name, indeed! If Maitland only knew that! His French now began to grow worse and worse in proportion to his flurry. Well, he explained, it was very unlucky, but he did not exactly remember the man’s name. It was quite a common name. He had met him for the first time on board the steamer; but the man was going to Brussels, and, finding that Maitland was on his way to Paris, had asked him to make inquiries. Here the clerkly person, laying down his notes, asked if English gentlemen usually spoke of persons whom they had just met for the first time on board the steamer as their friends? Maitland, at this, lost his temper, and observed that, as they seemed disposed to give him more trouble than information, he would go and see the play. Hereupon the clerkly person requested monsieur to remember, in his deportment, what was due to Justice; and when Maitland rose, in a stately way, to leave the room, he also rose and stood in front of the door.