[CHAPTER XLIV.]
CÆSAR.
A month after the events we have related, two men, seated side by side in a clump of nopals, were conversing earnestly whilst admiring a magnificent sunrise. These two men were Valentine Guillois and the Count de Prébois-Crancé. The Frenchmen were watching this reawakening of nature.
The count, rendered uneasy by the obstinate silence which Valentine preserved, at length spoke.
"When you awoke me an hour ago," he said, "you brought me hither, in order, as you said, that we might talk at our ease, and I followed you without an observation. Well, we have been seated in this grove for twenty minutes, and you have not even begun to explain yourself; your silence makes me very uneasy, brother, and I do not know what to attribute it to. Have you any ill news to announce to me?"
Valentine raised his head quickly.
"Pardon me, Louis," he replied, "I have no ill news to announce to you, but the hour for a thorough explanation between us has arrived."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You will soon understand me. When, about a year ago, reduced to despair, and resolved to take refuge in death, you summoned me to your apartments in the Champs-Élysées, I pledged myself, if you would consent to live, to restore you that which you had lost, not by your own fault, but through your inexperience; you placed faith in me; you unhesitatingly abandoned France, you bade farewell for ever to the life of a gentleman, and you resolutely accompanied me to America. Now it is for me to perform, in my turn, the promise made you—"
"Valentine!"