“He is here,” said he, anticipating my question, “but I called just to know when we should come, and whether I was to say any thing to him before he came.”
“No, no, tell him nothing—bring him here directly—how long will it be before you return?”
“Not half an hour; I am at my old lodgings in Suffolk Street, so good-bye for the present,” and Lionel walked away again.
Monsieur and Madame Gironac were both out, and would not return for an hour or two. I thought the half hour would never pass, but it did at last, and they knocked at the door. Lionel entered, followed by my brother Auguste. I was surprised at his having grown so tall and handsome.
“Madame Gironac is not at home, mademoiselle,” said Lionel.
“No, Monsieur Lionel.”
“Allow me to present to you Monsieur Auguste de Chatenoeuf, a lieutenant in the service of his Majesty the King of the French.”
Auguste bowed, and, as I returned the salute, looked earnestly at me and started.
“Excuse me, mademoiselle,” said he, coming up to me, and speaking in a tremulous voice, “but—yes, you must be Valerie.”
“Yes, dear Auguste,” cried I, opening my arms.