The evening, however, had had one result which Vinal regretted. Mr. Richards, being obfuscated with champagne, had repeatedly called him by his true name; so that Speyer was fully aware that his new acquaintance was not Mr. Wilton, of New Orleans, but Mr. Horace Vinal, of Boston. CHAPTER XXXII. And, far the blackest there, the traitor friend.--_Dryden_. Several days had passed, during which Vinal contrived to have more than one private interview with his new acquaintance, Speyer. He had sounded him with much astuteness; found that he could serve him; and was confirmed in his assurance that he would. Morton, he knew, was to leave Paris on the next morning. The time to act was now, or never. At about three in the afternoon, he discovered his rival sauntering along an avenue in the garden of the Tuileries; and walking up behind, he joined him. "There are some of us," said Vinal, after a few moments' conversation, "going to Versailles to-morrow. Will you go?" "I mean to leave Paris to-morrow." "To-morrow! That's very sudden." "I shall come back again in a few months." "Your first move is to Italy, I think you said." "No, to Austria and the Danube." "O, I remember; it is West who is going to Italy. I think he has chosen the better route of the two." "Yes, as far as history and works of art are concerned. But the Austrian provinces are the best field for me. I am mounted on a hobby, you know, and my time is so short that I must make the most of what I have." "You wish to see the people--the different races--is that it?" "Yes." "You ought to be well booked up before you go, or you'll lose time. By the way, I made an acquaintance a little while ago in the diligence from Strasburg--a very agreeable man, a professor at Berlin----" "O, the professor whom you and Richards were going to see, the other night." A thrill shot through Vinal's nerves; but the unsuspecting Morton almost instantly relieved his terror. "I was standing on the steps as you went out, and heard you say that you were going to visit him. From the way in which you spoke, I imagined him to be some professor of the noble art of self-defence." "Ha, ha!" laughed Vinal, not quite recovered from his surprise; "no, not precisely that; Speyer is a philologist--that's his department." "And Richards knows him, too?" "Yes, through my introduction." "From your calling him 'his friend, the professor,' I imagined that the acquaintance began the other way." "Yes, his friend, with a vengeance. Confound the fellow, as I was walking with him the other day, we met Speyer, and I, thinking no harm, introduced them; but it wasn't twenty-four hours before Richards was at him to borrow money, which Speyer let him have. I dare say Richards has bled you as well." "No." "No? Then you are luckier than I am. I advise you to keep out of his way, or he'll pin you before you know it." "I should judge as much."