“Would you have him tell them what is false?” asked the Padre gravely.
“No, no,” replied the youth, with a laugh, “but there is no occasion to mention all that we have suffered, you know; and there is a good deal—I mean a little—that is agreeable to communicate. For instance, this very summons to the palace, and Lucien’s good luck.”
“Trust me, lad,” said Francisco; “I won’t fail to cheer them if I can, and you may be sure I won’t exaggerate our misfortunes.—But lead on, old man; I am anxious to get out of this foul den as quickly as—”
“Forgive me, comrades,” he added, checking himself, and turning to the slaves near him; “I am grieved more than I can tell to leave you behind. If by remaining I could lighten your sorrows, I would gladly do so. It may seem presumptuous in one who is himself a slave to say so, yet I can’t help assuring you that if the Almighty is pleased to give me any power in this city, I won’t forget you.”
This speech was received with a kindly nod by some, and a laugh of scorn by others.
Probably the latter had heard similar sentiments before from somewhat kindred and hearty spirits, and had learned from sad experience that nothing ever came of their good-will.
Following the old man, the father and son were soon in the presence of Lucien, who received them, as may well be believed, with a full heart.
“God bless you, my son,” said Francisco, “for well assured am I that it is through your influence that we are here.”
“It is through the influence of the British consul,” replied Lucien.
“Well, I pray for a blessing on you both, for it is useless to tell me that you have had no hand in it.”