one end of Europe to the other, and you are known everywhere as Joseph la Brosse. Is not that better than being called the Comte de Pontgibaud? At the best you would have been no better off than a couple of thousand others, whilst to-day ——"
The door opened and the Archbishop of Rouen entered. He embraced my brother, and said,
"So, my dear Pontgibaud, you have at last come back to us. Well, of course, you will stop with us. Leave behind your counter, and your borrowed name of Joseph la Brosse, and again resume your place as our old friend, Comte de Pontgibaud."
You may guess how laughable this contrast sounded, especially to my brother, who did not say a word. It is nevertheless true, that at the time of the Continental blockade, my brother, who was previously a millionaire, possessed a fortune much greater than he had possessed, or ever could have possessed, in France. He was a merchant, banker, and landed proprietor, for he had, near Trieste, a fine house with