_Billet_?
Why, yes, he had a _billet_ somewhere.

Hotel?
Yes, yes, the hotel,--no matter which.

It took some minutes before his brain could grasp the idea that his luggage cheque was wanted; he had forgotten that he had any luggage at all.

Ultimately, he was thrust into some sort of a vehicle, which set him down at the hotel door.
Food?
Good Heavens, no; but something to drink, and a bed to tumble into--quick.
He stood in a bedroom, holding in his hand a glass of he knew not what beverage.

Before him was a waiter, to whom--very much to his own surprise--he discoursed fluently in French, or something meant for that tongue.