"I have managed to make you, in your sleep, throw away your poison where it will injure nobody but the rats, and no one will be a bit the wiser. I have made you burn your touching letters of farewell; you will find the ashes inside the stove. Yours is a good heart! "Now take a cold bath and have a good breakfast, and go to Antwerp or Brussels and see people and amuse yourself. "Never see M. Noiret again. But when your aunt comes back you must both clear out of this depressing priestly hole; it doesn't suit either of you, body or mind. Go to Düsseldorf, in Prussia. Close by, at a village called Riffrath, lives an old doctor, Dr. Hasenclever, who understands a deal about the human heart and something about the human body; and even a little about the human eye, for he is a famous oculist. He can't cure, but he'll give you things that at least will do you no harm. He won't rid you of the eye that remains! You will meet some pleasant English people, whom I particularly wish you to meet, and make friends, and have a holiday from trouble, and begin the world anew. "As to who _I_ am, you shall know in time. My power to help you is very limited, but my devotion to you (for very good reasons) has no limits at all. "Take it that my name is Martia. When you have finished reading this letter look at yourself in your looking-glass and say (loud enough for your own ears to hear you): "'I trust you, Martia!' "Then I will leave you for a while, and come back at night, as in the old days. Whenever the north is in you, there am ~I~; seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, feeling with your five splendid wits by day--sleeping your lovely sleep at night; but only able to think with _your_ brain, it seems, and then only when you are fast asleep. I only found it out just now, and saved your earthly life, mon beau somnambule! It was a great surprise to me! "Don't mention this to any living soul till I give you leave. You will only hear from me on great occasions. "Martia." "P. S.--Always leave something to write with by your bedside at night, in case the great occasion should arise. On ne sait pas ce qui peut arriver!" Bewildered, beside himself, Barty ran to his looking-glass, and stared himself out of countenance, and almost shouted: "I trust you, Martia!" And ceased suddenly to feel the north. Then he dressed and went to breakfast. Little Frau thought he had gone mad, for he put a five-franc piece upon the carpet, and made her stand a few feet off from it and cover her left eye with her hand. "Now follow the point of my stick with your right eye," says he, "and tell me if the five-franc piece disappears."