He opened a door opposite that by which they had entered, and, crossing several apartments, at last came to a room which overlooked a charming and elegant garden. "Here you are at home," he said; "come, go, do just as you like. At the end of the garden you will find a door opening on the woods. We shall dine at six. Be back by that time, and you will find the table laid here. We can then explain all." With these words the outlaw left his friend. As soon as he had returned to his private room, Tom Mitchell, or Maillard, son of the terrible judge of the Reign of Terror, sat down before a table, wrote a few lines, sealed the letter carefully, and then struck a gong. At once Camotte appeared and took the letter. "Send this letter to my father by express," he said; "let him kill his horse, but let me have the answer." "He shall be gone in five minutes." "And now," continued Tom Mitchell, with a sarcastic smile, "send that fat American in here." Camotte bowed and retired. Next moment the great American shipowner came in puffing and blowing. "Sit down, sir," said Tom Mitchell. The fat man obeyed with a grunt. "I think it rather hard that a man like me--" "Pardon me," said the captain, coldly; "allow me to remark, before you go any further, that I have no need of you, and did not send for you. You it is who, in the company of several other gentlemen, have come to me. All of you have, I dare say, serious reasons for taking this extraordinary step. I have in no way solicited the honour. All I can do is to listen to each in his turn. I have seen one and settled with him; if you have anything to say to me, speak." This speech, pronounced in a clear, bold tone, not unmixed with sarcasm, at once, as if by enchantment, calmed the irritation of the fat man. At all events, it compelled him to dissimulate it. After, therefore, mopping his head and face several times with a pocket handkerchief, and coughing once or twice behind his hand, he spoke-- "I was angry, sir," he said, "and own it freely." "Be pleased, sir, to come at once to business," continued Tom Mitchell; "another person waits." "You are, I believe, well acquainted with me?" "I have known you a long time," remarked Tom. "Sir, I have a nephew; he is the son of my wife's brother," began the other, "a very near relative." "Well, sir?" "This nephew, though a charming youth," cried Stoneweld, "is mad, utterly, hopelessly mad, sir." "Really, sir," said the captain, "and have you come all this way to tell me this piece of news?" "Pardon me, sir. When I say that he is mad, I believe I exaggerate. I should rather say that his intense folly has taken the form of monomania. This charming young man, as I have the honour to tell you, is in love, sir." "A very natural matter at his age." "But, sir," cried the shipowner, "he is in love with a young person in no way suited to his station." "Perhaps he does not think so."