How long I sat I know not. I did not measure the time by tears, as they did in the olden times by drops of water. Recovering myself, I had a desire to learn if any one remembered me, or could tell me anything of that dear mama, but the older people had gone where my questions could not reach them. The others had not known, or had forgotten. They had miseries enough of their own without burdening themselves with those of other people. I went from one to another to get, if possible, one remembrance. Had any one given me the slightest recollection, I could have embraced him with tears of joy. It is so sad to be entirely forgotten, to have passed away into nothing, not to be able to find one who remembered seeing or hearing anything about you. This made me inexpressibly sorrowful. At last one said that there was living near by, a Le Maistre Sahib, an old man who might tell me something. This gave me a gleam of hope, and in gratitude for this hint, apparently of so little value, and out of kindness for these poor, where I had once been so kindly treated by their kindred, I gave the crowd around me some rupees, to their great joy. I at once made my way to the bungalow of the sahib. He received me with great courtesy. That he was of French descent, on his father’s side, at least, I knew from his name. And more, he had that suavity of manner and genial “bonhomie” that distinguishes French people wherever you may meet them. I told him my name was Japhet, and I could not help adding playfully that I was in search of my father. He replied, “Yes, he is a wise son that knows his own father.” We chatted about various things, and then I said I supposed I was born in the muhalla over there, that I had been taken away when a child, and never again saw the place till that day, when I had come to Lucknow on business. I told him that I was an Eurasian, that I must have had a father. “Yes,” he interrupted, “The most of us have had fathers.” I continued, that very likely my father was a European, but I never knew him, and did not even know his name—that as he had resided in Lucknow for a long time, he probably could give me some information. He replied, “My father was a Frenchman of good family, and was in the service of the old King of Oude. He married a native woman, and we were a happy family, yet I cannot but regret that my father had not married one of his own race, but I was not in a position to give him any advice on the subject. At my father’s death he left considerable property, so I have stuck here ever since.” This and more of his biography he gave me. As I was more interested in looking up my own pedigree than in listening to an account of his, I suggested a year somewhere about which I wished to inquire and asked if he knew of any incidents to aid me in tracing my mother or my father. “Yes,” said he, “I remember the time very well, and it is strange how trivial things at times will help to fasten greater things in the memory.”