intentions. Marius received his advances very coolly. He took his
brother's hand, submitted to his brother's kiss; but neither kiss
nor hand-pressure did he return. Florimond affected not to notice
this.

"You are well, my dear Marius, I hope," said he, and thrusting him
out at arms' length, he held him by the shoulders and regarded him
critically. "Ma foi, but you are changed into a comely well-grown
man. And your mother - she is well, too, I trust."

"I thank you, Florimond, she is well," said Marius stiffly.

The Marquis took his hands from his brother's shoulders; his florid,
good-natured face smiling ever, as if this were the happiest moment
of his life.

"It is good to see France again, my dear Marius," he told his
brother. "I was a fool to have remained away so long. I am pining
to be at Condillac once more."

Marius eyeing him, looked in vain for signs of the fever. He had
expected to find a debilitated, emaciated man; instead, he saw a
very lusty, healthy, hearty fellow, full of good humour, and
seemingly full of strength. He began to like his purpose less,
despite such encouragement as he gathered from the support of
Fortunio. Still, it must be gone through with.

"You wrote us that you had the fever," he said, half inquiringly.

"Pooh! That is naught." And Florimond snapped a strong finger