"Are you going?" exclaimed Dumas, "and before I have thanked you, blessed you, for the life of this dear and venerable man? Oh, if ever I can repay you — if ever you want the heart's blood of Réné Dumas!" Thus volubly delivering himself, he followed the stranger to the threshold of the second chamber, and there, gently detaining him, and after looking over his shoulder, to be sure that he was not heard by the owner, he whispered, "I ought to return to Nancy. One would not lose one's time; — you don't think, sir, that that scoundrel took away all the old fool's money?"
"Was it thus Plato spoke of Socrates, Monsieur Dumas?"
"Ha, ha! — you are caustic. Well, you have a right. Sir, we shall meet again."
"Again! " muttered the stranger, and his brow darkened. He hastened to his chamber, he passed the day and the night alone, and in studies, no matter of what nature — they served to increase his gloom.
What could ever connect his fate with Réné Dumas? or the fugitive assassin? Why did the buoyant air of Paris seem to him heavy with the steams of blood? — why did an instinct urge him to fly from those sparkling circles, from that focus of the world's awakened hopes, warning him from return? — he, whose lofty existence defied — but away these dreams and omens! He leaves France behind. Back, Italy, to thy majestic wrecks! On the Alps his soul breathes the free air once more. Free air! Alas! let the world-healers exhaust their chemistry; man never shall be as free in
