the
medicines administered by the doctor, who, after visiting her daily for
six weeks, now pronounced his patient sufficiently strong to bear the
fatigues of a journey.

The countess had waited with the greatest impatience for this decision.
In order to prevent any delay, she had already sold at a discount half
of her incoming rents, supposing that the sum thus raised, twenty-five
thousand francs, would suffice for all contingent expenses.

For a fortnight she had been calling on all of her neighbors to bid them
farewell, saying that her daughter had entirely recovered her health,
and that she was going to take her to England to visit a rich old uncle,
who had repeatedly written for her.

Valentine looked forward to this journey with terror, and shuddered
when, on the evening that the doctor gave her permission to set out, her
mother came to her room, and said:

"We will start the day after to-morrow."

Only one day left! And Valentine had been unable to let Louis de
Clameran know that his brother was still living.

In this extremity she was obliged to confide in Mihonne, and sent her
with a letter to Louis.

But the faithful servant had a useless walk.

The chateau of Clameran was deserted; all the servants had been
dismissed, and M. Louis, whom they now called the marquis, had gone
abroad.

At last they started. Mme. de la Verberie, feeling that she could trust
Mihonne, decided to take her along; but first made her sacredly promise
eternal secrecy.

It was in a little village near London that the countess, under the
assumed name of Mrs. Wilson, took up her abode with her daughter and
maid-servant.

She selected England, because she had lived there a long time, and was
well acquainted with the manners and habits of the people, and spoke
their language as well as she did her own.

She had also kept up her acquaintanceship with some of the English
nobility, and often dined and went to the theatre with her friends in
London. On these occasions she always took the humiliating precaution of
locking up Valentine until she should return.

It was in this sad, solitary house, in the month of May, that the son
of Valentine de la Verberie was born. He was taken to the parish
priest, and christened Valentin-Raoul Wilson. The countess had prepared
everything, and engaged an honest farmer's wife to adopt the child,
bring him up as her own, and, when old enough, have him taught a trade.
For doing this the countess