"Has he ever shown hopeful signs of recovering his reason?"
"Never, monsieur the abbé."
Having touched thus lightly on the case of the idiot, Abbé Edgeworth turned to me.
The king's face retained its granite hardness. But Bellenger's passed from shade to shade of baffled confidence; recovering only when the priest said,
"Now look at this young man. Have you ever seen him before?"
"Yes, monsieur, I have; both in the American woods, and in Paris."
"What was he doing in the American woods?"
"Living on the bounty of one Count de Chaumont, a friend of Bonaparte's."
"Who is he?"
"A French half-breed, brought up among the Indians."