know poor grandmamma died an hour since, and now I have no friend in the world but you.”
His expressive eyes evinced the greatest tenderness.
“To you alone, then, may I confide my sorrows and my hopes?”
The paralytic motioned “Yes.”
Valentine took Maximilian’s hand.
“Look attentively, then, at this gentleman.”
The old man fixed his scrutinizing gaze with slight astonishment on Morrel.
“It is M. Maximilian Morrel,” said she; “the son of that good merchant of Marseilles, whom you doubtless recollect.”
“Yes,” said the old man.
“He brings an irreproachable name, which Maximilian is likely to render glorious, since at thirty years of age he is a captain, an officer of the Legion of Honor.”
The old man signified that he recollected him.
“Well, grandpapa,” said Valentine,