year, to
the marriage of her son, the Vicomte Savinien de Portenduere, with
whom?--with Ursula Mirouet, daughter of a bandsman in a regiment,
without money, and whose father--alas! I must now tell you all--was the
bastard son of an organist, my father-in-law."

"O godfather! you are right; we are equal only in the sight of God. I
will not think of him again--except in my prayers," she said, amid the
sobs which this painful revelation excited. "Give him what you meant to
give me--what can a poor girl like me want?--ah, in prison, he!--"

"Offer to God your disappointments, and perhaps he will help us."

There was silence for some minutes. When Ursula, who at first did not
dare to look at her godfather, raised her eyes, her heart was deeply
moved to see the tears which were rolling down his withered cheeks. The
tears of old men are as terrible as those of children are natural.

"Oh what is it?" cried Ursula, flinging herself at his feet and kissing
his hands. "Are you not sure of me?"

"I, who longed to gratify all your wishes, it is I who am obliged to
cause the first great sorrow of your life!" he said. "I suffer as
much as you. I never wept before, except when I lost my children--and,
Ursula--Yes," he cried suddenly, "I will do all you desire!"

Ursula gave him, through her tears a look that was vivid as lightning.
She smiled.

"Let us go into the salon, darling," said the doctor. "Try to keep
the secret of all this to yourself," he added, leaving her alone for a
moment in his study.

He felt himself so weak before that heavenly smile that he feared he
might say a word of hope and thus mislead her.

CHAPTER X. THE FAMILY OF PORTENDUERE

Madame de Portenduere was at this moment alone with the abbe in her
frigid little salon on the ground floor, having finished the recital of
her troubles to the good priest, her only friend. She held in her hand
some letters which he had just returned to her after reading them; these
letters had brought her troubles to a climax. Seated on her sofa beside
a square table covered with the remains of a dessert, the old lady was
looking at the abbe, who sat on the other side of the table, doubled up
in his armchair and stroking his chin with the gesture common to
valets on the stage, mathematicians, and priests,--a sign of profound
meditation on a problem that was difficult to solve.

This little salon, lighted by two windows on the street and finished
with a wainscot pain