"Peste," he said, between his teeth, "I am certainly right.

He is not much altered: of course I AM; ten years of Paris would improve an orang-outang." Quickening his step, and regaining the side of the man he had called "Alain," he said, with a well-bred mixture of boldness and courtesy in his tone and countenance, "Ten thousand pardons if I am wrong.

Put surely I accost Alain de Kerouec, son of the Marquis de Rochebriant." "True, sir; but--" "But you do not remember me, your old college friend, Frederic Lemercier ?" "Is it possibly ?" cried Alain, cordially, and with an animation which charged the whole character of his countenance.

"My dear Frederic, my dear friend, this is indeed good fortune! So you, too, are at Paris ?" "Of course; and you?
Just come, I perceive," he added, somewhat satirically, as, linking his arm in his new-found friend's, he glanced at the cut of that friend's coat-collar.
"I have been herd a fortnight," replied Alain.
"Hem! I suppose you lodge in the old Hotel de Rochebriant.

I passed it yesterday, admiring its vast facade, little thinking you were its inmate." "Neither am I; the hotel does not belong to me; it was sold some years ago by my father." "Indeed! I hope your father got a good price for it; those grand hotels have trebled their value within the last five years.