"It's nothing," gasped Morton; "I had a fever in prison, and have never been quite well since. I grow dizzy, sometimes." "You _will_ grow dizzy, with a vengeance, if you drink wine in that way." "It's nothing," repeated Morton; "it will be over in a minute. What were you saying?" "About the fellows that have married,--O, Vinal,--I was saying that he had just got married." "Well, what about it?" "Why, nothing particular." "When was it?" "Last month." "Within a month! Are you sure?" "O, yes. I was in Boston myself at the time, and heard all about it. Her father was ill; so the marriage was private. Vinal is a sort of fellow that somehow I never cottoned to much. I don't think he's very disinterested. I like a fellow that will swear when he is angry, and not keep close shut up, like an oyster." The tattle of his rustic companion was become intolerable to Morton. He had received his stab, and wished to hear no more. In a few minutes, he rose from the table. "Charley, I am sorry to leave you so suddenly, but I am not well. The fresh air and a hard walk are all that will set me up. I shall see you again." "But where are you staying?" "At Blancard's. Good morning, old fellow." CHAPTER L. _Fab._ . . . Elle est----. _Sev._ Quoi? _Fab._ Mariee! _Sev._ . . . . . Ce coup de foudre est grand!--_Polyeucte_. The world's my oyster, which I with sword will open.--_Henry IV_. Put money in thy purse; follow these wars.--_Othello_. Morton walked down Broadway at a rapid pace, entered his hotel, mounted to his room, seated himself, rested his forehead on his hand, and, with fixed eyes and compressed lips, remained in this position for some minutes, motionless as if carved out of oak. Then, rising, he paced the room, buried his face in his hands, and groaned with irrepressible anguish. Suddenly the door was burst open, and an Irish servant, apparently in a great hurry, bolted in, and tossed a card on the table, saying at the same time,--"Gen'lman down stairs wants to see you." Morton broke into a rage, to hide the traces of a different passion. "Why do you come in without knocking? Learn better manners, or I shall teach them to you." "I beg pardon, sir," said the servant, reduced at once to the depth of obsequiousness, "there's a gentleman, sir--an officer, sir,--would like to see you, sir." "An officer!--I don't know any officers. There's some mistake." "He _said_ Mr. Morton, sir. This is his card, sir." Morton looked at the card, and read the name of his classmate Rosny. "Very well. Ask the gentleman to come up.--No,--here,"--as the servant was retreating along the passage,--"where is he?" "In the reading room, sir." "Tell him I will come down in a moment." "Yes, sir, I will, sir."