“I found this paper last night by a mere accident, when looking over some old letters; but, unfortunately, it is not accompanied by any other document which could aid us, though I have searched closely to discover such.”
So often had it been my fate to hear him hold forth on similar themes—on incidents which lacked but little, the veriest trifle, to lead to fortune—that I confess I paid slight attention to his words, and scarcely heard him as he went on describing how he had chanced upon his present discovery, when he suddenly startled me by saying,—
“And yet, even now, if you were of the stuff to dare it, there is wherewithal in that letter to make you a great man, and both of us rich ones.”
Seeing that he had at least secured my attention, he went on:—
“You remember the first time we ever met, Gervois, and the evening of our arrival at Hamburg. Well, on that same night there occurred to me the thought of making your fortune and my own; and when I shall have explained to you how, you will probably look less incredulous than you now do. You may remember that the first husband of Madame von Geysiger was a rich merchant of Hamburg. Well, there chanced to be in his employment a certain English clerk who conducted all his correspondence with foreign countries,—a man of great business knowledge and strict probity, and by whose means Von Geysiger once escaped the risk of total bankruptcy. Full of gratitude for his services, Von Geysiger wished to give him a partnership in the house; but however flattering the prospect for one of humble means, he positively rejected the offer; and when pressed for his reasons for so doing, at last owned that he could not consistently pledge himself to adhere to the fortunes of his benefactor, since he had in heart devoted his life to another object,—one for which he then only labored to obtain means to prosecute. I do not believe that the secret to which he alluded was divulged at the time, nor even for a long while after, but at length it came out that this poor fellow had no other aim in life than to find out the heir to a certain great estate in England which had lapsed from its rightful owner, and to obtain the document which should establish his claim. To this end he had associated himself with some relative of the missing youth,—a lady of rank, I have heard tell, and of considerable personal attractions, who had braved poverty and hardship of the severest kind in the pursuit of this one object. I do not know where they had not travelled, nor what amount of toil they had not bestowed on this search. Occasionally, allured by some apparent clew, they had visited the most remote parts of the Continent; and at last, acting on some information derived from one of their many agents, they left Europe for America. That the pursuit is still unsuccessful, an advertisement that I saw, a few days back, in a Dutch newspaper, assures me. A large reward is there offered for any one who can give certain information as to the surviving relatives of a French lady,—the name I forget, but which at the time I remembered as one of those connected with this story. And now, to apply the case to yourself, there were so many circumstances of similitude in the fortunes of this youth and your own life that it occurred to me, and not alone to me, but to another, to make you his representative.”
For a moment I scarcely knew whether to be indignant or amused at this shameless avowal; but the absurdity overcame my anger, and I laughed long and heartily at it.
“Laugh if you will, my dear Gervois,” said he; “but you are not the first, nor will you be the last, kite who has roosted in the eagle's nest. Take my word for it, with all the cares and provisions of law, it is seldom enough that the rightful heir sits in the hall of his fathers; and, in the present case, we know that the occupant is a mere pretender; so that your claim, or mine, if you like it, is fully as good as his to be there.”
“You have certainly excited my curiosity on one point,” said I, “and it is to know where the resemblance lies between this gentleman's case and my own; pray tell me that!”
“Easily enough,” said he, “and from the very papers in my hand: a mixed parentage, French and English—a father of one country, a mother of another—a life of scrapes and vicissitudes; but, better than all, a position so isolated that none can claim you. There, my dear Gervois, there is the best feature in the whole case; and if I could only inspire your heart with a dash of the ambitious daring that fills my own, it is not on a straw bed nor a starvation diet we should speculate over the future before us. Just fancy, if you can, the glorious life of ease and enjoyment that would reward us if we succeed; and as to failure, conjure up, if you are able, anything worse than this;” and as he spoke he made a gesture with his hand towards the wretched furniture of our humble chamber.
“You seem to exclude from your calculation all question of right and wrong,” said I, “of justice or injustice.”