He opened the letter again, and seemed lost in contemplation of something it contained; at length he said,—
“Have you brought any newspapers or journals with you?”
“None, sir; I came away at a moment's warning.”
“You are an Englishman. How came it that you have been a resident in France?”
For the first time his face assumed an expression of severity as he said this, and I could not but feel that the inquiry was one that touched my personal honor. I replied, therefore, promptly that I had come abroad from causes of a family nature, and that they were matters which could not interest a stranger.
“They do interest me, sir,” was his reply, “and I have a right to know them.”
If my first impulse was to resent what I conceived to be a tyranny, my second was to clear myself from any possibility of an imputation. I believe it was the wiser of the two; at all events, I yielded to it, and, apologizing for the intrusion upon time valuable as his, I narrated, in a few minutes, the leading features of my history.
“A singular story,” said he, as I concluded: “the son of an Irish Opposition leader reduced to this! What proofs have you of the correctness of your account? Have you acquaintances? Letters?”
“Some letters, but not one acquaintance.”
“Let me see some of these. Come here to-morrow, fetch your papers with you, and be here at eleven o'clock.”