One day he received a note from a well-known firm of Writers to the Signet, requesting the favour of an immediate interview with him. The letter was marked “Private and Confidential,” and had been addressed to him at the bank, instead of at home – two unusual circumstances which made him obey the summons with the more alacrity. The senior member of the firm, a man of much austerity of manner, made him gravely welcome, requested him to take a seat, and proceeded to explain the matter in hand in the picked expressions of a veteran man of business. A person, who must remain nameless, but of whom the lawyer had every reason to think well – a man, in short, of some station in the country – desired to make Francis an annual allowance of five hundred pounds. The capital was to be placed under the control of the lawyer’s firm and two trustees who must also remain anonymous. There were conditions annexed to this liberality, but he was of opinion that his new client would find nothing either excessive or dishonourable in the terms; and he repeated these two words with emphasis, as though he desired to commit himself to nothing more.
Francis asked their nature.
“The conditions,” said the Writer to the Signet, “are, as I have twice remarked, neither dishonourable nor excessive. At the same time I cannot conceal from you that they are most unusual. Indeed, the whole case is very much out of our way; and I should certainly have refused it had it not been for the reputation of the gentleman who entrusted it to my care, and, let me add, Mr. Scrymgeour, the interest I have been led to take in yourself by many complimentary and, I have no doubt, well-deserved reports.”
Francis entreated him to be more specific.
“You cannot picture my uneasiness as to these conditions,” he said.
“They are two,” replied the lawyer, “only two; and the sum, as you will remember, is five hundred a-year – and unburdened, I forgot to add, unburdened.”
And the lawyer raised his eyebrows at him with solemn gusto.
“The first,” he resumed, “is of remarkable simplicity. You must be in Paris by the afternoon of Sunday, the 15th; there you will find, at the box-office of the Comedie Francaise, a ticket for admission taken in your name and waiting you. You are requested to sit out the whole performance in the seat provided, and that is all.”
“I should certainly have preferred a week-day,” replied Francis. ” But, after all, once in a way – “
“And in Paris, my dear sir,” added the lawyer soothingly. “I believe I am something of a precisian myself, but upon such a consideration, and in Paris, I should not hesitate an instant.”
And the pair laughed pleasantly together.
“The other is of more importance,” continued the Writer to the Signet. “It regards your marriage. My client, taking a deep interest in your welfare, desires to advise you absolutely in the choice of a wife. Absolutely, you understand,” he repeated.
“Let us be more explicit, if you please,” returned Francis. “Am I to marry any one, maid or widow, black or white, whom this invisible person chooses to propose?”
“I was to assure you that suitability of age and position should be a principle with your benefactor,” replied the lawyer. “As to race, I confess the difficulty had not occurred to me, and I failed to inquire; but if you like I will make a note of it at once, and advise you on the earliest opportunity.”
“Sir,” said Francis, “it remains to be seen whether this whole affair is not a most unworthy fraud. The circumstances are inexplicable – I had almost said incredible; and until I see a little more daylight, and some plausible motive, I confess I should be very sorry to put a hand to the transaction. I appeal to you in this difficulty for information. I must learn what is at the bottom of it all. If you do not know, cannot guess, or are not at liberty to tell me, I shall take my hat and go back to my bank as came.”
“I do not know,” answered the lawyer, “but I have an excellent guess. Your father, and no one else, is at the root of this apparently unnatural business.”
“My father!” cried Francis, in extreme disdain. “Worthy man, I know every thought of his mind, every penny of his fortune!”
“You misinterpret my words,” said the lawyer. “I do not refer to Mr. Scrymgeour, senior; for he is not your father. When he and his wife came to Edinburgh, you were already nearly one year old, and you had not yet been three months in their care. The secret has been well kept; but such is the fact. Your father is unknown, and I say again that I believe him to be the original of the offers I am charged at present to transmit to you.”
It would be impossible to exaggerate the astonishment of Francis Scrymgeour at this unexpected information. He pled this confusion to the lawyer.
“Sir,” said he, “after a piece of news so startling, you must grant me some hours for thought. You shall know this evening what conclusion I have reached.”
The lawyer commended his prudence; and Francis, excusing himself upon some pretext at the bank, took a long walk into the country, and fully considered the different steps and aspects of the case. A pleasant sense of his own importance rendered him the more deliberate: but the issue was from the first not doubtful. His whole carnal man leaned irresistibly towards the five hundred a year, and the strange conditions with which it was burdened; he discovered in his heart an invincible repugnance to the name of Scrymgeour, which he had never hitherto disliked; he began to despise the narrow and unromantic interests of his former life; and when once his mind was fairly made up, he walked with a new feeling of strength and freedom, and nourished himself with the gayest anticipations.
He said but a word to the lawyer, and immediately received a cheque for two quarters’ arrears; for the allowance was antedated from the first of January. With this in his pocket, he walked home. The flat in Scotland Street looked mean in his eyes; his nostrils, for the first time, rebelled against the odour of broth; and he observed little defects of manner in his adoptive father which filled him with surprise and almost with disgust. The next day, he determined, should see him on his way to Paris.
In that city, where he arrived long before the appointed date, he put up at a modest hotel frequented by English and Italians, and devoted himself to improvement in the French tongue; for this purpose he had a master twice a week, entered into conversation with loiterers in the Champs Elysees, and nightly frequented the theatre. He had his whole toilette fashionably renewed; and was shaved and had his hair dressed every morning by a barber in a neighbouring street. This gave him something of a foreign air, and seemed to wipe off the reproach of his past years.
At length, on the Saturday afternoon, he betook himself to the box-office of the theatre in the Rue Richelieu. No sooner had he mentioned his name than the clerk produced the order in an envelope of which the address was scarcely dry.
“It has been taken this moment,” said the clerk.
“Indeed!” said Francis. “May I ask what the gentleman was like?”
“Your friend is easy to describe,” replied the official. “He is old and strong and beautiful, with white hair and a sabre-cut across his face. You cannot fail to recognise so marked a person.”
“No, indeed,” returned Francis; “and I thank you for your politeness.”
“He cannot yet be far distant,” added the clerk. “If you make haste you might still overtake him.”
Francis did not wait to be twice told; he ran precipitately from the theatre into the middle of the street and looked in all directions. More than one white-haired man was within sight; but though he overtook each of them in succession, all wanted the sabre-cut. For nearly half-an-hour he tried one street after another in the neighbourhood, until at length, recognising the folly of continued search, he started on a walk to compose his agitated feelings; for this proximity of an encounter with him to whom he could not doubt he owed the day had profoundly moved the young man.
It chanced that his way lay up the Rue Drouot and thence up the Rue des Martyrs; and chance, in this case, served him better than all the forethought in the world. For on the outer boulevard he saw two men in earnest colloquy upon a seat. One was dark, young, and handsome, secularly dressed, but with an indelible clerical stamp; the other answered in every particular to the description given him by the clerk. Francis felt his heart beat high in his bosom; he knew he was now about to hear the voice of his father; and making a wide circuit, he noiselessly took his place behind the couple in question, who were too much interested in their talk to observe much else. As Francis had expected, the conversation was conducted in the English language