.

All I am able to relate is the fact that I found myself in overcoat
and hat seated upon a long terrace in the noon sunlight of winter.

I gazed around, utterly astonished. The clothes I wore seemed coarse
and unfamiliar. My hand went to my chin, when I found that I had grown
a beard! My surroundings were strange and mysterious. The houses on
either side were white and inartistic, with sloping roofs and square
windows. They were foreign--evidently French!

The shrill siren of a factory sounded somewhere, releasing the
workers. Far away before me a steamer away on the horizon left a long
trail of smoke behind, while here and there showed the brown sails of
fishing boats.

I rose from my seat, filled with curiosity, and glanced at the house
before which I stood. It was a big square building of red brick with
many square windows. It seemed like a hospital or institution.

That it was the former was quickly revealed, for a few moments after I
had risen, a nursing-sister in a tri-winged linen head-dress appeared
and spoke kindly to me, asking in French how I felt on that glorious
morning.

"I am quite all right," was my reply in French. "But where am I?" I
inquired, utterly dazed.

"Never mind, m'sieur, where you are," replied the stout, middle-aged
woman in blue uniform and broad collar. "You have only to get better."

"But I am better," I protested. "I lost consciousness in London--and
now I awake here to find myself--where?"

"You are in good hands, so why trouble?" asked the Sister very kindly.
"You are upset, I know. Do not worry. Take things quite easily. Do not
try to recall the past."

"The past!" I cried. "What has passed--eh? What has happened since I
went through Stretton Street the other night?"

The Sister smiled at me. She seemed inclined to humour me--as she
would a child.

"Do not perturb yourself, I beg of you," she said in a sympathetic
voice. "There is really no need for it. Only just remain calm--and all
will be right."

"But you do not explain, Sister," I said. "Why am I here? And where am
I?" I asked, gazing vacantly around me.

"You are with friends--friends who have looked after you," was her
reply. "We are all very sorry for your motor accident."

"Motor accident!" I echoed. "I have had no motor accident."

Again the dark-eyed woman smiled in disbelief, and it annoyed me.
Indeed, it goaded me to anger.

"But you told us all about it. How you started out from the Quay at
Boulo