poor man, who,
weighed down by a too heavy burden, casts it to the earth without
caring where it falls, nor how much it may tempt the cupidity of the
passers-by.

"Nothing," continued he, "no, nothing, can approach to what I then
endured. My very heartstrings were bound up in that woman. She was like
a part of myself. In separating from her, it seemed to me that I was
tearing away a part of my own flesh. I cannot describe the furious
passions her memory stirred within me. I scorned her and longed for her
with equal vehemence. I hated her, and I loved her. And, to this day,
her detestable image has been ever present to my imagination. Nothing
can make me forget her. I have never consoled myself for her loss. And
that is not all, terrible doubts about Albert occurred to me. Was I
really his father? Can you understand what my punishment was, when I
thought to myself, 'I have perhaps sacrificed my own son to the child
of an utter stranger.' This thought made me hate the bastard who
called himself Commarin. To my great affection for him succeeded an
unconquerable aversion. How often, in those days I struggled against
an insane desire to kill him! Since then, I have learned to subdue my
aversion; but I have never completely mastered it. Albert, sir, has been
the best of sons. Nevertheless, there has always been an icy barrier
between us, which he was unable to explain. I have often been on the
point of appealing to the tribunals, of avowing all, of reclaiming my
legitimate heir; but regard for my rank has prevented me. I recoiled
before the scandal. I feared the ridicule or disgrace that would attach
to my name; and yet I have not been able to save it from infamy."

The old nobleman remained silent, after pronouncing these words. In a
fit of despair, he buried his face in his hands, and two great tears
rolled silently down his wrinkled cheeks.

In the meantime, the door of the room opened slightly, and the tall
clerk's head appeared.

M. Daburon signed to him to enter, and then addressing M. de Commarin,
he said in a voice rendered more gentle by compassion: "Sir, in the eyes
of heaven, as in the eyes of society, you have committed a great sin;
and the results, as you see, are most disastrous. It is your duty to
repair the evil consequences of your sin as much as lies in your power."

"Such is my intention, sir, and, may I say so? my dearest wish."

"You doubtless understand me," continued M. Daburon.

"Yes, sir," re