“No; not at the great house. I live with M. de Bergerac, at the Grange.” “You live with De Bergerac! You are not his--no, he has no son.” “I have the honour to be his secretary.” “Indeed! and an Englishman! Has De Bergerac turned political agitator, or Orleanist conspirator, that he must needs have a secretary?” “No; it is my privilege to assist M. de Bergerac in the preparation of a great literary work.” “I am pleased to hear you speak as if you valued that privilege, my young friend,” said Mr. Jerningham, with more warmth than was usual to him. “I do indeed prize it more highly than anything on earth,” answered the young man; and as he said this, his face flushed crimson to the roots of his hair. “Why the deuce does he blush like a girl when I say something commonly civil to him?” thought Mr. Jerningham. “You speak as if you knew M. de Bergerac,” said the student, presently. “I do know him. He is the best friend I have in the world.” “Ah, then, I believe I have the pleasure of speaking to Mr. Jerningham, the owner of this place?” “You do enjoy that supreme bliss; I am Mr. Jerningham; and now, as you have guessed my name, perhaps you will tell me yours.” “My name is Eustace Thorburn.” “And why the deuce does he blush like a girl when he tells me his name?” thought Mr. Jerningham, taking note of a second crimson flush that came and went upon the brow and cheek of the student. “And my good friend is well and happy?” he asked, presently. “Very well, very cheerful. Shall I hurry back to the Grange, and tell him you have arrived, Mr. Jerningham? I have heard him speak of you so much, and I know what a pleasure it will be to him to hear of your coming.” “And it will be a pleasure to me to announce it with my own lips. You must not come between me and my pleasures, Mr.--Mr. Thorburn; they are very few.” “Believe me, I should be sorry to do so,” replied Eustace, as the two men bowed and parted; Mr. Jerningham to walk on towards the house, Eustace to resume his lonely ramble.