I noticed that this French-Canadian driver called him "M'sieur Andrews." It would seem that he had changed his name and begun anew in the world--or had tried to.

How far he had succeeded I am unable to say.
I could not help feeling puzzled as well as depressed.

The proper course under such circumstances is not wholly clear.

Had his former friends a right to know what I had discovered?
Right or wrong, what I decided on was to say nothing so long as the old man lived.

Three years afterwards I wrote to a person whose acquaintance I had made at Three Rivers, asking him whether an old American, residing at a place I described, were still living, and received a reply saying that he was and apparently in good health.