The police were on the alert. One night an old brother officer knocked
at my friend's door. It was late: the veteran (he was a cripple, by
the way, like myself--strange coincidence!) was in bed. He came down
in haste, when his servant woke, and told him that his old friend,
wounded and bleeding, sought an asylum under his roof. The wound,
however, was slight. The guest had been attacked and robbed on the
road. The next morning the proper authority of the town was sent for.
The plundered man described his loss--some billets of five hundred
francs in a pocket-book, on which was embroidered his name and coronet
(he was a vicomte.) The guest stayed to dinner. Late in the forenoon
the son looked in. The guest started to see him: my friend noticed his
paleness. Shortly after, on pretence of faintness, the guest retired
to his room, and sent for his host. 'My friend,' said he, 'can you do
me a favour? go to the magistrate, and recall the evidence I have
given.'
"'Impossible,' said the host. 'What crotchet is this?'
"The guest shuddered. '_Peste!_' said he: 'I do not wish in my old age
to be hard on others. Who knows how the robber may have been tempted,
and who knows what relations he may have--honest men, whom his crime
would degrade for ever! Good heavens! if detected, it is the galleys,
the galleys!'
"'And what then?--the robber knew what he braved.'
"'But did his father know it?' cried the guest.
"A light broke upon my unhappy comrade in arms: he caught his friend
by the hand--'You turned pale at my son's sight--where did you ever
see him before? Speak!'
"'Last night, on the road to Paris. The mask slipped aside. Call back
my evidence!'
"'You are mistaken,' said my friend calmly. 'I saw my son in his bed,
and blessed him, before I went to my own.'
"'I will believe you,' said the guest; 'and never shall my hasty
suspicion pass my lips--but call back the evidence.'
"The guest returned to Paris before dusk. The father conversed with
his son on the subject of his studies; he followed him to his room,
waited till he was in bed, and was then about to retire, when the
youth said, 'Father, you have forgotten your blessing.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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