“You think so, yourself,” he said eagerly.  “The Irish were Celts, and the child has all the characteristics of the race.  The ‘Cynthia’ having been an English vessel, it appears to me that we are in possession of the necessary links, in order to find the family of the poor child.  It is in Great Britain that we must look for them.  Some advertisements in the ‘Times’ will probably be sufficient to put us on their tracks.”

The doctor continued to enlarge upon his plan of proceeding, when he remarked the obstinate silence of the lawyer and the slightly ironical expression with which he listened to his conclusions.

“If you are not of my opinion, Bredejord, I wish you would say so.  You know that I do not fear to discuss the matter,” he said, stopping short.

“I have nothing to say,” answered Mr. Bredejord.  “Hochstedt can bear witness that I have said nothing.”

“No.  But I see very well that you do not share my opinion; and I am curious to know why,” said the doctor.

“Is Cynthia an English name?” he asked, with vehemence.  “Yes! it was written in Roman characters—­it could not have been German.  You have heard our eminent friend, Hochstedt, affirm that the Irish are Celts.  Has the child all the characteristics of the Celtic race?  You can judge for yourself.  You were struck by his appearance before I opened my mouth about the subject.  I conclude, therefore, that it is a want of friendship for you to refuse to agree with me, and recognize the fact that the boy belongs to an Irish family.”

“Want of friendship is a strong charge,” answered Mr. Bredejord, “if you apply it to me.  I can only say that I have not, as yet, expressed the slightest opinion.”

“No; but I see that you do not spare mine.”

“Have I not a right?”

“But give some facts to support your theory.”

“I have not said that I have formed any.”

“Then it is a systematic opposition, just for the sake of contradicting me, as you do in whist.”

“Nothing is further from my thoughts, I assure you.  Your reasoning appeared to me to be too peremptory, that is all.”

“In what way, if you please, I am curious to know?”

“It would take too long to tell you.  Eleven o’clock is striking.  I will content myself with offering you a bet.  Your copy of Pliny against my Quintilian, that you have not judged rightly, and that the child is not Irish.”

“You know that I do not like to bet,” said the doctor, softened by his unconquerable good humor.  “But I shall take so much pleasure in your discomfiture that I accept your offer.”

“Well, then it is a settled affair.  How much time do you expect to take for your researches?”

“A few months will suffice, I hope, but I have said two years to Hersebom, in order to be sure that no efforts were wanting.”

“Ah! well—­I give you two years.  Hochstedt shall be our witness; and there is no ill-feeling, I hope?”