"And yet it is well to beware of the ironical mood," he continued. "It is a dangerous instrument. Your great uncle has, I believe, practised it very much, until it is now become a problem what he means." "And that brings me back to what you will admit is a most natural inquiry," said I. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? how did you recognise me? and how did you know I was here?" Carefully separating his coat skirts, the lawyer took a seat beside me on the edge of the flags. "It is rather an odd story," says he, "and, with your leave, I'll answer the second question first. It was from a certain resemblance you bear to your cousin, M. le Vicomte." "I trust, sir, that I resemble him advantageously," said I. "I hasten to reassure you," was the reply: "you do. To my eyes, M. Alain de Saint-Yves has scarce a pleasing exterior. And yet, when I knew you were here, and was actually looking for you--why, the likeness helped. As for how I came to know your whereabouts, by an odd enough chance, it is again M. Alain we have to thank. I should tell you, he has for some time made it his business to keep M. de Keroual informed of your career; with what purpose I leave you to judge. When he first brought the news of your--that you were serving Buonaparte, it seemed it might be the death of the old gentleman, so hot was his resentment. But from one thing to another, matters have a little changed. Or I should rather say, not a little. We learned you were under orders for the Peninsula, to fight the English; then that you had been commissioned for a piece of bravery, and were again reduced to the ranks. And from one thing to another (as I say), M. de Keroual became used to the idea that you were his kinsman and yet served with Buonaparte, and filled instead with wonder that he should have another kinsman who was so remarkably well informed of events in France. And now it became a very disagreeable question, whether the young gentleman was not a spy? In short, sir, in seeking to disserve you, he had accumulated against himself a load of suspicions." My visitor now paused, took snuff, and looked at me with an air of benevolence. "Good God, sir!" says I, "this is a curious story." "You will say so before I have done," said he. "For there have two events followed. The first of these was an encounter of M. de Keroual and M. de Mauseant." "I know the man to my cost," said I; "it was through him I lost my commission." "Do you tell me so?" he cried. "Why, here is news!" "O, I cannot complain!" said I. "I was in the wrong. I did it with my eyes open. If a man gets a prisoner to guard and lets him go, the least he can expect is to be degraded." "You will be paid for it," said he. "You did well for yourself and better for your king."