old grandfather, the proper thing
was to speak to him frankly."

Jack, without answering, hid his face in his hands.

"Why are you so troubled, my boy?" continued his old friend.

"I did not dare to speak to you," answered Jack; "I am poor and without
any position."

"You can remedy all this."

"But there is something else: you do not know that I am illegitimate!"

"Yes, I know--and so is she," said the doctor, calmly. "Now listen to a
long story."

They were in the doctor's library. Through the open window they saw a
superb autumnal landscape, long country roads bordered with leafless
trees; and beyond, the old country cemetery, its yew-trees prostrated,
and its crosses upheaved.

"You have never been there," said M. Rivals, pointing out to Jack this
melancholy spot. "Nearly in the centre is a large white stone, on which
is the one word Madeleine.

"There lies my daughter, Cecile's mother. She wished to be placed apart
from us all, and desired that only her Christian name should be put upon
her tomb, saying that she was not worthy to bear the name of her father
and mother. Dear child, she was so proud! She had done nothing to merit
this exile after death, and if any should have been punished, it was I,
an old fool, whose obstinacy brought all our misfortunes upon us.

"One day, eighteen years ago this very month, I was sent for in a hurry
on account of an accident that had happened at a hunt in the Foret de
Senart. A gentleman had been shot in the leg. I found the wounded man on
the state-bed at the Archambaulds. He was a handsome fellow, with light
hair and eyes, those northern eyes that have something of the cold
glitter of ice. He bore with admirable courage the extraction of the
balls, and, the operation over, thanked me in excellent French, though
with a foreign accent. As he could not be moved without danger, I
continued to attend him at the forester's; I learned that he was a
Russian of high rank,--'the Comte Nadine,' his companions called him.

"Although the wound was dangerous, Nadine, thanks to his youth and good
constitution, as well as to the care of Mother Archambauld, was
soon able to leave his bed, but as he could not walk at all, I took
compassion on his loneliness, and often carried him in my cabriolet home
to my own house to dine. Sometimes, when the weather was bad, he spent
the night with us. I must acknowledge to you that I adored the man.
He had great stores of information, had been