nor how
to carry myself. Everything embarrassed and frightened me; and I was
conscious of my awkwardness, without being able to remedy it. I saw my
blunders, and knew that I spoke a different language to that which was
spoken around me. And yet the memory of Cannes will ever be dear to me.
For there I first met the only friend I have now left in this world. I
did not exchange a word with him, but by the quickened throbbings of
my heart, when our eyes met, I felt that he would exert a powerful
influence over my life, and events have since proved that I was not
deceived. At that time, however, he was a stranger to me; and nothing
on earth would have induced me to make inquiries concerning him. It
was only by chance I learned that he lived in Paris, that his name was
Pascal, and that he had come south as a companion to a sick friend.

"By a single word the count could have insured the happiness of my
life and his own, but he did not speak it. He was the kindest and
most indulgent of guardians, and I was often affected to tears by his
tenderness. But, although my slightest wish was law, he did not grant me
his confidence. The secret--the mystery that stood between us--was like
a wall of ice. Still, I was gradually becoming accustomed to my new
life, and my mind was regaining its equilibrium, when one evening the
count returned home more agitated and excited, if possible, than on the
day of my departure from the asylum. He summoned his valet, and, in a
tone that admitted no reply, he exclaimed, 'I wish to leave Cannes at
once--I must start in less than an hour--so procure some post-horses
instantly.' And in answer to my inquiring glance, he said: 'It must
be. It would be folly to hesitate. Each moment increases the peril that
threatens us.'

"I was very young, inexperienced, and totally ignorant of life; but my
sufferings, my loneliness, and the prospect of being compelled to rely
upon myself, had imparted to my mind that precocious maturity which is
so often observed among the children of the poor. Knowing from the very
first that there was some mystery connected with the count's life, I had
studied him with a child's patient sagacity--a sagacity which is all the
more dangerous, as it is unsuspected--and I had come to the conclusion
that a constant dread rendered his life a burden. Could it be for
himself that he trembled, this great nobleman, who was so powerful by
reason of his exalted rank, his connections, and his weal