have the allowance; she shall have what she asks for," I
declared; "but I will never acknowledge the boy, or her. If he takes
the name of De Vaux, or forces himself upon me in any way, it shall be
open war. The English courts will annul that marriage."

"'"I think not," he answered coolly. "Besides, you married into
a noble family, did you not--a duke's daughter? How pleasant her
position would be while such a case was being tried! And your son----"

"'I stopped him angrily. "I repeat that I will not acknowledge them.
Money they can have, and the boy's future shall be my care! But not if
he ever dares to call himself De Vaux."

"'The Count shrugged his shoulders. "I am but an ambassador," he said.
"I will convey what you have said to your wife. You shall hear her
decision."

"'He went away, and for a fortnight I was left in misery. At the end
of that time I had a letter signed "Irene." It was cold and short. It
told me that, so far as she herself was concerned, she had no desire
or intention of claiming her position as my wife. All she demanded was
an allowance to be paid to her order at a certain bank in Palermo
at regular intervals for the support of herself and for the proper
education and bringing up of her son. As to his future, she could not
pledge herself to anything; for when the time came, he should
decide for himself. She would bring him up in ignorance; but on his
twenty-fifth birthday she should tell him the whole story, and place
all the necessary papers in his hands. If he chose to use them and
claim the De Vaux estates, he would easily be able to do so. If, on
the other hand, he decided to remain as he was, she should not attempt
in any way to alter his decision!

"'The letter was a great relief to me. Five-and-twenty years was a
long respite. The boy might die--a thousand things might happen before
then. At any rate, I was enough of a philosopher to seal down that
secret page in my history, and to live as though it had never existed.

"'Five-and-twenty years is a long time, but it passed away. It is the
portion of my life which I look back upon with the most pleasure.
I did my utmost to atone for a wasted youth, and in some measure I
succeeded. My fears had grown fainter and fainter, and when the blow
came it was like a thunderbolt falling from a clear sky. One morning
I received a letter in Irene's writing, a little fainter and less firm
than of old, but still familiar to me. It contained only a