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Again he made me attest that the seals were untampered with, and taking up a candle from the writing-table and lighting it, he forthwith committed to the flames this secret document the provisions of which we were not to know. He then departed.

When left alone, and still affected by these lively recollections of my poor uncle, I began to think of the letter which the notary had left with me. I divined some mystery in it, and had a vague presentiment that it would contain a decree of my destiny. This last message from him, coming as it were from the tomb, revived in my heart the grief which had hardly yet been allayed. At last, trembling all the while, I tore open the envelope. These were its contents:—

"My Dear Boy,

"When you read this, I shall have done with this world. Please me by not giving way too much to your grief, and act like a man! You know my ideas about death: I have never allowed myself to be prejudiced into regarding it as an evil, convinced as I have been, that it is nothing but the transition which leads us to a superior state of existence. Adopt this view, and do not cry over me like a child. I have lived my life; now it is your turn. My desire is, that this old friend of yours should be cherished in your memory: you shall join him with you in your happiness, by believing that he takes part in it.

"Now let us have a talk.

"I leave you all my property, desiring to create no business complications for you: my will is drawn up in proper form, and you will enter into possession of your inheritance, which, you may rest assured, is a pretty handsome one. There is, however, one last wish of mine for the fulfilment of which I rely simply upon your affection, feeling sure that between us there is no need of more complicated provisions for ensuring its execution.

"I have a daughter, who has always shared with you my dearest affections. If I have kept this second paternity a secret from you, I have done so because circumstances might occur which would render useless the revelation which I am now approaching. My daughter had a legal father who had the right to reclaim her when sixteen years of age; she is free now, her legal father is dead, she will soon be seventeen, and I entrust her to your charge. Her name is Anna Campbell, she lives at Paris at the Convent of Les Oiseaux, where she is completing her education. Her only relation is an aunt, her mother's sister, Madame Saulnier by name, who lives at No. 20, Rue Barbet de Jony. It will be a sufficient introduction for you to call on this lady and tell her your name. She is aware that I have appointed you moral guardian to my daughter, and that it is you who will take my place. In short, she knows all my intentions.

"I underline these words, for they sum up my fondest aspirations. I have brought up Anna with the view of making her your wife, and thus dividing my fortune between you; and I rely upon you to carry out this arrangement. If marriage is for a man but a small matter, it is for a woman the most serious event in life. With you, I am confident that the dear girl will never be unhappy, and that is the thing of most importance. If I never return from this last voyage, you will have plenty of time to enjoy your bachelor's life; but I count upon your friendship to render me this little service by marrying her when the right time arrives. At present she is scarcely full-grown, and I think it will be best for you to wait one or two years. I can assure you her mother had a fine figure. You will find their portraits in one of the velvet frames in the drawer of my desk. (Don't make a mistake: it is the one numbered 9.)

"Now that this matter is settled, it only remains for me to give you one last injunction. If Férandet has followed my instructions, as I suppose, he will have burnt a paper in your presence. This was a second will, by which my daughter Anna Campbell would have been appointed my universal legatee, had you not been living. So long as all happened in the right order, you surviving me, you will understand I should not have wished to complicate your affairs, by leaving you confronted with a lot of legal formalities and intricacies. Such would be the consequence of a female minor who is a foreigner inheriting jointly with you: this would have plunged you into a veritable mire of technicalities, restrictions, registrations, and goodness knows what. Nevertheless, it is necessary to provide fully for the possibility of an accident arising to you before your marriage with Anna. Our property would go in that case to collaterals… and God only knows from how many quarters of the world these would not be forthcoming! As I wish my fortune to remain with my children, it is indispensable that you should not forget to make testamentary dispositions in favour of your cousin, so that the whole property may go to her in the event of your death, without any more dispute than there has been in your own case. I leave this matter in your hands. You will find at my bankers all the indications of surnames, Christian names, and descriptions which you will require to enumerate, on the first page of my private ledger, where the account which was opened for her commences, and yours also, forming a separate banking account for you two. Madame Saulnier is accustomed to draw what is required for her: therefore, until your marriage, it is unnecessary for you to occupy yourself with this detail—all you have to do is to confirm her credit.

"Now that we have settled this matter, my dear boy, go ahead! I do not need, I am sure, to remind you to think occasionally of your old uncle: I know you well, and that satisfies me. I thank you for what you have been to me, and bless you from the bottom of my heart!

"Come, don't give way, old fellow: I am in Heaven, my soul is free and rejoicing in the glories of the Infinite. Is there anything in this for you to mourn over— Farewell."

After reading this letter, my dear Louis, need I tell you that I did the contrary to what my poor uncle bade me, and that I gave way to my grief. The tears streamed down my cheeks, my heart was breaking, and I could no longer see this last word, "Farewell," as I pressed the letter to my lips.

Such a mixture of tenderness and elevation of tone, such touching solicitude to console my grief, such boundless confidence in my love and fidelity! I felt crushed with my grief, proud only to think that I was worthy of the generosity with which this noble-hearted man was overwhelming me, prodigal as a father in his kindness. It seemed to me at that moment that I had never loved him enough, and the grief at his loss mingled itself with something like remorse. As if he were able hear me, I swore to him that I would live for the accomplishment of his wishes: from the depths of my soul, indeed, I felt certain that he saw me.

When the flow of my tears had ceased, I did not want to tarry a moment in the accomplishment of his last behests. I ran to his bed-chamber, opened his desk, and found the two portraits. One, a valuable miniature, represents a woman of twenty-five, the other is a photograph of Anna Campbell at the age of fifteen. Although not so pretty as her mother, perhaps, she has a charming childlike face; the poor little thing felt uncomfortable, no doubt, when they made her sit, for her expression is rather sulky and unnatural. Still she gives promise of being attractive when she has passed the awkward age. I felt myself suddenly possessed by a sentiment of affection for this unknown cousin, whose guardian I had become and whose husband I am to be. Upon this cold picture I repeated to my uncle the oath to obey his wishes; then, taking up a pen, I wrote a will appointing Anna Campbell the universal legatee of all the property which my uncle left us.

But one part of my inheritance, the most remarkable and the least expected, was at present unknown either to the notary or to myself.

I don't wish to make myself out better than I really am, my dear Louis: I must declare, nevertheless, that in spite of the very natural bewilderment which I felt on finding myself the owner of such a fortune, my first thought, when once I had disposed of the legal matters, was to pay a tribute of mournful regrets to the memory of my poor uncle. I should have considered it base ingratitude, not to say impiety on my part, to have shown myself too eager to enjoy the wealth bequeathed to me by so generous a benefactor. His loss really left a cruel void in my heart. I decided, therefore, at least to live a few months at Férouzat. I wrote immediately to the aunt of Anna Campbell, to express my resolution to fulfil the wishes of my second father, begging her to dispose of my services in every way as those of a protector and friend ready to respond to every appeal. Four days afterwards, I received from her a most cordial and elegantly-worded letter. She assured me of her confidence in all the good accounts which my uncle had given of me; and she gave me news of my fiancée, "who for one who is still only a child, promises already to develop into an accomplished woman."

Having discharged these conventional duties, I shut myself up in my retreat, and set to work.

For me to say that my retirement was not more distracted than I would have desired, might perhaps be called a dangerous assertion; but what could I do— Was it not my duty to acquaint myself with all that my uncle bequeathed to me— And the Lord knows what marvels my château of Férouzat contained! Every day I made some fresh discovery in rooms full of curious furniture and antiquities of all ages and of all countries. Barbassou-Pasha was a born buyer of valuable objects, and the furniture was crammed with rich draperies, hangings, costumes, and objects of art or curios: my steward himself could not enumerate them all.

But the most delightful of all these marvels is certainly Kasre-el-Nouzha, my neighbouring property. Kasre-el-Nouzha was a Turkish fancy of my uncle's. These three Arabic words correspond to the Spanish Buen-Retiro; or, literally translated, they signify "Castle of Pleasures." This was the retreat, separated only by a party-wall from Férouzat, that was formerly inhabited by the exiled minister who had fled from the persecutions of the Sultan. Picture to yourself, hidden in a great park whose umbrageous foliage concealed it from view, a delightful palace of the purest Oriental architecture, surrounded by gardens, with flowering shrubs covered with a wealth of blossoms, standing in the midst of green lawns, a sort of Vale of Tempé transplanted, one might imagine, from the East. My uncle Barbassou, conscientious architect that he was, had copied the plan from one of the residences of the King of Kashmir. In the interior of the Kasre you might fancy yourself in the house of some grandee of Stamboul or of Bagdad. Luxuries, ornaments, furniture, and general domestic arrangements, have all been studied with the taste of an artist and the exactitude of an archæologist. At the same time European comforts are gratefully mingled with Turkish simplicity. The silken tapestries of Persia, the carpets of Smyrna with those harmonious hues which seem to be borrowed from the sun, the capacious divans, the bath-rooms, and the stores, all contribute in short to the completeness of an establishment, suitable to a Pasha residing under the sky of Provence. A little door in the park-wall gives access to this oasis. As you may guess, I passed many an hour there, and I dreamt dreams of "The Thousand and One Nights."

All this time I had never interrupted my labours; for you need not suppose that my nabob's fortune could make me forgetful of my inclinations towards science. In the midst of my numerous follies, as you know very well, and in spite of the distractions of the more or less dissipated life which I have led up to my present happy age of twenty-six, I have always preserved my love of study, which fills up those hours of forced respite that even the pleasures of the world leave to every man who is conscious of a brain. The Polytechnic School, and the search for x, in which my uncle trained me, developed very inquisitive instincts in me. I ended by acquiring a taste for transcendental ideas. This taste is at least worth as much as that for angling. For my part, I confess that I class among the molluscs men who, being their own masters, content themselves with eating, drinking, and sleeping, without performing any intellectual labour. This is why you call me "the savant."

I worked away, then, at my book with a veritable enthusiasm, and my "Essay upon the Origin of Sensation" had extended to several long chapters, when the critical event occurred which I have undertaken to relate to you.

I had lived thus all alone for two weeks. One evening, on my return from Arles, where I had been spending a couple of days upon some business, I was informed that His Excellency, Mohammed-Azis, the old friend of my uncle, whom I remembered to have seen on one occasion, had arrived at the château the evening before, not having heard of the death of Barbassou-Pasha. I must admit that this news gave me at the time very little pleasure; but in memory of my dear departed uncle, I could not but give his friend the welcome he expected. I was told that His Excellency had gone straight to his quarters at Kasre-el-Nouzha, where he was accustomed to dwell. I hastened to send my respects to him, begging him to let me know if he would receive me. He sent word that he was at my disposition and waiting for me. I therefore set off at once to call upon him.

I found Mohammed-Azis on his door-step. Gravely and sadly he received me with a salute, the respectful manner of which embarrassed me somewhat, coming from a man of his age. He showed me into the drawing-room, in each of the four corners of which bubbled a little fountain of perfumed water, in small basins of alabaster garnished with flowers. He made me sit down on the divan covered with a splendid silk material, and which, very broad and very deep, and furnished with numerous cushions, extends round the entire room. When seated, I commenced uttering a few phrases of condolence, but he replied to me in Turkish.

This mode of conversing had its difficulties, so he, seeing that I could not understand him, started off into a Sabir or Italianised French, pronounced in an accent which I will not attempt to describe.

"Povera Eccellenza Barbassou-Pacha!—finito—morto—"

I replied in Italian, which he spoke indifferently well. We thus managed to get along. I then related to him the accident which had brought about the death of Barbassou, my uncle and his friend. He listened to me with a greatly distressed air.

"Dunque voi signor padrone—" he replied, uneasily; "voi heritare di tutto——ordinare——commandare—"—

"Let me assure you, Your Excellency," I answered, "nothing that concerns you will be changed by my uncle's death. I shall make it a point of honour to fill his place exactly."

He appeared satisfied with this reply, and breathed freely, like a man relieved of a great burden. In another minute he asked me if I would like to make the acquaintance of all his people.