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“Ah! truly,” replied I; “but by chance it happened that when I left him he
was dressed exactly like you, with the exception only of white pantaloons, which
are not yet in season at Paris. So I have not even to separate your resemblance
from my remembrance of him on account of the difference in dress of which you
speak. But,” continued I, taking the letter out of my pocket-book, “I can
understand your haste to receive news from your family; therefore take this
letter, which I should have left here yesterday, had I not promised Madame De
Franchi to deliver it personally.”

“And you have left every body in good health?”

“Yes, but in uneasiness.”

“About me?”

“About you. But pray read the letter.”

“You permit me?”

“How can you ask?”

Monsieur de Franchi unsealed the letter, while I was preparing cigarettes.
Meanwhile, I regarded him attentively while he glanced rapidly over the
fraternal missive. From time to time he smiled, exclaiming, “This dear Louis!
Ah! this good mother! Yes—I understand!”

I had not yet recovered from this strange resemblance; however, as Lucien had
told me, I observed a greater delicacy in the complexion of Louis, and a much
more correct pronunciation of the French language.

“Well,” began I, when he had finished, offering him a cigarette, which he
lighted at mine, “you have seen there what I have already told you, that your
family are uneasy about you, and I see with pleasure they have been wrong.”

“No,” said he, with sadness, “not altogether wrong. It is true, I have not
been sick, but I have had sorrow; a violent one even, which I confess was
augmented by the idea that while I was suffering here, I caused my brother to
suffer at home.”

“Monsieur Lucien has already told me what you mention now. But really, to
make me believe that so extraordinary a thing was true, and not merely a
prepossession of his mind, I needed nothing less than the proof I have received
this moment. So you are yourself convinced that the uneasiness your brother felt
in Corsica, was in consequence of your state of suffering here?”

“Yes, sir, perfectly.”

“Then, as your answer in the affirmative has had the effect of doubly
interesting me in all that happens to you, permit me to ask, not out of
curiosity, but from the interest I feel in you, if the grief of which you spoke
just now has not passed away, and if you are not in the way to receive
consolation?”

“Alas! You know, sir, that the most violent grief becomes deadened by time,
and if no fatality occurs to irritate the wound of my heart, well! then it may
bleed a little longer, and finally become seared. Meanwhile, receive again all
my thanks, and grant me from time to time the permission to call upon you, and
talk about Sullacaro.”

“With the greatest pleasure,” replied I; “but why do we not this very moment
continue a conversation which is as agreeable to me as it is to yourself? Hold!
there comes my servant to inform me that breakfast is ready; do me the favor of
eating a cutlet with me, and then we can talk at our ease.”

“Impossible! to my deep regret. I received yesterday a letter from the Lord
Chancellor, who has invited me to pass to-day at noon at the Ministry of
Justice; and you well know that I, a poor little sprig of a lawyer, cannot let
such a great personage wait.”

“Ah! but it is probably about the affair between the Orlandini and the
Colonna that he sends for you.”

“I presume so; and as my brother informs me that the quarrel is terminated—”

“Before the Notary I can give you very certain news on the subject; I have
signed the contract as one of Orlandini’s witnesses.”

“Yes; my brother says something about that.”

“But see here,” continued he, drawing out his watch, “it is only a few
minutes before noon; I must go and inform the Lord Chancellor that my brother
has fulfilled my word.”

“Oh! religiously!—I’ll warrant you.”

“That dear Lucien! I knew that, notwithstanding it did not agree with his
views, he would do it.”