“Possibly,” said Julius, seeming scarcely interested; “though the name of Courtney, I believe, is not very uncommon.”  Then, turning to Lefevre, he said, “I hope you don’t think I wish to make light of your grand idea.  I only mean that you must widen your view, if you would work it out to success.”

With that Lefevre became more curious to hear Dr Rippon’s story.  So when they went to the drawing-room he got the old gentleman into a secluded corner, and reminded him of his promise.

“Yes,” said the doctor, “it is a romantic story.  About forty years ago,—­yes, about forty:  it was immediately after the fall of Louis Philippe,—­I went with my friend Lord Rokeby to Madrid.  He went as ambassador, and I as his physician.  There was then at the Spanish Court a very handsome hidalgo, Don Hernando—­I forget all his names, but his surname was De Sandoval.  He was of the bluest blood in Spain, and a marquis, but poor as a church mouse.  He had a great reputation for gallant adventures and for mysterious scientific studies.  On the last ground I sought and cultivated his acquaintance.  But he was a proud, reserved person, and I could never quite make out what his studies were, except that he read a great deal, and believed firmly in the Arabic philosophers and alchemists of the middle ages; and he would sometimes talk with the same sort of rhapsodical mysticism as this young man delights you with.  We did not have much opportunity for developing an intimacy in any case; for he fell in love with the daughter of our Chief Secretary of Legation, a bright, lovely English girl, and that ended disastrously for his position in Madrid.  He made his proposals to her father, and had them refused; chiefly, I believe, on account of his loose reputation.  The girl, too, was the heiress of an uncle’s property on this curious condition, it appeared,—­that whoever should marry her should take the uncle’s name of Courtney.  Don Hernando and the young lady disappeared; they were married, and he took the name of Courtney, and was forbidden to return to Madrid.  He and his wife settled in Paris, where I used to meet them frequently; then they travelled, I believe, and I lost sight of them.  I returned to Paris on a visit some few years ago, and I asked an old friend about the Courtneys; he believed they were both dead, though he could give me no certain news about them.”

“Supposing,” said Lefevre, “that this Julius were their son, do you know of any reason why he should be reserved about his parentage?”

“No,” said the old man, “no;—­unless it be that Hernando was not episcopal in his affections; but I should think the young man is scarcely Puritan enough to be ashamed of that.”

Lefevre and the old man both looked round for Julius.  They caught sight of him and Leonora Lefevre standing one on either side of a window, with their eyes fixed upon each other.

“The young lady,” said the old doctor, “seems much taken up with him.”