’Sir—­gentlemen!  I’m much obliged; that is, when you have done the thing I shall be much obliged.  But, maybe, you are only making me civil speeches!’

‘Of that, sir,’ said the count, smiling with much temper, ’your own sagacity and knowledge of the world must enable you to judge.’

‘For my own part, I can only say,’ cried Lord Colambre, ’that I am not in the habit of being reproached with saying one thing and meaning another.’

‘Hot!  I see,’ said old Reynolds, nodding, as he looked at Lord Colambre.  ‘Cool!’ added he, nodding at the count.  ’But a time for everything; I was hot once—­both answers good, for their ages.’

This speech Lord Colombre and the count tacitly agreed to consider as another apart, which they were not to hear, or seem to hear.  The count began again on the business of their visit, as he saw that Lord Colambre was boiling with impatience, and feared that he should boil over, and spoil all.  The count commenced with—­

’Mr. Reynolds, your name sounds to me like the name of a friend; for I had once a friend of that name; I had once the pleasure (and a very great pleasure it was to me) to be intimately acquainted abroad, on the Continent, with a very amiable and gallant youth—­your son!’

‘Take care, sir,’ said the old man, starting up from his chair, and instantly sinking down again—­’take care!  Don’t mention him to me—­unless you would strike me dead on the spot!’

The convulsed motions of his fingers and face worked for some moments; whilst the count and Lord Colambre, much shocked and alarmed, stood in silence.

The convulsed motions ceased; and the old man unbuttoned his waistcoat, as if to relieve some sense of expression; uncovered his gray hairs; and, after leaning back to rest himself, with his eyes fixed, and in reverie for a few moments, he sat upright again in his chair, and exclaimed, as he looked round—­

’Son!—­Did not somebody say that word?  Who is so cruel to say that word before me?  Nobody has ever spoken of him to me—­but once, since his death!  Do you know, sir,’ said he, fixing his eyes on Count O’Halloran, and laying his cold hand on him, ’do you know where he was buried, I ask you, sir? do you remember how he died?’

‘Too well! too well!’ cried the count, so much affected as to be scarcely able to pronounce the words; ’he died in my arms; I buried him myself!’

‘Impossible!’ cried Mr. Reynolds.  ‘Why do you say so, sir?’ said he, studying the count’s face with a sort of bewildered earnestness.  ’Impossible!  His body was sent over to me in a lead coffin; and I saw it and I was asked—­and I answered, “in the family vault.”  But the shock is over,’ said he; ’and, gentlemen, if the business of your visit relates to that subject, I trust I am now sufficiently composed to attend to you.  Indeed, I ought to be prepared; for I had reason, for years, to expect the stroke; and yet, when it came, it seemed sudden!—­it stunned me—­put an end to all my worldly prospects—­left me childless, without a single descendant or relation near enough to be dear to me!  I am an insulated being!’