“How?” cried the latter.  “You do not know me?  So sure as you are one of the most illustrious chemists of the day, I am Camille Langis, son of your best friend, a young man of great expectations, who admires you truly, who has followed you here, and who is now ready to begin all over again.  There, my dear master, do you recognise me?”

“Ay, to be sure I recognise you, my boy,” replied M. Moriaz, “although, to tell the truth, you have greatly changed.  When you left us you were a mere youth.”

“And now?”

“And now you have the air of a young man; but, I beg of you, where have you come from?  I thought you were in the heart of Transylvania.”

“It is possible to return from there, as you see.  Three days ago I arrived in Paris and flew to Maisons-Lafitte.  Mme. De Lorcy, who bears the double insignia of honour of being my aunt and the godmother of Antoinette—­I beg your pardon, I mean Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz—­informed me that you were in ill-health, and that your physician had sent you to Switzerland, to Saint Moritz, to recruit.  I hastened after you; this morning I missed you by one hour at Zurich; but I have you now, and you will listen to me.”

“I warn you, my dear child, that I am at this moment a most detestable auditor.  We have done to-day one hotel de ville, one episcopal palace, one cathedral, and some relics of St. Lucius.  To speak plainly, I am overpowered with sleep.  Is there any great haste for what you have to say to me?”

“Is there any great haste?  Why, I arrive breathless from Hungary to demand your daughter in marriage.”

M. Moriaz threw up his arms; then, seating himself on the edge of his bed, he piteously gasped: 

“You could not wait until to-morrow?  If a judge is desired to take a favourable view of a case, he surely should not be disturbed in his first sleep to consider it.”

“My dear master, I am truly distressed to be compelled to be disagreeable to you, but it is absolutely necessary that you should listen to me.  Two years ago, for the first time, I asked of you your daughter’s hand.  After having consulted Antoinette—­you will permit me to call her Antoinette, will you not?—­after having consulted her, you told me that I was too young, that she would not listen seriously to my proposal, and you gave me your permission to try again in two years.  I have employed these two mortal years in constructing a railroad and a wire bridge in Hungary, and, believe me, I took infinite pains to forget Antoinette.  In vain!  She is the romance of my youth, I never can have another.  On July 5, 1873, did you not tell me to return in two years?  We are now at July 5, 1875, and I return.  Am I a punctual man?”