CHAPTER XII.
THE ABBE'S RETURN .-- A SWORD, AND A SOLILOQUY.
THE next evening, when I was sitting alone in my room, the Abbe Montreuil suddenly entered.

"Ah, is it you?
welcome!" cried I.The priest held out his arms, and embraced me in the most paternal manner.
"It is your friend," said he, "returned at last to bless and congratulate you.

Behold my success in your service," and the Abbe produced a long leather case richly inlaid with gold.
"Faith, Abbe," said I, "am I to understand that this is a present for your eldest pupil ?" "You are," said Montreuil, opening the case, and producing a sword.

The light fell upon the hilt, and I drew back, dazzled with its lustre; it was covered with stones, apparently of the most costly value.

Attached to the hilt was a label of purple velvet, on which, in letters of gold, was inscribed, "To the son of Marshal Devereux, the soldier of France, and the friend of Louis XIV." Before I recovered my surprise at this sight, the Abbe said: "It was from the King's own hand that I received this sword, and I have authority to inform you that if ever you wield it in the service of France it will be accompanied by a post worthy of your name." "The service of France!" I repeated; "why, at present that is the service of an enemy." "An enemy only to a _part_ of England!" said the Abbe, emphatically; "perhaps I have overtures to you from other monarchs, and the friendship of the court of France may be synonymous with the friendship of the true sovereign of England." There was no mistaking the purport of this speech, and even in the midst of my gratified vanity I drew back alarmed.
The Abbe noted the changed expression of my countenance, and artfully turned the subject to comments on the sword, on which I still gazed with a lover's ardour.