His form was upright, his face florid, and less changed than might have been expected by the thirty-one years that had elapsed since we had last seen him.

He was alone, and my husband addressed him at first in English:-- "Good-morning, M.Crely.Do you remember me ?" He shook his head emphatically.

"Je ne comprends pas.

Je ne me ressouviens de rien--je suis vieux, vieux--le treize Septembre, mil sept cent vingt-six, je suis ne.

Non, non," with a few gentle shakes of the head, "je ne puis rappeler rien--je suis vieux, vieux."[61] My husband changed his inquiries to the patois which Crely could not feign not to comprehend.
"Where is your granddaughter?
I am acquainted with her, and would like to speak with her." The old man sprang up with the greatest alacrity, and, running to a door in the wooden partition which cut off a corner of the room and thus furnished an apartment for the ancient phenomenon, he rapped vigorously, and called, in accents quite unlike his former feeble, drawling tones,-- "Therese, Therese--il y a icite un monsieur qui voudrait vous voir."[62] The granddaughter presently made her appearance.