The servant withdrew, and shortly afterwards conducted the officer into the presence of the old man, who stood up as well as he could, bowed, and asked Lorenzo to be seated.
“Sir,” said Lorenzo, speaking without any preliminaries; “your daughter and I love each other.”
“What, sir! mention my daughter!” cried the old man, furiously, without hearing any more. “Sir, the mule and guide are ready.”
But there was a softening balm even for the inflammable spirit of the old gentleman. He, like all other men, had the particular point by which he could be lead!
The pirate officer immediately disclosed that his real name was not Lorenzo, but St. James Carmonte; and that he was the lineal descendant of the Carmontes, who fell fighting for the Prince. He went on to explain that his people before him had vegetated in a number of corners all over Europe; but that he and the others that then survived had been eventually expelled from France at the epoch of the great revolution. That he had then taken to the sea, there to seek adventures; as he imagined he had been long-enough on the enduring side.
“What! the descendant of Carmonte,” cried the old man, who was touched in a sensitive part: “Carmonte, whose fathers fought at the side of mine. How can you vouch this, sir?”
Lorenzo presented a ring.
“The word, sir.”
Lorenzo said something.
“Agnes, Agnes, come hither, Agnes,” vociferated the old man.