"Well," asked Morcerf, impatiently, "what does all this mean?"
"It means that I have just returned from Janina."
"From Janina?"
"Yes."
"Impossible!"
"Here is my passport; examine the visa—Geneva, Milan, Venice, Trieste, Delvino, Janina. Will you believe the government of a republic, a kingdom, and an empire?" Albert cast his eyes on the passport, then raised them in astonishment to Beauchamp.
"You have been to Janina?" said he.
"Albert, had you been a stranger, a foreigner, a simple lord, like that Englishman who came to demand satisfaction three or four months since, and whom I killed to get rid of, I should not have taken this trouble; but I thought this mark of consideration due to you. I took a week to go, another to return, four days of quarantine, and forty-eight hours to stay there; that makes three weeks. I returned last night; and here I am."
"What circumlocution!―How long you are before you tell me what I most wish to know!"
"Because, in truth, Albert"
"You hesitate!"
"Yes,―I fear."
"You fear to acknowledge that your correspondent has deceived you? Oh! no self-love, Beauchamp. Acknowledge it, Beauchamp; your courage cannot be doubted."
"Not so," murmured the journalist; "on the contrary"
Albert turned frightfully pale; he endeavored to speak, but the words died on his lips.
"My friend," said Beauchamp, in the most affectionate tone, "I should gladly make an apology, but, alas!"
"But what?"
"The paragraph was correct, my friend."
"What! that French officer"
"Yes."
"Fernand?"
"Yes."
"The traitor who surrendered the castle of the man in whose service he as"
"Pardon me, my friend, that man was your father!"
Albert advanced furiously toward Beauchamp, but the latter restrained him more by a mild look than by his extended hand.
"My friend," said he, "here is a proof of it."
