'
By the coldness of his address, not more than by the nature of the
times that he bade me recall, I was plunged in melancholy. I felt
myself surrounded as with deserts of friendlessness, and the
delight of my welcome was turned to ashes in my mouth.
'That is soon told, monseigneur,' said I. 'I understand that I
need tell you nothing of the end of my unhappy parents? It is only
the story of the lost dog.'
'You are right. I am sufficiently informed of that deplorable
affair; it is painful to me. My nephew, your father, was a man who
would not be advised,' said he. 'Tell me, if you please, simply of
yourself.'
'I am afraid I must run the risk of harrowing your sensibility in
the beginning,' said I, with a bitter smile, 'because my story
begins at the foot of the guillotine. When the list came out that
night, and her name was there, I was already old enough, not in
years but in sad experience, to understand the extent of my
misfortune. She--' I paused. 'Enough that she arranged with a
friend, Madame de Chasserades, that she should take charge of me,
and by the favour of our jailers I was suffered to remain in the
shelter of the Abbaye. That was my only refuge; there was no
corner of France that I could rest the sole of my foot upon except
the prison. Monsieur le Comte, you are as well aware as I can be
what kind of a life that was, and how swiftly death smote in that
society.
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