t man, in the full maturity of his prime.

It was a relief to turn from Louis's restless eyes and crafty smile to
Gaston's frank, honest face.

"But," said Gaston, "how did you know that I was living? What kind
chance guided you to my house?"

Louis was prepared for this question. During his eighteen hours' ride by
the railway, he had arranged all his answers, and had his story ready.

"We must thank Providence for this happy meeting," he replied. "Three
days ago, a friend of mine returned from the baths, and mentioned that
he had heard that a Marquis of Clameran was near there, in the Pyrenees.
You can imagine my surprise. I instantly supposed that some impostor had
assumed our name. I took the next train, and finally found my way here."

"Then you did not expect to see me?"

"My dear brother, how could I hope for that? I thought that you were
drowned twenty-three years ago."

"Drowned! Mlle. de la Verberie certainly told you of my escape? She
promised that she would go herself, the next day, and tell my father of
my safety."

Louis assumed a distressed look, as if he hesitated to tell a sad truth,
and said, in a regretful tone:

"Alas! she never told us."

Gaston's eyes flashed with indignation. He thought that perhaps
Valentine had been glad to get rid of him.

"She did not tell you?" he exclaimed. "Did she have the cruelty to let
you mourn my death? to let my old father die of a broken heart? Ah, she
must have been very fearful of what the world says. She sacrificed me,
then, for the sake of her reputation."

"But why did you not write to us?" asked Louis.

"I did write as soon as I had an opportunity; and Lafourcade wrote back,
saying that my father was dead, and that you had left the country."

"I left Clameran because I believed you to be dead."

After a long silence, Gaston arose, and walked up and down the room as
if to shake off a feeling of sadness; then he said, cheerfully:

"Well, it is of no use to mourn over the past. All the memories in the
world, good or bad, are not worth one slender hope for the future; and
thank God, we have a bright future before us. Let us bury the past, and
enjoy life together."

Louis was silent. His footing was not sure enough to risk any questions.

"But here I have been talking incessantly for an hour," said Gaston,
"and I dare say that you have not dined."

"No, I have not, I confess."

"Why did you not say so before? I forgot that I had not dined myse