LITMIR.BIZ

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your secret; but the best-laid plans always have some weak point. After your marriage, one of your mother’s London friends came to Tarascon, and spread the report of what had taken place at the English village. This lady also revealed your true name to the nurse who was bringing up the child. Thus everything was discovered by my brother, who had no difficulty in obtaining the most positive proofs of the boy’s parentage.”

      Louis closely watched Mme. Fauvel’s face to see the effect of his words.

      To his astonishment she betrayed not the slightest agitation or alarm; she was smiling as if entertained by the recital of his romance.

      “Well, what next?” she asked carelessly.

      “Then, madame, Gaston acknowledged the child. But the Clamerans are poor; my brother died on a pallet in a lodging-house; and I have only an income of twelve hundred francs to live upon. What is to become of Raoul, alone with no relations or friends to assist him? My brother’s last moments were embittered by anxiety for the welfare of his child.”

      “Really, monsieur——”

      “Allow me to finish,” interrupted Louis. “In that supreme hour Gaston opened his heart to me. He told me to apply to you. ‘Valentine,’ said he, ‘Valentine will remember the past, and will not let our son want for anything; she is wealthy, she is just and generous; I die with my mind at rest.’”

      Mme. Fauvel rose from her seat, and stood, evidently waiting for her visitor to retire.

      “You must confess, monsieur,” she said, “that I have shown great patience.”

      This imperturbable assurance amazed Louis.

      “I do not deny,” she continued, “that I at one time possessed the confidence of M. Gaston de Clameran. I will prove it by restoring to you your mother’s jewels, with which he intrusted me on his departure.”

      While speaking she took from beneath the sofa-cushion the purse of jewels, and handed it to Louis.

      “These jewels would have been given to the owner the instant they were called for, monsieur, and I am surprised that your brother never reclaimed them.”

      Louis betrayed his astonishment at the sight of the jewels. He tried to cover his embarrassment by boldly saying:

      “I was told not to mention this sacred trust.”

      Mme. Fauvel, without making any reply, laid her hand on the bell-rope and quietly said:

      “You will allow me to end this interview, monsieur, which was only granted for the purpose of placing in your hands these precious jewels.”

      Thus dismissed, M. de Clameran was obliged to take his leave without attaining his object.

      “As you will, madame,” he said, “I leave you; but before doing so I must tell you the rest of my brother’s dying injunctions: ‘If Valentine disregards the past, and refuses to provide for our son, I enjoin it upon you to compel her to do her duty.’ Meditate upon these words, madame, for what I have sworn to do, upon my honor, shall be done!”

      At last Mme. Fauvel was alone. She could give vent to her despair.

      Exhausted at her efforts at self-restraint during the presence of Clameran, she felt weary and crushed in body and spirit.

      She had scarcely strength to drag herself up to her chamber, and lock the door.

      Now there was no room for doubt; her fears had become realities. She could fathom the abyss into which she was about to be hurled, and knew that in her fall she would drag her family with her.

      God alone, in this hour of danger, could help her, could save her from destruction. She prayed.

      “Oh, my God!” she cried, “punish me for my great sin, and I will evermore adore thy chastising hand! I have been a bad daughter, an unworthy mother, and a perfidious wife. Smite me, oh, God, and only me! In thy just anger spare the innocent, have pity upon my husband and my children!”

      What were her twenty years of happiness compared to this hour of misery? A bitter remorse; nothing more. Ah, why did she listen to her mother? Why had she committed moral suicide?

      Hope had fled; despair had come.

      This man who had left her presence with a threat upon his lips would return to torture her now. How could she escape him?

      To-day she had succeeded in subduing her heart and conscience; would she again have the strength to master her feelings?

      She well knew that her calmness and courage were entirely due to the inaptness of Clameran.

      Why did he not use entreaties instead of threats?

      When Louis spoke of Raoul, she could scarcely conceal her emotion; her maternal heart yearned toward the innocent child who was expiating his mother’s faults.

      A chill of horror passed over her at the idea of his enduring the pangs of hunger.

      Her child wanting bread, when she, his mother, was rolling in wealth!

      Ah, why could she not lay all her possessions at his feet? With what delight would she undergo the greatest privations for his sake! If she could but send him enough money to support him comfortably!

      But no; she could not take this step without compromising herself and her family.

      Prudence forbade her acceptance of the intervention of Louis de Clameran.

      To confide in him, was placing herself, and all she held dear, at his mercy—at the mercy of a man who inspired her with instinctive terror.

      Then she began to ask herself if he had spoken the truth, or had trumped up this story to frighten her?

      In thinking over Louis’s story, it seemed improbable and disconnected.

      If Gaston had been living in Paris, in the poverty described by his brother, why had he not demanded of the married woman the deposit intrusted to the maiden?

      Why, when anxious about the future of their child, had he not come to her, if he had such confidence in her generosity? If he intrusted her on his death-bed, why had he not shown this trust while living?

      A thousand vague apprehensions beset her mind; she felt suspicion and distrust of everyone and everything.

      She was aware that the time had come for her to take a decisive step, and upon this step depended her whole future peace and happiness. If she once yielded, what would not be exacted of her in the future? She would certainly be made to suffer if she refused to yield. If she had only some wise friend to advise her!

      For a moment she thought of throwing herself at her husband’s feet and confessing all.

      Unfortunately, she thrust aside this means of salvation. She pictured to herself the mortification and sorrow that her noble-hearted husband would suffer upon discovering, after a lapse of twenty years, how shamefully he had been deceived, how his confidence and love had been betrayed.

      Having been once deceived, would he ever trust her again? Would he believe in her fidelity as a wife, when he discovered that she had uttered her marriage vows to love and honor him, when her heart was already given to another?

      She knew Andre was too magnanimous to ever allude to her horrible fault, and would use every means to conceal it. But his domestic happiness would be gone forever. His chair at the fireside would be left empty; his sons would shun her presence, and every family bond would be severed.

      Then again, would peace be preserved by her silence? Would not Clameran end by betraying her to Andre?

      She thought of ending her doubts by suicide; but her death would not silence her implacable enemy, who, not being able to disgrace her while alive, would dishonor her memory.

      Fortunately, the banker was still absent; and, during the two days succeeding Louis’s visit, Mme. Fauvel could keep her room under pretence of sickness.

      But Madeleine, with her feminine

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