FILE NO. 113.
41

and it was I who closed his eyes, and received
his last wishes.    Do you understand?"
The poor woman understood only too well,
but was racking her brain to discover what
eould be the purpose of this fatal visit. Per-
haps it was only to. claim Gaston's jewels.
"It is unnecessary to recall," continued
Louis, " tho painful circumstances whicli blast-
ed my brother's life. However happy your
own lot has been, you must sometimes have
thought of this friend of your youth, who un-
hesitatingly sacrificed himself in defence of
your honor."
Not a muscle of Mme. Fauvel's face moved;
she appeared to be trying to recall the circum-
stance to which Louis alluded.
" Have you forgotten, madame?" he asked
with bitterness: "then I must explain more
clearly.    A long, long time ago you loved my
unfortunate brother."
"Monsieur!"
" Ah, it is useless to deny it, madame; I told
you that Gaston confided everything to me—
everything," he added, significantly.
But Mme. Fauvel was not frightened by this
information. This " everything" could not be
of any importance, for Gaston had gone abroad
in total ignorance of her secret.
She rose and said, with an apparent assurance
she was far from feeling:
"You forget, monsieur, that you are speak-
ing to a woman who is now advanced in life,
who is married, and who has grown sons. If
your brother loved me, it was his affair, and
not yours. If, young and ignorant, I was led
into imprudence, it is not your place to remind
me of it. This past which you evoke I buried
in oblivion twenty years ago."
"Thus you have forgotten all that hap-
pened?"
"Absolutely all; everything/'
"Even your child, madame?"
This question, uttered with a snecrof triumph,
fell upon Mme.  Fauvel like a thunder-clap.
She dropped tremblingly into her seat, murmur-
ing:
"My God! How did he discover it?
Had her own happiness alone been at stake,
she would have instantly thrown herself upon
a Clameran's mercy. But she had her family
to defend, and the consciousness of this gave
her strengtli to resist him.                   _
" Do you wish to insult me, monsieur?   she
asked.
" Do you pretend to say you have forgotten
Valentin-Raoul?"                  , .   ,    - ,           n
She saw that this man did indeed know all.
How ? It little mattered. He certainly knew ;
but she determined to deny everything, even
tlie most positive proofs, if he should produce
them.                                           ,        ,      .   .
For an instant she had an idea of ordering
the Marquis of Clameran to leave the house; but
prudence stayed her. She thought it best to
discover how much he really knew.
" Well," she said, with a forced laugh, will
you be kind enough to state what you wish
with me?"                                                        .,
" Certainly, madame. Two years ago the
vicissitudes of exile took my brother to London.
There at the house of a friend, he met a young
man by the name of Raoul. Gaston was so
struck by the youth's appearance and intelli-
gence, that he inquired who he was, and dis-
covered that beyond a doubt this boy was his
son, and your son, madame."                            „
" This is quite a romance you are relating.
"Yes madame, a romance the denouement
of which is in your hands. Your mother cer-
tainly used every precaution to conceal your
secret; but the best-laid plans always have
some weak point. After your marriage, one ot
vour mother's London friends came to taras-
con, 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 diffi-
culty in obtaining the most positive proofs ot
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 Clameransare poor; my brother
died on a pallet in a lodging-house; and 1 have
only an income of twelve hundred francs to
live upon. What isto become of Raoul alone
without 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. ' Valen-
tine,' said he, 'Valentine will remember the
past, and will not let our son want for any-
thing; 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. Gas-
ton de Clameran. I will prove it by restoring
to you your mother's jewels, with which he in-
trusted 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, mon-
sieur, 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 embar-
rassment 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 mo to end this interview,
monsieur, whicli was only granted for the pur-
pose 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: ' It
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 mv honor, shall be done!"
At last Mme Fauvel was alone. She could
give vent to her despair.
Exhausted at her efforts of self-restraint dur-
ing 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.                                  ,              . ,           .
"O 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, O God, and only me! In thy just
anger spare the innocent, have pjty upon my
husband and my children !"       jT
What were her twenty yenrs of happiness
compared to this hour of misery ? A bitter re-
morse; nothing more. Ah, why did she listen
to her mother? Why had she committed moral
suicide?
Hope had fled ; despair bad come.
This man who had left her presence with a
threat upon his lips would return to torture her
anew.    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 ot
threats?
When Louis spoke of Raoul, she could scarce-
ly conceal her emotion; her maternal heart
yearned toward the innocent child who was ex-
piating 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 posses-
sions at his feet? With what delight would she
undergo the greatest privations for his sake! it
she could but send him enough money to sup-
port him comfortably!
But no; she could; not take this step without
compromising herself and her family.
Prudence forbade her acceptance of the inter-
vention of Louis de Clameran.
To confide in him, was placing herself, and
all she held dear, at his mercy—at the mercy ol
aman who inspired her with instinctive terror.
Then she began to ask herself if he had spoken
the truth, or had trumped up the story to fright-
en her?                                                           , .
In thinking over Louis's story, it seemed im-
probable aud disconnected.              -         ,
If Gaston had been living in Paris, m the
poverty described by his brother, why had he
not demanded of the married woman the de-
posit intrusted to the maiden?                          .
Why when anxious about the future ot their
child lîad he not come to her, if he had such
confidence in her generosity? If he trusted
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 every-
one 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 happi-
ness If she once yielded, what would not be
exacted of her in the future? She would cer-
tainly be made to suffer if she refused to yield
If she had only somewise friend to advise her!
For a moment she thought of throwing her-
self at her husband's feet and confessing all.
Unfortunately, she thrust aside this means of
salvation. She pictured to herself the mortifi-
cation and sorrow that her noble-hearted hus-
band 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 she had
uttered her marriage vow to love and honor
him, when her heart was already given to an-
other?                                                     .           .
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 be-
traying her to Andre?                                 .
'¦She thought of ending her doubts by suicide;
a. 'ier deatli would not silence her implacable
euOTv, wV _„. je.ng 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 pre-
tense of sickness.                             . ...¦,.
But Madeleine, with her feminine instinct,
saw that her aunt was troubled by something
worse than nervous headache, for which the
physician was prescribing all sorts of remedies,
with no beneficial-effect.
She remembered that this sudden illness
dated from the visit of the melancholy-looking
stranger, who had been closeted for a long
time with her aunt.
Madeleine, supposing that something was
weighing upon the miserable woman s mind,
and the second day of her sickness, ventured to
"What makes you so sad, dear aunt? If yoa
will not tell me, do let me bring our good cure
to see you."
With a sharpness foreign to her nature, which
was gentleness itself, Mme. Fauvel refused to
assent to her niece's proposition.
What Louis calculated upon, happened.
After long reflection, not seeing any issue to
her deplorable situation, Mme. Fauvel deter-
mined to yield.                                           •
By consenting to everything demanded of
her, she had a chance of saving her husband
from suffering and disgrace.
She well knew that to act thus was to prepare-
a life of torture for herself ; but she alone would
be the victim, and, at any rale, she would be
gaining time. Heaven might at last interpose,
and save her from ruin.
In the meantime, M. Fauvel had returned
home, and Valentine resumed her accustomed
But'she was no longer the happy mother and
devoted wife, whose smiling presence was wont
to fill the house with sunshine and comfort.
She was melancholy, anxious, and at times ir-
ritable.                            „.                ,               .   .
Hearing nothing of Clameran, she expecteoî