He read the name on the card: Louis de Clameran.
Many years had passed since Gaston had experienced such violent agitation. His blood rushed to his face, and he trembled like a leaf.
The old home affections which he thought dead now sprung up anew in his heart. A thousand confused memories rushed through his mind. Like one in a dream, he tottered toward the door, gasping, in a smothered, broken voice:
“My brother! oh, my brother!”
Hurriedly passing by the frightened servant, he ran downstairs.
In the passage stood a man: it was Louis de Clameran.
Gaston threw his arms around his neck and held him in a close embrace for some minutes, and then drew him into the room.
Seated close beside him, with his two hands tightly clasped in those of Louis, Gaston gazed at his brother as a fond mother would gaze at her son just returned from the battle-field.
There was scarcely any danger and excitement which the mate of the redoubtable Captain Warth had not experienced; nothing had ever before caused him to lose his calm presence of mind, to force him to betray that he had a heart. The sight of this long unseen brother seemed to have changed his nature; he was like a woman, weeping and laughing at once.
“And is this really Louis?” he cried. “My dear brother! Why, I should have recognized you among a thousand; the expression of your face is just the same; your smile takes me back twenty-three years.”