“Tell him I don’t know his name.”

Rose went out, and came in again saying he was the gentleman who had had the honour of supping with me at Madame Morin’s.

“Tell him to come in.”

“Sir,” said he, “I want to speak with you in private.”

“I cannot order these young ladies to leave my room, sir.  Be kind enough to wait for me outside till I have put on my dressing-gown, and then I shall be ready to speak to you.”

“If I am troubling you, I will call again to-morrow.”

“You would not find me, as I am leaving Grenoble to-day.”

“In that case I will wait.”

I got up in haste and went out to him.

“Sir,” said he, “I must leave this place, and I have not a penny to pay my landlord.  I beg of you to come to my aid.  I dare not have recourse to anyone else in the town for fear of exposing myself to the insult of a refusal.”

“Perhaps I ought to feel myself flattered at the preference you have shewn me, but without wishing to insult you in any way I am afraid I shall be obliged to refuse your request.”

“If you knew who I am I am sure you would not refuse me some small help.”

“If you think so, tell me who you are; you may count on my silence.”

“I am Charles, second son of Ivan, Duke of Courland, who is in exile in Siberia.  I made my escape.”

“If you go to Genoa you will find yourself beyond the reach of poverty; for no doubt the brother of your lady-mother would never abandon you.”

“He died in Silesia.”

“When?”

“Two years ago, I believe.”

“You have been deceived, for I saw him at Stuttgart scarcely six months ago.  He is the Baron de Treiden.”

It did not cost me much to get wind of the adventurer, but I felt angry that he had had the impudence to try and dupe me.  If it had not been for that I would willingly have given him six louis, for it would have been bad form on my part to declare war against adventurers, as I was one myself, and I ought to have pardoned his lies as nearly all adventurers are more or less impostors.  I gave a glance at his diamond buckles, which were considered real at Grenoble, and I saw directly that they were counterfeits of a kind made in Venice, which imitate the facets of the diamonds in perfection, except to people who are experienced in diamonds.

“You have diamond buckles,” said I.  “Why don’t you sell them?”

“It’s the last piece of jewellery I possess out of all my mother gave me, and I promised her never to part with them.”

“I would not shew those buckles if I were you; your pocket would be a better place for them.  I may tell you frankly that I believe the stones to be counterfeit, and that your lie displeases me.”

“Sir, I am not a liar.”

“We shall see.  Prove that the stones are genuine, and I will give you six louis.  I shall be delighted if I am in the wrong.  Farewell.”