The Count had mechanically followed the exempt, and on reaching the room, seated himself in a chair by the fire, in a first floor decently furnished room. He was too busy with his own thoughts to attach any great attention to what was going on around him.
When the landlord had left them alone, the exempt bolted the door inside, and then placed himself in front of his prisoner.
"Now," he said, "let us speak frankly, my lord."
The latter, astonished at this sudden address, quickly raised his head.
"We have no time to lose in coming to an understanding, sir; so please to listen without interrupting me," the exempt continued. "I am François Bouillot, the younger brother of your foster father. Do you recognise me?"
"No," the Count replied, after examining him attentively for a moment.
"That does not surprise me, for you were only eight years old the last time I had the honor of seeing you at Barmont Castle: but that is of no consequence; I am devoted to you, and wish to save you."
"What assures me that you are really François Bouillot, the brother of my foster father, and that you are not attempting to deceive me?" the Count answered, in a suspicious accent.
The exempt felt in his pocket, pulled out several papers, which he unfolded, and presented them open to the Count.
The latter looked at them mechanically: they consisted of a baptismal certificate, a commission, and several letters proving his identity. The Count handed him the letters back.