"Your mother was—"
"Named Hurdiss," I put in. "She was very beautiful, but died in America, in the city of Baltimore, when I was but a child."
"Did your uncle leave no property? They say he took with him to America a large amount."
"I have this," I replied, producing the last of the buttons that had adorned the homespun coat that I wore at Marshwood. "All of my property was consumed at a fire—everything," I concluded. "I am left without a son, a relative, or a friend."
The gentlemen handed the button around.
"It is true. I remember that crest well," said the tall man. "And I remember well, also, your grandfather's beautiful daughters—twins, they were, and great favorites, as children, with the King."
"Yes," put in M. de Brissac; "and they married, after taking refuge here in England, one the Duke de B—— and the other the Comte de B——."[1]
The short nobleman here spoke, musingly:
"After their husbands' deaths they went to America, to seek their brother, probably, but they met with sad misfortune. Now I remember hearing something—"
My heart gave a great bound! Was I on the point of finding out my real name, and who I was by right and law?