"I dare say you will know my name," the young man said with a sort of reluctant modesty, which contrasted a little oddly with the quick movements and rapid talk which usually belonged to him. Then his manner suddenly changed, and he spoke in a tone of something like irritation, as if he had better have the whole thing out at once and be done with it--"My name is Heron--Victor Heron." "Heron--Heron?" said the other, turning over the name in his memory. "Well, I don't know I'm sure--I may have heard it--one hears all sorts of names. But I don't remember just at the moment." Mr. Heron seemed a little surprised that his revelation had produced no effect. He had made up his mind somehow that his new friend was mixed up with politics and public affairs. "You'll remember Victor Heron of the St. Xavier's Settlements?" he said decisively. "Heron of the St. Xavier's Settlements? Ah, yes, yes. To be sure. Yes, I begin to remember now. Of course, of course. You're the fellow who got us into the row with the Portuguese or the Dutch, or who was it? About the slave trade, or something? I remember it in the House." "I am the fool," Mr. Heron went on volubly--"the blockhead, the idiot, that thought England had principles, and honor, and a policy, and all the rest of it! I haven't lived in England very much. I'm the son of a colonist--the Herons are an old colonial family--and you can't think, you people always in England, how romantic and enthusiastic we get about England, we silly colonists, with our old-fashioned ways. When I got that confounded appointment--it was given in return for some old services of my father's--I believe I thought I was going to be another sort of Raleigh, or something of the kind." "Just so; and of course you were ready to tumble into any sort of scrape. You are hauled over the coals--snubbed for your pains?" "Yes--I was snubbed." "Of course: they'll soon work the enthusiasm out of you. But that's a couple of years ago--and you weren't recalled?" "No. I wasn't recalled." "Well, what's your grievance then?" "Why--don't you see?--my time is out--and they've dropped me down. My whole career is closed--I'm quietly thrown over--and I'm only twenty-nine!" The young man caught at his moustache with nervous hands and kicked with one foot against the rails of the balcony. He gazed into the street, and his eyes sparkled and twinkled as if there were tears in them. Perhaps there were, for Mr. Heron was evidently a young man of quicker emotions than young men generally show in our days. He made haste to say something, apparently as if to escape from himself. "I am leaving Paris in the morning." "Then why don't you go to bed and have a sleep?" "Well, I don't feel like sleeping just yet."