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hat we understood each other," he said, sadly. "For twenty years I have lived a melancholy life. I have yielded to your caprices, I have followed your counsel, and to what end? Look at me--my hair is gray, my face is seamed and lined. I have never had one hour of repose. For whom have I carried this burthen? For myself? I despise mankind, I despise power, I despise you, and despise myself. I have but one real passion in life, and that is my love for this wretched boy who bears my name. What have you, his mother, done for him?" Magdalena turned away from her husband's melancholy eyes. "Why I love him," continued the Marquis, "I know not, except that criminals love their children as wild beasts their young. You have questioned me, and I have answered you. Are you satisfied?" There came at this moment a hurried knock at the door. "Come in!" cried the Marquis, angrily. A valet entered with a very pale face. "Monsieur! my young master--" "Ah! he has come!" cried the Marquise, rushing to the door. But the lacquey extended his arms, as if to stop her. "Madame!" he began. "Well! what is it?" "My young master is dead!" said the lacquey, with trembling lips. Then there went up the cry of two stricken hearts. The two criminals looked at each other. They must have misunderstood the servant, who now pointed to the stairs, up which were coming men bearing a bier. What was underneath the cloth? Was it their son? Impossible! A young man appeared. Magdalena rushed toward him, without a word. The youth bowed his head. "Yes, he is dead. Monsieur de Talizac has been killed in a duel!" Magdalena sank upon the floor, unconscious. Fongereues laughed hysterically. "Nonsense! My son has fought no duel," he said. "Yes--with Arthur de Montferrand, whose sword pierced his heart!" Fongereues tore the cloth from the bier. Yes, it was the Vicomte de Talizac. The wretched father tried to speak. Every muscle in his face quivered. The servants fell back, shocked by all this agony. "Tell me all!" he said at last. "There is little to tell, sir, beyond the bare fact. I have, however, a letter which the Vicomte gave me before he went on the ground." Magdalena snatched this letter and tore it open. It contained but one line: "Faithless parents, I curse you with my dying breath!" These words, coming from beyond the tomb, were terrible. At this moment the door opened. An old man, with head uncovered a
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