e heirs whom he hated so
bitterly, and whom I don't even know, whose existence people have not
even suspected, can now come, and they will find the wealth he was
determined to deprive them of intact. He dreamed of a brilliant destiny
for me--a proud name, and the rank of a marchioness--and he has not even
succeeded in protecting me from the most shameful insults. I have been
accused of theft before his body was even cold. He wished to make
me rich, frightfully rich, and he has not left me enough to buy my
bread--literally, not enough to buy bread. He was in constant terror
concerning my safety, and he died without even telling me what were
the mysterious dangers which threatened me; without even telling me
something which I am morally certain of--that he was my father. He
raised me against my will to the highest social position--he placed that
wonderful talisman, gold, in my hand; he showed me the world at my feet;
and suddenly he allowed me to fall even to lower depths of misery than
those in which he found me. Ah! M. de Chalusse, it would have been far
better for me if you had left me in the foundling asylum to have earned
my own bread. And yet, I freely forgive you."

Mademoiselle Marguerite reflected for a moment, questioning her memory
to ascertain if she had told everything--if she had forgotten any
particulars of importance. And as it seemed to her that she had nothing
more to add, she approached the magistrate, and, with impressive
solemnity of tone and manner, exclaimed: "My life up to the present hour
is now as well known to you as it is to myself. You know what even the
friend, who is my only hope, does not know as yet. And now, when I tell
him what I really am, will he think me unworthy of him?"

The magistrate sprang to his feet, impelled by an irresistible force.
Two big tears, the first he had shed for years, trembled on his
eyelashes, and coursed down his furrowed cheeks. "You are a noble
creature, my child," he replied, in a voice faltering with emotion; "and
if I had a son, I should deem myself fortunate if he chose a wife like
you."

She clasped her hands, with a gesture of intense joy and relief, and
then sank into an arm-chair, murmuring: "Oh, thanks, monsieur, thanks!"
For she was thinking of Pascal; and she had feared he might shrink from
her when she fully revealed to him her wretched, sorrowful past, of
which he was entirely ignorant. But the magistrate's words had reassured
her.

XI.