LUCILLA'S Journal has told you all that Lucilla can tell. Permit me to
reappear in these pages. Shall I say, with your favorite English clown,
reappearing every year in your barbarous English pantomime, "Here I am
again: how do you do?" No--I had better leave that out. Your clown is one
of your national institutions. With this mysterious source of British
amusement let no foreign person presume to trifle.
I arrived at Marseilles, as well as I can remember, on the fifteenth of
August.
You cannot be expected to feel any interest in good Papa. I will pass
over this venerable victim of the amiable delusions of the heart, as
rapidly as respect and affection will permit. The duel (I hope you
remember the duel?) had been fought with pistols; and the bullet had not
been extracted when I joined my sisters at the sufferer's bedside. He was
delirious and did not know me. Two days later, the removal of the bullet
was accomplished by the surgeon in attendance. For a time, he improved
after this. Then there was a relapse. It was only on the first of
September that we were permitted to hope he might still be spared to us.
On that date, I was composed enough to think again of Lucilla, and to
remember Mrs. Finch's polite request to me that I would write to her from
Marseilles.
I wrote briefly, telling the damp lady of the rectory (only at greater
length) what I have told here. My main motive in doing this was, I
confess, to obtain, through Mrs. Finch, some news of Lucilla. After
posting the letter, I attended to another duty which I had neglected
while my father was in danger of death. I went to the person to whom my
lawyer had recommended me, to institute that search for Oscar which I had
determined to set on foot when I left London. The person was connected
with the police, in the capacity (as nearly as I can express it in
English) of a sort of private superintendent--not officially recognized,
but secretly trusted for all that.
When he heard of the time that had elapsed without any discovery of the
slightest trace of the fugitive, he looked grave; and declared, honestly
enough, that he doubted if he could reward my confidence in him by
proving himself to be of the slightest service to me. Seeing, however,
that I was earnestly bent on making some sort of effort, he put a last
question to me in these terms:--"You have not described the gentleman
yet. Is there, by lucky chance, anything remarkable in his personal
appearance?"
"There is something very remarkable, sir," I answered. "Describe it
exactly, ma'am, if you please."
I described Oscar's complexion. My excellent superintendent showed
encouraging signs of interest as he listened. He was a most
elegantly-dressed gentleman, with the gracious manners of a prince. It
was quite a privilege to be allowed to talk to him.
"If the missing man has passed through France," he said, "with such a
remarkable face as that, there is a fair chance of finding him. I will
set preliminary inquiries going at the railway station, at the
steam-packet office, and at the port. You shall hear the result
to-morrow."