s eyelids trembled, as if a tear
were about to fall. Albert watched him with anxious curiosity. This was
the first time since the viscount had grown to man's estate that he had
surprised in his father's countenance other emotion than ambition or
pride, triumphant or defeated. But M. de Commarin was not the man to
yield long to sentiment.

"You have not told me, viscount," he said, "who sent you that messenger
of misfortune."

"He came in person, sir, not wishing, he told me to mix any others up in
this sad affair. The young man was no other than he whose place I have
occupied,--your legitimate son, M. Noel Gerdy himself."

"Yes," said the count in a low tone, "Noel, that is his name, I
remember." And then, with evident hesitation, he added: "Did he speak to
you of his--of your mother?"

"Scarcely, sir. He only told me that he came unknown to her; that he had
accidentally discovered the secret which he revealed to me."

M. de Commarin asked nothing further. There was more for him to learn.
He remained for some time deep in thought. The decisive moment had come;
and he saw but one way to escape.

"Come, viscount," he said, in a tone so affectionate that Albert was
astonished, "do not stand; sit down here by me, and let us discuss
this matter. Let us unite our efforts to shun, if possible, this great
misfortune. Confide in me, as a son should in his father. Have you
thought of what is to be done? have you formed any determination?"

"It seems to me, sir, that hesitation is impossible."

"In what way?"

"My duty, father, is very plain. Before your legitimate son, I ought
to give way without a murmur, if not without regret. Let him come. I
am ready to yield to him everything that I have so long kept from him
without a suspicion of the truth--his father's love, his fortune and his
name."

At this most praiseworthy reply, the old nobleman could scarcely
preserve the calmness he had recommended to his son in the earlier part
of the interview. His face grew purple; and he struck the table with his
fist more furiously than he had ever done in his life. He, usually so
guarded, so decorous on all occasions, uttered a volley of oaths that
would not have done discredit to an old cavalry officer.

"And I tell you, sir, that this dream of yours shall never take place.
No; that it sha'n't. I swear it. I promise you, whatever happens,
understand, that things shall remain as they are; because it is my will.
You are Viscount