He counted among his relatives one of the richest landed proprietors of France, General the Marquis de Campvallon d’Armignes, celebrated for his fearful outbursts in the Corps Legislatif.  He had a voice of thunder, and when he rolled out, “Bah!  Enough!  Stop this order of the day!” the senate trembled, and the government commissioners bounced on their chairs.  Yet he was the best fellow in the world, although he had killed two fellow-creatures in duels—­but then he had his reasons for that.

Camors knew him but slightly, paid him the necessary respect that politeness demanded toward a relative; met him sometimes at the club, over a game of whist, and that was all.

Two years before, the General had lost a nephew, the direct heir to his name and fortune.  Consequently he was hunted by an eager pack of cousins and relatives; and Madame de la Roche-Jugan and the Baroness Tonnelier gave tongue in their foremost rank.

Camors was indifferent, and had, since that event, been particularly reserved in his intercourse with the General.  Therefore he was considerably astonished when he received the following letter: 

   “Dear kinsman: 

“Your two aunts and their families are with me in the country.  When it is agreeable to you to join them, I shall always feel happy to give a cordial greeting to the son of an old friend and companion-in-arms.

   “I presented myself at your house before leaving Paris, but you were
   not visible.

   “Believe me, I comprehend your grief:  that you have experienced an
   irreparable loss, in which I sympathize with you most sincerely.

   “Receive, my dear kinsman, the best wishes of
        general, the Marquis de Campvallon D’ARMIGNES.

   “Chateau de Campvallon, Voie de l’ouest.

   “P.S.—­It is probable, my young cousin, that I may have something of
   interest to communicate to you!”

This last sentence, and the exclamation mark that followed it, failed not to shake slightly the impassive calm that Camors was at that moment cultivating.  He could not help seeing, as in a mirror, under the veil of the mysterious postscript, the reflection of seven hundred thousand francs of ground-rent which made the splendid income of the General.  He recalled that his father, who had served some time in Africa, had been attached to the staff of M. de Campvallon as aide-de-camp, and that he had besides rendered him a great service of a different nature.

Notwithstanding that he felt the absurdity of these dreams, and wished to keep his heart free from them, he left the next day for Campvallon.  After enjoying for seven or eight hours all the comforts and luxuries the Western line is reputed to afford its guests, Camors arrived in the evening at the station, where the General’s carriage awaited him.  The seignorial pile of the Chateau Campvallon soon appeared to him on a height, of which the sides were covered with magnificent woods, sloping down nearly to the plain, there spreading out widely.