glad, at my time of life
or Alain's, to follow his example. 'Tis a misfortune common to all; and
really," said I, bowing to myself before the mirror like one who should
dance the minuet, "when the result is so successful as this, who would
do anything but applaud?"

My toilet concluded, I marched on to fresh surprises. My chamber, my new
valet, and my new clothes had been beyond hope: the dinner, the soup,
the whole bill of fare was a revelation of the powers there are in man.
I had not supposed it lay in the genius of any cook to create, out of
common beef and mutton, things so different and dainty. The wine was of
a piece, the doctor a most agreeable companion; nor could I help
reflecting on the prospect that all this wealth, comfort, and handsome
profusion might still very possibly become mine. Here were a change,
indeed, from the common soldier and the camp kettle, the prisoner and
his prison rations, the fugitive and the horrors of the covered cart!

CHAPTER XVII

THE DESPATCH-BOX

The doctor had scarce finished his meal before he hastened with an
apology to attend upon his patient; and almost immediately after I was
myself summoned and ushered up the great staircase and along
interminable corridors to the bedside of my great-uncle the Count. You
are to think that up to the present moment I had not set eyes on this
formidable personage, only on the evidences of his wealth and kindness.
You are to think besides that I had heard him miscalled and abused from
my earliest childhood up. The first of the _emigres_ could never expect
a good word in the society in which my father moved. Even yet the
reports I received were of a doubtful nature; even Romaine had drawn of
him no very amiable portrait; and as I was ushered into the room, it was
a critical eye that I cast on my great-uncle. He lay propped on pillows
in a little cot no greater than a camp-bed, not visibly breathing. He
was about eighty years of age, and looked it; not that his face was much
lined, but all the blood and colour seemed to have faded from his body,
and even his eyes, which last he kept usually closed, as though the
light distressed him. There was an unspeakable degree of slyness in his
expression, which kept me ill at ease; he seemed to lie there with his
arms folded, like a spider waiting for prey. His speech was very
deliberate and courteous, but scarce louder than a sigh.

"I bid you welcome, Monsieur le Vicomte Anne," said he, look