“Poor fellow!” said the other, sipping his wine, “with so much to live for,--a magnificent château, a pretty wife, and a good fortune. What folly, was it not?” MacNaghten afterwards acknowledged that even the Grinder's sententious dryness was preferable to the heartless indifference of the Frenchman's manner; but a deferential regard for her whose relative he was, restrained him from all angry expression of feeling on the subject, and he suffered him to discuss the duel and all its consequences, without the slightest evidence of the suffering it cost him. “Josephine will not be sorry to leave it,” said Gabriac, after a short silence. “She told me that they never understood her, nor she them; and, after all, you know,” said he, smiling, “there is but one France!” “And but one Ireland!” said MacNaghten, heartily. “Heureusement!” muttered the Frenchman, but employing a word which, happily, the other did not understand. “Her state is one of great danger still,” said Dan, alluding to my mother. “They say so; but that is always the way with doctors. One may die of violent anger, rage, ungratified vengeance, jealousy, but not of mere grief. Sorrow is rather a soothing passion,--don't you think so?” Had MacNaghten been in the mood, he might have laughed at the remark, but now it only irritated and incensed him; and to such an extent did the heartless manner of the Frenchman grate upon his feelings that he was in momentary danger of including my poor mother in the depreciatory estimate he conceived of France and all that belonged to it. Nor was his temper improved by the inquiries of Gabriac concerning the property and estates of my father; in fact, unable any longer to continue a conversation, every portion of which, was an outrage, he arose abruptly, and, wishing him a good night, left the room. “Poor Walter,” said he, as he slowly sauntered along towards his chamber, “is it to such as these your memory is to be intrusted, and your name and fortune bequeathed?” And with this gloomy reflection he threw himself upon his bed, to pass a sad and a sleepless night. It was in a curious reverie--a kind of inquiring within himself, “How came it that qualities so calculated to make social intercourse delightful in days of happiness, should prove positively offensive in moments of trial and affliction?” for such he felt to be the case as regarded Gabriac--that MacNaghten lay, when a servant came to inform him that Mr. Crowther had just arrived at the Castle, and earnestly requested to see him. “At once,” replied he, “show him up to me here;” and in a few moments that most bland and imperturbable of solicitors entered, and, drawing a chair to the bedside, sat down. “This is a sad occasion, Mr. MacNaghten. I little thought when I last saw you here that my next visit would have been on such an errand.” MacNaghten nodded sorrowfully, and Crowther went on: