ied her threats into execution. And she prefers her present
position to such a fortune. What lunacy!" But, although he was
disappointed and angry, he did not by any means despair. "Fortunately
for me," he thought, "this proud and haughty lady has a son somewhere
in the world. And she'll do for him what she would not consent to do for
herself. Through her, with a little patience and Victor Chupin's aid,
I shall succeed in discovering this boy. He must be an intelligent
youth--and we'll see if he surrenders his millions as easily as his
mamma does."

XVI.

It is a terrible task to break suddenly with one's past, without even
having had time for preparation; to renounce the life one has so far
lived, to return to the starting point, and begin existence anew; to
abandon everything--the position one has gained, the work one has become
familiar with, every fondly cherished hope, and friend, and habit; to
forsake the known to plunge into the unknown, to leave the certain for
the uncertain, and desert light for darkness; to cast one's identity
aside, assume a strange individuality, become a living lie, change name,
position, face, and clothes--in one phrase, to cease to be one's self,
in order to become some one else.

This is indeed, a terrible ordeal, and requires an amount of resolution
and energy which few human beings possess. The boldest hesitate before
such a sacrifice, and many a man has surrendered himself to justice
rather than resort to this last extremity. And yet this was what
Pascal Ferailleur had the courage to do, on the morrow of the shameful
conspiracy that had deprived him of his good name. When his mother's
exhortations and Baron Trigault's encouraging words had restored his
wonted clearness of perception, the only course he felt disposed to
pursue was to disappear and fly from the storm of slander and
contempt; and then, in a secure hiding-place, to watch for the time and
opportunity of rehabilitation and revenge.

Madame Ferailleur and her son made all needful arrangements. "I shall
start out at once," said Pascal, "and before two hours have elapsed I
shall have found a modest lodging, where we must conceal ourselves for
the present. I know a locality that will suit us, and where no one will
certainly ever think of looking for us."

"And I," asked Madame Ferailleur, "what shall I do in the meantime?"

"You, mother; you must, at once, sell all that we possess
here--everything--even my books.