sensible match. A discreet
notary had acted as an intermediary without ever disclosing anything.

The Baron de Mordiane accordingly knew merely that a child of his was
living somewhere in the neighborhood of Marseilles, that he was looked
upon as intelligent and well-educated, that he had married the daughter
of an architect and contractor, to whose business he had succeeded. He
was also believed to be worth a lot of money.

Why should he not go and see this unknown son without telling his name,
in order to form a judgment about him at first and to assure himself that
he would be able, in case of necessity, to find an agreeable refuge in
this family?

He had acted handsomely towards the young man, had settled a good fortune
on him, which had been thankfully accepted. He was, therefore, certain
that he would not find himself clashing against any inordinate sense of
self-importance; and this thought, this desire, which every day returned
to him afresh, of setting out for the South, tantalized him like a kind
of itching sensation. A strange self-regarding feeling of affection
also attracted him, bringing before his mental vision this pleasant,
warm abode by the seaside, where he would meet his young and pretty
daughter-in-law, his grandchildren, with outstretched arms, and his son,
who would recall to his memory the charming and short-lived adventure of
bygone years. He regretted only having given so much money, and that this
money had prospered in the young man's hands, thus preventing him from
any longer presenting himself in the character of a benefactor.

He hurried along, with all these thoughts running through his brain, and
the collar of his fur-coat wrapped round his head. Suddenly he made up
his mind. A cab was passing; he hailed it, drove home, and, when his
valet, just roused from a nap, had opened the door.

"Louis," said he, "we start to-morrow evening for Marseilles. We'll
remain there perhaps a fortnight. You will make all the necessary
preparations."

The train rushed on past the Rhone with its sandbanks, then through
yellow plains, bright villages, and a wide expanse of country, shut in
by bare mountains, which rose on the distant horizon.

The Baron de Mordiane, waking up after a night spent in a sleeping
compartment of the train, looked at himself, in a melancholy fashion,
in the little mirror of his dressing-case. The glaring sun of the South
showed him some wrinkles which he had not observed bef