e twenty years ago, we had here a distinguished stranger who came
from Ireland, and was called Carew. He was the fashionable celebrity of
a very famous period."

"He was my father, sir."

The old lawyer bowed and smiled; but though the gesture was eminently
polite, the shrewd twinkle of his eyes bespoke incredulity. I saw this,
and said at once,--

"I have many letters of his, dated from the 'Place Vendome,' No. 13,
where he lived."

"Indeed!" cried he, in astonishment. "You possess these at present?"

"Some few I have with me; others, a large number, are in the keeping
of my friends, as well as notes and papers in the hand of the late
Duc d'Orleans, with whom my father appeared to live on considerable
intimacy."

"That I can vouch for myself," said the _avocat_, hastily; then,
suddenly correcting himself, added,--"Perhaps you would give me a sight
of some of these documents. I do not ask from any impertinent curiosity,
but with the conviction that I can be of some service to you."

I readily promised to do so, and the following day was named for the
purpose.

"Now, for the present case," said he. "I know nothing of Monsieur
Bernois beyond what a client of mine from the Auvergnat told me. He was
the son of a poor farmer near Linange, who studied the law at Paris,
went back to his native village and married, and, after some years of
failure at home, came here to make his fortune. I employed him partly
from motives of charity, for he was irregular in his habits of work, and
seemed overcome by a depression that rendered him often incapable of all
exertion. Make what arrangements you think suitable for his burial, and
then induce his poor widow and daughter to return home. Call upon me
for any expenses that may be needed, and say that I will send one of my
clerks to make an inventory of his effects and draw up the 'proces' the
law requires."

There was a mingled kindness and commonplace in the way he spoke this
that left me in doubt which of the two frames of mind predominated in
his nature. At all events, I had good reason to be satisfied with my
reception, and, resisting his invitation to stay to supper, I hastened
back to the Rue de Viardot.

The poor widow still remained in the state of stupor in which I first
saw her; but Marguerite's grief had taken a more violent form, and
the terrible shock had brought on brain-fever,--at least, so Lizette
pronounced it. My sad duties were thus multiplied by the cares o