l seizing me with his
lean, bony hand,--"boy, give me that letter instantly; I charge you not
to disobey me."

"You forget yourself, Sir," said I, endeavouring to shake him off, "you
forget yourself: there is no longer between us the distinction of pupil
and teacher; and if you have not yet learned the respect due to my
station, suffer me to tell you that it is time you should."

"Give me that letter, I beseech you," said Montreuil, changing his voice
from anger to supplication; "I ask your pardon for my violence: the
letter does not concern you but me; there is a secret in those lines
which you see are in my handwriting that implicates my personal safety.
Give it me, my dear, dear son: your own honour, if not your affection
for me, demands that you should."

I was staggered. His violence had confirmed my suspicions, but his
gentleness weakened them. "Besides," thought I, "the handwriting _is
his_; and even if my life depended upon reading the letter of another, I
do not think my honour would suffer me to do so against his consent." A
thought struck me,--

"Will you swear," said I, "that this letter does not concern me?"

"Solemnly," answered the Abbe, raising his eyes.

"Will you swear that I am not even mentioned in it?"

"Upon peril of my soul, I will."

"Liar! traitor! perjured blasphemer!" cried I, in an inexpressible rage,
"look here, and here!" and I pointed out to the priest various lines
in which my name legibly and frequently occurred. A change came over
Montreuil's face: he released my arm and staggered back against the
wainscot; but recovering his composure instantaneously, he said, "I
forgot, my son--I forgot--your name is mentioned, it is true, but with
honourable eulogy, that is all."

"Bravo, honest Father!" cried I, losing my fury in admiring surprise at
his address,--"bravo! However, if that be all, you can have no objection
to allow me to read the lines in which my name occurs; your benevolence
cannot refuse me such a gratification as the sight of your written
panegyric!"

"Count Devereux," said the Abbe, sternly, while his dark face worked
with suppressed passion, "this is trifling with me, and I warn you not
to push my patience too far. I _will_ have that letter, or--" he ceased
abruptly, and touched the hilt of his sword.

"Dare you threaten me?" I said, and the natural fierceness of my own
disposition, deepened by vague and strong suspicions of some treachery
designed against me, spo