"Positive."
"Very well, then," old Lecour answered, somewhat reluctantly.
"What a romance!" the married daughter cried.
"I am about to show you some precious relics of our past," Germain continued. "See what a store of parchments. Here are grants of noblesse from the King, grants of titles, dispensations signed by the Popes—do you know what these are?" he cried, taking out and putting on his breast a couple of beautiful jewels, standing up as he did so.
"Tell us!"
"This," said he, "is the Commander's Cross of St. Louis; and that the Order of the Holy Ghost."
While they pushed forward in excitement to look closer at the decorations, he bent, lifted the lid of the large black box and with both hands raised before them an oil portrait of a gentleman in full wig, velvet coat and ruffles.
"That," said he, surveying it with becoming pride, "is our ancestor Hypolite LeCour de Lincy. Sir," said he, laughingly turning to his parent, "behold your father against your will."
"Bravo, Monsieur my son," cried Madame Lecour.
"Now I can make my old man dress like a gentleman. The next time I go to Montreal, Lecour—or rather my Chevalier—I shall spend some of your money on a peruke and a scarlet coat for you."