as if it were a very simple and quite
natural matter! And what will happen then, if he is in court? He will be
condemned; and a Boiscoran will go to the galleys. But no, that cannot
be! I do not say that a Boiscoran may not commit a crime, passion makes
us do strange things; but a Boiscoran, when he regains his senses, knows
what becomes him to do. Blood washes out all stains. Jacques prefers the
executioner; he waits; he is cunning; he means to plead. If he but save
his head, he is quite content. A few years at hard labor, I suppose,
will be a trifle to him. And that coward should be a Boiscoran: my blood
should flow in his veins! Come, come, madam, Jacques is no son of mine."

Crushed as the marchioness had seemed to be till now, she rose under
this atrocious insult.

"Sir!" she cried.

But M. de Boiscoran was not in a state to listen to her.

"I know what I am saying," he went on. "I remember every thing, if you
have forgotten every thing. Come, let us go back to your past. Remember
the time when Jacques was born, and tell me what year it was when M. de
Margeril refused to meet me."

Indignation restored to the marchioness her strength. She cried,--

"And you come and tell me this to-day, after thirty years, and God knows
under what circumstances!"

"Yes, after thirty years. Eternity might pass over these recollections,
and it would not efface them. And, but for these circumstances to which
you refer, I should never have said any thing. At the time to which I
allude, I had to choose between two evils,--either to be ridiculous, or
to be hated. I preferred to keep silence, and not to inquire too far.
My happiness was gone; but I wished to save my peace. We have lived
together on excellent terms; but there has always been between us this
high wall, this suspicion. As long as I was doubtful, I kept silent. But
now, when the facts confirm my doubts, I say again, 'Jacques is no son
of mine!'"

Overcome with grief, shame, and indignation, the Marchioness de
Boiscoran was wringing her hands; then she cried,--

"What a humiliation! What you are saying is too horrible. It is unworthy
of you to add this terrible suffering to the martyrdom which I am
enduring."

M. de Boiscoran laughed convulsively.

"Have I brought about this catastrophe?"

"Well then yes! One day I was imprudent and indiscreet. I was young; I
knew nothing of life; the world worshipped me; and you, my husband, my
guide, gave yourself up to your a