* * * * *

“I tell you again, Huckaback, I wish to have no more of Cerise,” cried the pacha.  “She is dead, and there’s an end of her.”

* * * * *

The information that I received made me doubtful how to proceed; I could easily prove my identity, but I had a degree of apprehension that I might be catechised in such a manner as to raise suspicions.  At the same time without a you in the world, I did not much like the idea of abandoning all claim to my father’s property.  I had formerly dressed the peruke of an elderly gentleman who practised in the law, and with whom I was a great favourite.  Although five years had elapsed since I first ran away from my father, I thought it very likely that he might be still alive.  I resolved to call at his house.  When I knocked and asked if he was at home, the girl who opened the door replied in the affirmative, and I was shown into the same little study, littered with papers, into which I formerly used to bring him his peruke.

“Your pleasure, sir?” inquired the old man, peering at me through his spectacles.

“I wish,” replied I, “to ask your opinion relative to a disputed succession.”

“What is the property?”

“That of Monsieur Maurepas, who died some short time since.”

“What, have we another claimant?  If so, as I am employed by one party already, you must go elsewhere.  I wish Francois would make his appearance and claim his own, poor fellow.”

Delighted to find that the old gentleman had still a regard for me, I made no scruple of making myself known.

“I am Francois, sir,” replied I.

The old gentleman rose from his seat, and coming close to me, looked at me earnestly in the face.  After a minute’s scrutiny,

“Well—­I do believe you are; and pray, sir, where have you been all this while?”

“That’s what I cannot very well tell, but I have seen and suffered much.”

“But that’s what you must tell, if you wish to obtain your property—­that is to say, you must tell me.  Don’t be afraid, Francois:  it is a part of our profession to be confidants to strange secrets, and I think there are many locked up in this breast of more importance than any which you can disclose.”

“But, sir, if my life is concerned.”

“What then—­your life will be safe.  If I told all I knew, I could hang half Marseilles.  But laying my professional duty aside, I wish you well; so now sit down, and let me hear your narrative.”

I felt that I could confide in my old acquaintance, and I therefore commenced a detail of my adventures.  When I stated my being wrecked near Marseilles, he interrupted me, laughing—­

“And you were the holy abbess?”

“I was.”

“Well, I thought I recollected your face, when I came with the rest of the Tom Fools to pay my respects to you:  and when it was whispered that a man had personified the holy abbess, I said to myself,’that it was either Francois or the devil, ’but I never mentioned my suspicions.”