Emilie like a chain binding her more closely than ever to the Stranger's
fate. The strength and dignity he had displayed in the scene when they
had confessed their feelings had perhaps impressed Mademoiselle de
Fontaine with the respect without which there is no true love.

When she was left alone in the drawing-room with her father, the old man
went up to her affectionately, held her hands, and asked her whether she
had gained any light at to Monsieur Longueville's family and fortune.

"Yes, my dear father," she replied, "and I am happier than I could have
hoped. In short, Monsieur de Longueville is the only man I could ever
marry."

"Very well, Emilie," said the Count, "then I know what remains for me to
do."

"Do you know of any impediment?" she asked, in sincere alarm.

"My dear child, the young man is totally unknown to me; but unless he
is not a man of honor, so long as you love him, he is as dear to me as a
son."

"Not a man of honor!" exclaimed Emilie. "As to that, I am quite easy.
My uncle, who introduced him to us, will answer for him. Say, my dear
uncle, has he been a filibuster, an outlaw, a pirate?"

"I knew I should find myself in this fix!" cried the old sailor,
waking up. He looked round the room, but his niece had vanished "like
Saint-Elmo's fires," to use his favorite expression.

"Well, uncle," Monsieur de Fontaine went on, "how could you hide from
us all you knew about this young man? You must have seen how anxious we
have been. Is Monsieur de Longueville a man of family?"

"I don't know him from Adam or Eve," said the Comte de Kergarouet.
"Trusting to that crazy child's tact, I got him here by a method of my
own. I know that the boy shoots with a pistol to admiration, hunts well,
plays wonderfully at billiards, at chess, and at backgammon; he handles
the foils, and rides a horse like the late Chevalier de Saint-Georges.
He has a thorough knowledge of all our vintages. He is as good an
arithmetician as Bareme, draws, dances, and sings well. The devil's in
it! what more do you want? If that is not a perfect gentleman, find me
a bourgeois who knows all this, or any man who lives more nobly than he
does. Does he do anything, I ask you? Does he compromise his dignity
by hanging about an office, bowing down before the upstarts you call
Directors-General? He walks upright. He is a man.--However, I have
just found in my waistcoat pocket the card he gave me when he fancied
I wanted to cut his throa