hauffeurs_. In a word, he was
tortured, and died of it. See," I added, kicking off one shoe, for I had
no stockings; "I was no more than a child, and see how they had begun to
treat myself."

He looked at the mark of my old burn with a certain shrinking. "Beastly
people!" I heard him mutter to himself.

"The English may say so with a good grace," I observed politely.

Such speeches were the coin in which I paid my way among this credulous
race. Ninety per cent. of our visitors would have accepted the remark as
natural in itself and creditable to my powers of judgment, but it
appeared my lawyer was more acute.

"You are not entirely a fool, I perceive," said he.

"No," said I; "not wholly."

"And yet it is well to beware of the ironical mood," he continued. "It
is a dangerous instrument. Your great uncle has, I believe, practised it
very much, until it is now become a problem what he means."

"And that brings me back to what you will admit is a most natural
inquiry," said I. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? how did
you recognise me? and how did you know I was here?"

Carefully separating his coat skirts, the lawyer took a seat beside me
on the edge of the flags.

"It is rather an odd story," says he, "and, with your leave, I'll answer
the second question first. It was from a certain resemblance you bear to
your cousin, M. le Vicomte."

"I trust, sir, that I resemble him advantageously," said I.

"I hasten to reassure you," was the reply: "you do. To my eyes, M. Alain
de Saint-Yves has scarce a pleasing exterior. And yet, when I knew you
were here, and was actually looking for you--why, the likeness helped.
As for how I came to know your whereabouts, by an odd enough chance, it
is again M. Alain we have to thank. I should tell you, he has for some
time made it his business to keep M. de Keroual informed of your career;
with what purpose I leave you to judge. When he first brought the news
of your--that you were serving Buonaparte, it seemed it might be the
death of the old gentleman, so hot was his resentment. But from one
thing to another, matters have a little changed. Or I should rather say,
not a little. We learned you were under orders for the Peninsula, to
fight the English; then that you had been commissioned for a piece of
bravery, and were again reduced to the ranks. And from one thing to
another (as I say), M. de Keroual became used to the idea that you were
his kinsman and yet served w