Blind Love

"I do not understand. There is the patient," she murmured vaguely.

"What does it mean? I cannot understand."

"My good creature," he replied roughly, "what the devil does it matter

to me whether you understand or whether you do not understand? Her

ladyship is, as I have told you, at Berne. If you please to follow her

there, do so. It is your own affair, not mine. If you prefer to go back

to London, do so. Still--your own affair. Is there anything else to

say?"

Nothing. Fanny took up her box--this time the doctor did not offer to

carry it for her.

"Where are you going?" he asked. "What have you decided?"

"I can get round by the Chemin de Fer de Ceinture to the Lyons station.

I shall take the first cheap train which will take me to Berne."

"Bon voyage!" said the doctor, cheerfully, and shut the door.

It is a long journey from Paris to Berne even for those who can travel

first class and express--that is, if sixteen hours can be called a long

journey. For those who have to jog along by third class, stopping at

all the little country stations, it is a long and tedious journey

indeed. The longest journey ends at last. The train rolled slowly into

the station of Berne, and Fanny descended with her box. Her wanderings

were over for the present. She would find her mistress and be at rest.

She asked to be directed to the Hotel d'Angleterre. The Swiss guardian

of the peace with the cocked hat stared at her. She repeated the

question.

"Hotel d'Angleterre?" he echoed. "There is no Hotel d'Angleterre in

Berne."

"Yes, yes; there is. I am the maid of a lady who is staying at that

hotel."

"No; there is no Hotel d'Angleterre," he reported. "There is the Hotel

Bernehof."

"No." She took out the paper and showed it to him--"Lady Harry Norland,

Hotel d'Angleterre, Berne."

"There is the Hotel de Belle Vue, the Hotel du Faucon, the Hotel

Victoria, the Hotel Schweizerhof. There is the Hotel schrodel, the

Hotel Schneider, the Pension Simkin."

Fanny as yet had no other suspicion than that the doctor had

accidentally written a wrong name. Her mistress was at Berne: she would

be in one of the hotels. Berne is not a large place. Very good; she

would go round to the hotels and inquire. She did so. There are not, in

fact, more than half a dozen hotels in Berne where an English lady

could possibly stay. Fanny went to every one of these. No one had heard

of any such lady: they showed her the lists of their visitors. She

inquired at the post-office. No lady of that name had asked for

letters. She asked if there were any pensions, and went round them

all--uselessly.