"I know your face very well," said he, coming forward, "though I cannot recall you. Do you remember any one of the name of Quinson St. Ours?"
"Quinson St. Ours? I should think I do. Are you my old schoolfellow of the Little Seminary?"
"Yes, it was at the Little Seminary—I have not been wrong then—but it is your name, my good schoolfellow, which escapes me; and now you look so distinguished that I hope you are not going to forget a schoolmate on that account?"
"Never, sir. My name is the Chevalier LeCour de Lincy, officer of the Guards of His Most Christian Majesty. I am the boy whom you knew as the little Lecour of St. Elphège."
The somewhat humble and seedy Quinson, black sheep of an excellent family, was glad to brighten up his tarnished career as the cicerone of so brilliant a butterfly, and only too proud to be the means of introducing Germain to the young bloods of the city. At the end of the week, when departing, Lecour gave a banquet, to which he invited all the choicest spirits, and having brought the feast well on into the drinking he said, casually—
"I am about, gentlemen, to go from here into the American colonies before I return to Europe and have a letter drawn which is necessary to identify me, when requisite, in places where I shall be totally unknown. Will you all do me the favour of signing it?"
"By Pollux and Castor we will!" shouted St. Ours, decidedly vinous.
"Certainly, friend," cried the others, and each in turn affixed his signature to the paper laid on the table. It read—
"Montreal, September 19, 1788.
"We, gentlemen of Montreal, voluntarily attest to whomsoever it may concern that Mons. Germain LeCour de Lincy is a gentleman of good character and standing in Canada, and son of Monsieur François Xavier LeCour de Lincy, Esquire, an honourable person of St. Elphège.