however, he went into the Parc Monceau, where the mothers and nurses,
sitting on the sides of the walks, watched the children playing, and
suddenly Francois Tessier started. A woman passed by, holding two
children by the hand, a little boy of about ten and a little girl of
four. It was she!

He walked another hundred yards anti then fell into a chair, choking
with emotion. She had not recognized him, and so he came back, wishing
to see her again. She was sitting down now, and the boy was standing by
her side very quietly, while the little girl was making sand castles. It
was she, it was certainly she, but she had the reserved appearance of
a lady, was dressed simply, and looked self-possessed and dignified. He
looked at her from a distance, for he did not venture to go near;
but the little boy raised his head, and Francois Tessier felt himself
tremble. It was his own son, there could be no doubt of that. And, as he
looked at him, he thought he could recognize himself as he appeared in
an old photograph taken years ago. He remained hidden behind a tree,
waiting for her to go that he might follow her.

He did not sleep that night. The idea of the child especially tormented
him. His son! Oh, if he could only have known, have been sure! But what
could he have done? However, he went to the house where she lived and
asked about her. He was told that a neighbor, an honorable man of strict
morals, had been touched by her distress and had married her; he knew
the fault she had committed and had married her, and had even recognized
the child, his, Francois Tessier's child, as his own.

He returned to the Parc Monceau every Sunday, for then he always saw
her, and each time he was seized with a mad, an irresistible longing to
take his son into his arms, to cover him with kisses and to steal him,
to carry him off.

He suffered horribly in his wretched isolation as an old bachelor, with
nobody to care for him, and he also suffered atrocious mental torture,
torn by paternal tenderness springing from remorse, longing and jealousy
and from that need of loving one's own children which nature has
implanted in all. At last he determined to make a despairing attempt,
and, going up to her, as she entered the park, he said, standing in the
middle of the path, pale and with trembling lips: "You do not recognize
me." She raised her eyes, looked at him, uttered an exclamation of
horror, of terror, and, taking the two children by the hand, sh