“Heard what, sir?” asked she, cutting short the stammering speech.
“Of a young man—a boy, rather—who lived in your father’s cabin. Was he not your brother?”
“I never had one. He you speak of was no relative to us.”
“There was some one, then?”
“Yes. He is gone away—gone years ago.”
The serious tone in which these words were spoken—something like a sigh that accompanied them, with a shadow that made its appearance on the countenance of the speaker—were signs pleasing to the interrogator. His heart beat joyfully as he put upon them his own interpretation.
Before he could question her further, the young girl, as if stirred by a sudden thought, looked inquiringly in his face.
“You say you knew this place well, sir? When did you leave it? Was it a long time ago?”
“Not so long either; but, alas! long enough for you to have forgotten me, Lena.”
“Pierre, it is you!”