“True, Sir. Well, as soon as my mistress learned this she remembered that your father, the Marshal, had been one of her _plus chers amis_; in a word, if scandal says true, he had been _the cher ami_. However, she was instantly resolved to open your eyes, and ruin the _maudit Jesuite_: she enclosed the letter in an envelope and sent me to England with it. I came, I gave it you, and I discovered, in that moment, when the Abbe entered, that this Julian Montreuil was an old acquaintance of my own,--was one of the two young men who I told you were such deuced clever fellows. Like many other adventurers, he had changed his name on entering the world and I had never till now suspected that Julian Montreuil was Bertrand Collinot. Well, when I saw what I had done, I was exceedingly sorry, for I had liked my companion well enough not to wish to hurt him; besides, I was a little afraid of him. I took horse, and went about some other business I had to execute, nor did I visit that part of the country again, till a week ago (now I come to the other business), when I was summoned to the death-bed of my half-brother the attorney, peace be with him! He suffered much from hypochondria in his dying moments,--I believe it is the way with people of his profession,--and he gave me a sealed packet, with a last injunction to place it in your hands and your hands only. Scarce was he dead--(do not think I am unfeeling, Sir, I had seen very little of him, and he was only my half-brother, my father having married, for a second wife, a foreign lady who kept an inn, by whom he was blessed with myself)--scarce, I say, was he dead when I hurried up to town. Providence threw you in my way, and you shall have the document upon two conditions.” “Which are, first to reward you; secondly, to--” “To promise you will not open the packet for seven days.” “The devil! and why?” “I will tell you candidly: one of the papers in the packet I believe to be my brother’s written confession,--nay, I know it is,--and it will criminate one I have a love for, and who, I am resolved, shall have a chance of escape.” “Who is that one? Montreuil?” “No: I do not refer to him; but I cannot tell you more. I require the promise, Count: it is indispensable. If you don’t give it me, _parbleu_, you shall not have the packet.” There was something so cool, so confident, and so impudent about this man, that I did not well know whether to give way to laughter or to indignation. Neither, however, would have been politic in my situation; and, as I said before, the estates of Devereux were not to be risked for a trifle. “Pray,” said I, however, with a shrewdness which I think did me credit,--“pray, Mr. Marie Oswald, do you expect the reward before the packet is opened?”