“That of Monsieur Maurepas, who died some short time since.”
“What, have we another claimant? If so, as I am employed by one party already, you must go elsewhere. I wish François would make his appearance and claim his own, poor fellow.”
Delighted to find that the old gentleman had still a regard for me, I made no scruple of making myself known.
“I am François, sir,” replied I.
The old gentlemen rose from his seat, and coming close to me, looked at me earnestly in the face. After a minute’s scrutiny—
“Well—I do believe you are; and pray, sir, where have you been all this while?”
“That’s what I cannot very well tell; but I have seen, and suffered much.”
“But that’s what you must tell, if you wish to obtain your property—that is to say, you must tell me. Don’t be afraid, François: it is a part of our profession to be confidants to strange secrets; and I think there are many locked up in this breast of more importance than any which you can disclose.”
“But, sir, if my life is concerned.”
“What then—your life will be safe. If I told all I knew, I could hang half Marseilles. But laying my professional duty aside, I wish you well; so now sit down, and let me hear your narrative.”