eported; and as
his youngest son was at home, and had been there for some months, he
could not but imagine, as both of them were mentioned in the reports,
that there might be some imposture in the business.

I perceived by the change of countenance in the Marquis that affairs
were not going well, and was to a certain degree prepared, when he
gravely handed the letter to the bishop, who, having read it, passed it
over to me, saying, with a stern look, "This concerns you, sir." I read
it with a composed countenance, and, returning it to the Marquis, I
observed with a sigh, "There is no kindness in such deception, the blow
will only fall heavier upon the old man when it does come. You are
aware, sir, I mentioned it to you (or rather, I believe, it was to
Mademoiselle Cerise), that my father is blind, and has been so for the
last two years. They have been afraid to tell him the truth, and have
made him believe that Victor is there. You must know, sir, that it was
clandestinely that my dear brother quitted his father's house to
accompany me. Unhappy hour when I yielded to his entreaties! But,
Monsieur le Marquis, I perceive it is now imperative that I should go to
my father; he will need the assurance of my existence to support him in
his grief. I will therefore, with your permission, write a few lines by
the bearer of this communication, and to-morrow morning at daylight must
unwillingly tear myself away from your charming society."

The cool and confident air with which I answered, removed suspicion; and
having written a few lines to the Comte, and requested from the Marquis
the loan of his seal, I applied the wax, and desired the servant to
deliver it as an answer to the messenger, whom I was not sorry to see
galloping by the window. "Oh," cried I, "'tis Pierre: had I known that,
I should have asked him some questions."

This well-timed exclamation of mine, I perceived, did not fail to have
its weight. We again sat down to table, and I was treated with more than
usual kindness by the Marquis and his brother, as if in compensation for
their having, for a moment, harboured a suspicion of my honesty. But I
was ill at ease, and I felt that I never had acted with more prudence
than in proposing my early departure.

In the evening I was alone with Cerise. Since the news of my brother's
death, and the scene that followed, we had sworn unalterable love; and
in that instance only was I sincere. I loved her to desperation, and I