"It was tit for tat; your father once saved my life."
"But you paid your debt with usury. When I parted from you at New York—I was sixteen then—I said, 'Whatever happens, my life, my fortune, my honour is at your disposal.' I am ready to fulfil my promise, so speak."
"I knew you would do all in your power," said Pierre Durand; "therefore I have come. How is your father?"
"He has become an Indian, and wholly broken with everything in the shape of civilisation," said Tom.
"Is he happy?" asked Durand.
"Yes. He was a man of conviction. His faults—his crimes if you like—during the Reign of Terror were caused by his extreme sincerity. In that time of awful and terrible commotion," continued Tom, "he acted wholly conscientiously."
"I believe it, and therefore do not presume to be his judge. I am but a weak and ordinary man," cried Durand; "when the time comes God will judge these Titans of the revolution according to their merits and convictions."
"Doubtless. I shall let him know of your coming; but why?"
"A question of life and death in connection with my best friend, a man I love as a brother," cried Durand.
"Say no more. An express shall start at once."