I believe in human nature, my good
Constance, though of a verity it has given me strong lessons not to be
over-sanguine.'

'Who has had more friends?' began she; but he stopped her short at once
by a contemptuous gesture with his hand, while he said--

'Men are your friends in life as they are your companions on a
journey--so long as your road lies in the same direction they will
travel with you. To bear with your infirmities, to take count of your
trials, and make allowance for your hardships; to find out what of good
there is in you, and teach you to fertilise it for yourself; to discern
the soil of your nature, expel its weeds, and still to be hopeful--this
is friendship. But it never comes from a brother man; it is a woman
alone can render it. Who is it that knocks there?' asked he quickly.

She went to the door and speedily returned with the answer--

'It is the same youth who was here yesterday, and refused to give his
name. He is still most urgent in his demand to see you.'

'Does he know what he asks--that I am on the eve of a long journey, and
must needs have my thoughts engaged about the road before me?'

'I told him you were very ill--very ill indeed; that even your dearest
friends only saw you for a few minutes at a time; but he persisted in
asserting that if you knew he was there, you would surely see him.'

'Let his perseverance have its reward. Tell him to come in.'

The sister returned to the door, and after a whispered word to the
stranger, enforcing caution in his interview, admitted him, and pointing
to the bed where the sick man lay, she retired.

If the features and gestures of the stranger, as he moved silently
across the room, denoted the delicacy of a certain refinement, his dress
bespoke great poverty; his clothes were ragged, his shoes in tatters,
and even the red woollen cap which he had just removed from his head was
patched in several places.

The sick man motioned to him to stand where the light would fall upon
him strongly; and then, having stared steadfastly at him for several
minutes, he sighed drearily, and said, 'What have you with me?'

'Don't you remember me, then, Signor Gabriel?' asked the young man, in a
tone of deep agitation. 'Don't you remember Fitzgerald?'

'The boy of the Maremma--the Garde du Corps--the favourite of
the Queen--the postilion on the flight to Va-rennes--the secret
letter-carrier to the Temple----'

'Speak lower, Monsieur! speak lower, I beseech