e have, we have! That is--yes, I think we may say, Marcelli, that we
have often heard of him, and not unfavorably. Well, what of this
Grimaldi?"

"Signore, the desire to converse of your noble townsman is natural, but
were I to yield to my wishes to speak of Gaetano, I fear the honest
Baptiste might have reason to complain."

"To the devil with Baptiste and his bark! Melchior,--my good
Melchior!--dearest, dearest Melchior! hast thou indeed forgotten me?"

Here the Genoese opened wide his arms, and stood ready to receive the
embrace of his friend. The Baron de Willading was troubled, but he was
still so far from suspecting the real fact, that he could not have easily
told the reason why. He gazed wistfully at the working features of the
fine old man who stood before him, and though memory seemed to flit around
the truth, it was in gleams so transient as completely to baffle his
wishes.

"Dost thou deny me, de Willading?--dost thou refuse to own the friend of
thy youth--the companion of thy pleasures--the sharer of thy sorrows---
thy comrade in the wars--nay, more--thy confidant in a dearer tie?"

"None but Gaetano Grimaldi himself can claim these titles!" burst from the
lips of the trembling baron.

"Am I aught else?--am I not this Gaetano?--that Gaetano--thy
Gaetano,--old and very dear friend?"

"Thou Gaetano!" exclaimed the Bernois, recoiling a step, instead of
advancing to meet the eager embrace of the Genoese, whose impetuous
feelings were little cooled by time--"thou, the gallant, active, daring,
blooming Grimaldi! Signore, you trifle with an old man's affections."

"By the holy mass, I do not deceive thee! Ha, Marcelli, he is slow to
believe as ever, but fast and certain as the vow of a churchman when
convinced. If we are to distrust each other for a few wrinkles, thou wilt
find objections rising against thine own identity as well as against mine,
friend Melchior. I am none other than Gaetano--the Gaetano of thy
youth--the friend thou hast not seen these many long and weary years."

Recognition was slow in making its way in the mind of the Bernese.
Lineament after lineament, however, became successively known to him, and
most of all, the voice served to awaken long dormant recollections. But,
as heavy natures are said to have the least self-command when fairly
excited, so did the baron betray the most ungovernable emotion of the two,
when conviction came at last to confirm the words of his friend. He threw