In ten words Daniel had told him every thing, and even shown him that masterpiece of forgery, which he attributed to Miss Brandon’s mind, and M. Elgin’s skill. Then, without heeding Maxime’s exclamations of wonder and indignation, loud and deep as they were, he continued,—
“Now, my dear Maxime, listen to me. It may be my last will which I am going to give in your charge.”
And, when his friend tried to remonstrate, he insisted,—
“I know what I am saying. I am sure I hope I shall not be buried out there; but the climate is murderous, and I may encounter a cannon-ball. It is always better to be prepared.”
He paused a moment to collect his thoughts; and then he went on.
“You alone, in this world, Maxime, know all my private affairs. I have no secret from you. I have friends whom I have known longer than you; but I have none in whom I feel more confidence. Besides, my old friends are all sailors,—men, who, like myself, may at any moment be sent, Heaven knows where. Now I want a reliable, safe, and experienced man, possessed of prudence and energy, and sure not to leave Paris. Will you be that man, Maxime?”
M. de Brevan, who had remained in his chair, rose, and, putting his hand on his heart, said,—
“Between us, Daniel, oaths are useless; don’t you think so? I say, therefore, simply, you may count upon me.”
“And I do count upon you,” exclaimed Daniel,—“yes, blindly and absolutely; and I am going to give you a striking proof of it.”
For a few moments it looked as if he were trying to find some brief and yet impressive form for his communication; and then he said, speaking very rapidly,—