ested of me to permit Mr. Meurice to speak a few
words to me; which, having agreed to, I entered the little bureau where
this Czar of hotels sits enthroned, and what was my surprise to learn the
request he had to prefer, was nothing less than that I would so far
oblige him as to vacate the room I possessed in the hotel, adding that my
compliance would confer upon him the power to accommodate a "milor" who
had written for apartments, and was coming with a large suite of
servants. Suspecting that some rumour of the late affair at Frescati
might have influenced my friend Meurice in this unusual demand, I
abruptly refused, and was about to turn away, when he, perhaps guessing
that I had not believed his statements, handed me an open letter, saying,
"You see, sir, this is the letter; and, as I am so pressed for spare
room, I must now refuse the writer."

As my eye glanced at the writing, I started back with amazement to
perceive it was in my cousin Guy's hand, requesting that apartments might
be retained for Sir Guy Lorrequer, my uncle, who was to arrive in Paris
by the end of the week. If any doubt had remained on my mind as to the
deception I had been duped by, this would completely have dispelled it,
but I had long before been convinced of the trick, and only wondered how
the false Guy--Mr. Dudley Morewood--had contrived to present himself to
me so opportunely, and by what means, in so short a space of time, he had
become acquainted with my personal appearance.

As I mentioned this circumstance of the letter to Trevanion, he could not
conceal his satisfaction at his sagacity in unravelling the mystery,
while this new intelligence confirmed the justness and accuracy of all
his explanations.

While we walked along towards the Palais Royale, Trevanion endeavoured
not very successfully, to explain to my friend O'Leary, the nature of the
trick which had been practised, promising, at another time, some
revelations concerning the accomplished individual who had planned it,
which, in boldness and daring, eclipsed even this.

Any one who in waking has had the confused memory of a dream in which
events have been so mingled and mixed as to present no uniform narrative,
but only a mass of strange and incongruous occurrences, without object or
connexion, may form some notion of the state of restless excitement my
brain suffered from, as the many and conflicting ideas my late adventures
suggested, presented themselves to my mind i