n of being null and void, state the domicile of all
contracting parties. Now, where was my father's domicile? This part had
been left in blank by the notary, who now insisted on filling it before
proceeding farther.

"As for this domicile," said Achille Pigoult, "Monsieur le marquis
appears to have none in France, as he does not reside in this country,
and has owned no property here for a long time."

"It is true," said the marquis, seeming to put more meaning into his
words than they naturally carried, "I am a mere vagabond in France."

"Ah!" said Jacques Bricheteau, "vagabonds like you, who can present
their sons with the necessary sums to buy estates, are not to be pitied.
Still, the remark is a just one, not only as to France, but as to your
residence in foreign countries. With your eternal mania for roving, it
is really very difficult to assign you a domicile."

"Well," said Achille Pigoult, "it does not seem worth while to let so
small a matter stop us. Monsieur," he continued, motioning to me, "is
now the owner of the Chateau d'Arcis, for an engagement to sell is as
good as the sale itself. What more natural, therefore, than that
the father's domicile should be stated as being on his son's estate,
especially as this is really the family property now returned into
the hands of the family, being purchased by the father for the son,
particularly as that father is known and recognized by some of the
oldest and most important inhabitants of the place?"

"Yes, that is true," said old Pigoult, adopting his son's opinion
without hesitation.

"In short," said Jacques Bricheteau, "you think the matter can go on."

"You see that my father, a man of great experience, did not hesitate to
agree with me. We say, therefore," continued the notary, taking up
his pen, "Francois-Henri-Pantaleon Dumirail, Marquis de Sallenauve,
domiciled with Monsieur Charles de Sallenauve, his natural son, by
him legally recognized, in the house known as the Chateau d'Arcis,
arrondissement of Arcis-sur-Aube, department of the Aube."

The rest of the deed was read and executed without comment.

Then followed a rather ridiculous scene.

"Now, Monsieur le comte," said Jacques Bricheteau, "embrace your
father."

The marquis opened his arms rather indifferently, and I coldly fell into
them, vexed with myself for not being deeply moved and for not hearing
in my heart the voice of kindred. Was this barrenness of emotion the
result of my sudden