“If you think so, tell me who you are; you may count on my silence.”
“I am Charles, second son of Ivan, Duke of Courland, who is in exile in Siberia. I made my escape.”
“If you go to Genoa you will find yourself beyond the reach of poverty; for no doubt the brother of your lady-mother would never abandon you.”
“He died in Silesia.”
“When?”
“Two years ago, I believe.”
“You have been deceived, for I saw him at Stuttgart scarcely six months ago. He is the Baron de Treiden.”
It did not cost me much to get wind of the adventurer, but I felt angry that he had had the impudence to try and dupe me. If it had not been for that I would willingly have given him six louis, for it would have been bad form on my part to declare war against adventurers, as I was one myself, and I ought to have pardoned his lies as nearly all adventurers are more or less impostors. I gave a glance at his diamond buckles, which were considered real at Grenoble, and I saw directly that they were counterfeits of a kind made in Venice, which imitate the facets of the diamonds in perfection, except to people who are experienced in diamonds.
“You have diamond buckles,” said I. “Why don’t you sell them?”
“It’s the last piece of jewellery I possess out of all my mother gave me, and I promised her never to part with them.”