After reading these two documents the young man fell upon his knees in an attitude of thanksgiving.
"Providence, I thank thee!" he exclaimed. "I am no longer a nameless outcast—a dependent on the charity of strangers. He whom I so dearly loved was indeed my father, and humble though my mother may have been, her son has no cause to blush for her."
His next care was to place the precious documents in safety.
He would not trust them about his own person lest his uncle should have found some plot to get them from him; he therefore secured them in a small leathern portmanteau, the lock of which would have defied the cleverest thief in America.
The key he attached to a thin gold chain, which he wore under his waistcoat, and which held the locket containing Camillia's portrait; the locket which had been observed by Augustus Horton.
Having done this Paul looked at his watch.
The whole business had occupied half an hour; he had therefore an hour and a half to wait before his interview with Don Juan Moraquitos.
Pauline Corsi had forbidden him to leave his apartments until summoned to that interview.
He took up a book, but was unable to concentrate his attention upon the pages.
A low couch stood near the open window, and Paul threw himself upon the cushion, and abandoned himself to reflection.