Part 14 (1/2)

CHAPTER XII.

THE day I arrived in Paris I called upon M. Louis de Franchi. He was not at home.

I left my card, with an intimation that I had just returned from Sullacaro, and that I was the bearer of a letter from M. Lucien, his brother. I inquired when he would be at home, as I had undertaken to deliver the letter with my own hand.

To conduct me to his master's study, where I wished to write a note, the valet led me through the dining-room and the _salon._

I looked around me as I proceeded with a curiosity which will be understood, and I recognized the influence of the same taste which I had already perceived at Sullacaro; only the taste was here set off by true Parisian elegance. M. Louis de Franchi certainly appeared to have a very charming lodging for a bachelor.

Next morning, about eleven o'clock, my servant announced M. Louis de Franchi. I told the man to offer my visitor the papers and to say that I would wait on him as soon as I was dressed.

In five minutes I presented myself.

M. Louis do Franchi who was, no doubt from a sense of courtesy, reading a tale I had contributed to _La Presse,_ raised his head as the door opened, and I entered.

I stood perfectly astounded at the resemblance between the two brothers. He rose.

”Monsieur,” he said, ”I could scarcely credit my good fortune when I read your note yesterday on my return home. I have pictured you twenty times so as to a.s.sure myself that it was in accord with your portraits, and at last I, this morning, determined to present myself at your house without considering the hour, and I fear I have been too early.”

”I hope you will excuse me if I do not at once acknowledge your kindness in suitable terms, but may I inquire whether I have the honour to address M. Louis or M. Lucien de Franchi?”

”Are you serious? Yes, the resemblance is certainly wonderful, and when I was last at Sullacaro nearly every one mistook one of us for the other, yet, if he has not abjured the Corsican dress, you have seen him in a costume, which would make a considerable difference in our appearance.”

”And justly so,” I replied; ”but as chance would have it, he was, when I left, dressed exactly as you are now, except that he wore white trowsers, so that I was not able to separate your presence from his memory with the difference in dress of which you speak, but,” I continued, taking the letter from my pocket-book, ”I can quite understand you are anxious to have news from home, so pray read this which I would have left at your house yesterday had I not promised Madame de Franchi to give it to you myself.”

”They were all quite well when you left, I hope?”

”Yes, but somewhat anxious.”

”On my account?”

”Yes; but read that letter, I beg of you.”

”If you will excuse me.”

So Monsieur Franchi read the letter while I made some cigarettes. I watched him as his eyes travelled rapidly over the paper, and I heard him murmur, ”Dear Lucien, Darling Mother----yes----yes----I understand.”

I had not yet recovered from the surprise the strange resemblance between the brothers had caused me, but now I noticed what Lucien had told me, that Louis was paler, and spoke French better than he did.

”Well,” I said when he had finished reading the letter, and had lighted the cigarette, ”You see, as I told you, that they are anxious about you, and I am glad that their fears are unfounded.”

”Well, no,” he said gravely, ”not altogether; I have not been ill, it is true, but I have been out of sorts, and my indisposition has been augmented by this feeling that my brother is suffering with me.”

”Monsieur Lucien has already told me as much, and had I been sceptical I should now have been quite sure that what he said was a fact. I should require no further proof than I now have. So you, yourself, are convinced, monsieur, that your brother's health depends to a certain extent on your own.”

”Yes, perfectly so.”

”Then,” I continued, ”as your answer will doubly interest me, may I ask, not from mere curiosity, if this indisposition of which you speak is likely soon to pa.s.s away?”

”Oh, you know, monsieur, that the greatest griefs give way to time, and that my heart, even if seared, will heal. Meantime, however, pray accept my thanks once more, and permit me to call on you occasionally to have a chat about Sullacaro.”