"Come and see my retreat," said Marie to me, after breakfast.
We went up into the tower with Madame Kerouët.
We enter the room; what do I behold?
Facing me, in a large gold frame, there stands the portrait of the pirate of Porquerolles! the pilot of Malta!
"How did you come by that picture? Do you know who that man is?" I cried out, addressing the two women, who were staring at me in the greatest astonishment.
"Why, I painted that portrait myself, and that is M. Belmont," said Marie, with surprise.
"That is M. Belmont?"
"Certainly; that is my husband. But what is the matter with you, M. Arthur? Why are you so astonished, so overcome?"
"Have you ever seen M. Belmont anywhere?" asked Madame Kerouët.
I thought I was dreaming, or the victim of some extraordinary resemblance.