There was a newspaper on the table, and De Gabriac took it up to spell as he could the intelligence of the day. Almost the very first lines which caught his eye were an announcement of an “Extensive sale of valuable furniture, plate, and household effects, late the property of Walter Carew, Esq.” Certain enigmatical words that headed the advertisement puzzled the foreigner, and, unable to restrain his eagerness to unravel their meaning, he advanced to the table where the old man was writing, and in a polite tone asked him to explain what meant such phrases as “_In re_ Joseph Curtis, Esq., of Meagh-valley House, and others, petitioners.” The other, thus addressed, looked from the newspaper to the inquirer, and back again to the paper, and then to the astonished face of the Frenchman, without a word. “I have to hope,” said De Gabriac, “that nothing in my question may appear rude or uncivil. I merely wished to know--” “To know who Joseph Curtis is!” broke in the old man, quickly. “Then I 'll tell you, sir. He is the only surviving son of Robert Harrison Curtis and Eleanor Anne, his wife, born at Meagh-valley House, in the parish of Cappagh, barony of Ivrone, Anno Domini 1704. Served in Parliament for twenty-eight years, and commanded the militia of his native county till deprived of that honor by a rascally Government and a perjured Viceroy.” Here his voice grew loud, and his manner violent and excited. “Since when, sir, harassed, persecuted, and tortured, he has been robbed of his estates, stripped of his property, and left houseless and friendless,--ay, sir, friendless, I say; for poverty and want attract no friendship,--and who would still be the victim of knavery and scoundrelism if Providence had not blessed him with a clear head as well as a strong heart. Such he is, and such he stands before you. And now, sir, that I have answered your question, will you favor me with a reply to mine: what are you called?” “I am the Count Emile de Gabriac,” said the Frenchman, smiling; “I will spare you the pedigree and the birthplace.” “Wisely done, I've no doubt, sir,” said Curtis, “if, as I surmise, you are the relative of that French lady whom I met at Castle Carew.” “You speak of my cousin, sir,--Madame de Carew.” “I do not recognize her as such, sir, nor does the law of this country.” “How do you mean, sir,--not married? Is it such you would imply?” cried De Gabriac, fiercely. “Never imagine that your foreign airs can terrify me, young gentleman,” said Curtis, insolently. “I 've seen you in your own country, and know well the braggadocio style you can assume. If you ask me for information, do so with the manner that beseems inquiry. If you are for a quarrel, it's not Joe Curtis will balk your good intentions.” “Poor old fool,” said De Gabriac, contemptuously. “If you had a grandson or a nephew to answer for your insolence--”