“Instantly. You are very little changed.”
And Louis was right. He himself had an old, worn-out, used-up appearance; while Gaston, in spite of his gray hair and weather-beaten face, was a robust man, in the full maturity of his prime.
It was a relief to turn from Louis’s restless eyes and crafty smile to Gaston’s frank, honest face.
“But,” said Gaston, “how did you know that I was living? What kind chance guided you to my house?”
Louis was prepared for this question. During his eighteen hours’ ride by the railway, he had arranged all his answers, and had his story ready.
“We must thank Providence for this happy meeting,” he replied. “Three days ago, a friend of mine returned from the baths, and mentioned that he had heard that a Marquis of Clameran was near there, in the Pyrenees. You can imagine my surprise. I instantly supposed that some impostor had assumed our name. I took the next train, and finally found my way here.”
“Then you did not expect to see me?”
“My dear brother, how could I hope for that? I thought that you were drowned twenty-three years ago.”
“Drowned! Mlle. de la Verberie certainly told you of my escape? She promised that she would go herself, the next day, and tell my father of my safety.”
Louis assumed a distressed look, as if he hesitated to tell a sad truth, and said, in a regretful tone: