he did not deserve to be regarded as a second Christopher Columbus.  He therefore related unreservedly his story, explaining how he had been picked up at sea by a poor fisherman of Noroe, educated by Mr. Malarius, taken to Stockholm by Dr. Schwaryencrona; how they had found out that Patrick O’Donoghan probably held the key to the mystery that surrounded him.  They discovered that he was on board of the “Vega;” they had gone in search of him.  He related the accident which had induced them to change their route.  Erik told all this to convince the world that he was no hero.  He told it because he felt ashamed of being so overwhelmed with praises for a performance that only seemed to him natural and right.

During this time the pen of the delighted reporter, Mr. Squirrelius, flew over the paper with stenographic rapidity.  The dates, the names, the least details were noted with avidity.  Mr. Squirrelius told himself with a beating heart that he had obtained matter not only for one hundred lines, but that he could make five or six hundred out of it.  And what a story it would be—­more interesting than a novel!

The next day Erik’s revelations filled the columns of the most largely circulated newspaper in Stockholm, and indeed in all Sweden.  As is usually the case, Erik’s sincerity, instead of diminishing his popularity, only increased it, on account of his modesty, and the romantic interest attached to his history.  The press and the public seized upon it with avidity.  These biographical details were soon translated into all languages, and made the tour of Europe.  In this way they reached Paris, and penetrated in the form of a French newspaper into a modest drawing-room on Varennes Street.

There were two persons in this room.  One was a lady dressed in black, with white hair, although she still appeared to be young, but her whole appearance betrayed profound sorrow.  Seated under a lighted lamp she worked mechanically at some embroidery, which at times fell from her thin fingers, while her eyes, fixed on vacancy, seemed to be thinking of some overwhelming calamity.

On the other side of the table sat a fine-looking old gentleman, who took the newspaper abstractedly which his servant brought in.

It was Mr. Durrien, the honorary consul-general of the geographical society, the same person who had been at Brest when the “Alaska” reached that place.

This was doubtless the reason why Erik’s name attracted his notice, but while reading the article carefully which contained the biography or the young Swedish navigator, he was startled.  Then he read it again carefully, and little by little an intense pallor spread over his face, which was always pale.  His hands trembled nervously, and his uneasiness became so evident that his companion noticed it.

“Father, are you suffering?” she asked with solicitude.

“I believe it is too warm here—­I will go to the library and get some fresh air.  It is nothing; it will pass off,” answered Mr. Durrien, rising and walking into the adjoining room.