It was the first moment of confusion I suffered, since I had left the same spot; but my cheek was in a flame as the lacquey let down the steps, and offered me his arm to descend. The lowly veneration of the old porter, as he stared at the royal liveries and the emblazoned panels of the carriage, was but a sorry compensation for the mock servility of the chasseur, whose eyes seemed to look through into my very heart, so that I actually did not hear the parting words of the Prince as the equipage drove away.
Curious anomaly! the half-insolent glances of the lacqueys sank deeper into my spirit than the flattering smile of the Prince's adieu. How much more alive is our nature to the pang of scorn than to the balm of kindness! These were my reflections as I entered my humble chamber, every portion of which seemed doubly miserable to me now. “Is it possible,” thought I, “that I have endured this hitherto? Have I really sat in that crazy old chair, and stretched my limbs upon that wretched pallet? Can it be real? or which is the delusion,—my recent splendor, or my present squalor?” Although up all night, I was far too much excited for sleep, even could I have persuaded myself to seek it on so humble a couch. I therefore set myself to think over the future, and wonder whether the brilliant scene in which I had so lately mixed would remain in its isolated brightness amid the desolation of my life, or be the guide-star to future greatness and distinction. My late success emboldened me to think that Fortune had not yet deserted me. “Who knows,” thought I, “but the Spaniards may behave handsomely yet, and make restitution of my property; or what if the Mexican banker should be a true man, and acknowledge my claim upon him?” “If I could but enlist the Prince in my cause,” thought I again, “how certain should I be of the issue! French influence always was powerful in Spain. Napoleon used to say, 'There were no Pyrenees;' I should be content if there were only a good road over them to convey the despatches that might assert my just right.”
A quick step upon the stairs at that instant caught my ear; few ever ascended so high up as my story, so I listened, and almost at once my door was thrown open, and my host of the preceding evening rushed into the room. Having shaken hands with me cordially, he said, “Corneille, mon ami! I have made another wager about you; and although the sum is a trifling one, I am curious to ascertain if I am the winner. Jules de Montserrat and Emile de Gency and myself had a dispute last night about your nationality, which ended in a bet. I am bound in honor not to tell you what our several opinions and guesses were, but still at liberty to ask you, what is your native country?”
“I am an Irishman, and derive my name from the ancient family of Cregan. Cornelius is but my Christian name, which I assumed to cover the disgrace of my altered fortune.”
“As to our wager, then, we were all in error,—none of us guessed Ireland. As to your being a man of birth and station, I need scarcely say, we were all agreed.”
“Would it were otherwise,” said I, with a deep sigh; “a humble position might be endured well enough, if unalloyed by the regrets of a condition forfeited forever. If you are curious to hear a very unhappy story, I am willing to relate it.”
“You couldn't do me a greater favor,” said he, seating himself like one eager to listen.
“First, then, we'll have some breakfast,” said I; “and then, with a good fire and no fear of interruption,—for I have not one acquaintance in Paris,—you shall hear my history from beginning to end.”
Chocolate and cutlets, champagne and devilled kidneys, brioches, sardines, and coffee, made their appearance as rapidly as though such delicacies were in the habit of daily mounting these steep stairs; and a cheerful blaze glowed once more in a grate where the oldest inhabitant had never beheld a fire.
These preparations being made, we began our meal, and I opened my narrative. The reader must not feel offended with me if I ventured to draw upon my imagination for the earlier facts of my history. Nature had not been generous to me in the article of a father: what great harm if I invented one for myself? Fortune had placed my birth beneath the thatched roof of an Irish cabin: was it not generous of me to call it the ancient baronial seat of the Cregans? She started me poor and in rags: I was above repining, and called myself rich and well-nurtured. But why weary my reader with such a recital? If it was necessary to raise the foundation on fiction, the after-events of my career I was satisfied to state pretty nearly as they happened, merely altering the reasons for my journey to the New World, which I ascribed to my search after a great inheritance belonging to my family, who were originally from Andalusia, and grandees of Spain.