e wore the appearance of a more
thriving establishment.

"You are a stranger, Monsieur?" observed my neighbour.

"I am," replied I; "but I have been at Marseilles before, and when I was
last here I used to frequent this shop. There was a short stout man who
was at the head of it, but I do not recollect his name."

"Oh--Monsieur Maurepas. He is dead; he died about two months since."

"And what has become of his family?"

"He had but one son, who had an intrigue with the daughter of an old
officer in this town, and was obliged to leave it. No one has heard of
him since: he is supposed to have been lost at sea, as the vessel in
which he embarked never arrived at the port to which she was bound. The
old man died worth money, and there is a law-suit for his property now
carried on between two distant relations."

"What became of the lady you were speaking of?"

"She retired to a convent, not three miles off, and is since dead. There
was some mystery about the abbess, and she was supposed to be able to
explain it. I believe she was pronounced 'contumacious' by the
Inquisition, and put into prison, where she died from the severity of
her treatment."

My heart smote me when I heard this. The poor girl had endured all this
severity on my account, and was faithful even to the last. I fell into a
reverie of most painful feelings. Cerise, too, whose fate I had before
ascertained when I was at Toulouse--Dear, dear Cerise!

* * * * *

"I tell you again, Huckaback, I wish to have no more of Cerise," cried
the pacha. "She is dead, and there's an end of her."

* * * * *

The information that I received made me doubtful how to proceed; I could
easily prove my identity, but I had a degree of apprehension that I
might be catechised in such a manner as to raise suspicions. At the same
time without a you in the world, I did not much like the idea of
abandoning all claim to my father's property. I had formerly dressed the
peruke of an elderly gentleman who practised in the law, and with whom I
was a great favourite. Although five years had elapsed since I first ran
away from my father, I thought it very likely that he might be still
alive. I resolved to call at his house. When I knocked and asked if he
was at home, the girl who opened the door replied in the affirmative,
and I was shown into the same little study, littered with papers, into
which I formerly used to br