r son's face. She had compelled him to take a chair
opposite her, and, with nervous volubility, she continued: "If I don't
deny myself the happiness of embracing you again, it is because I have
not broken the vow I took never to make myself known to you. When I
entered this room, I was firmly resolved to convince you, no matter how,
that you had been deceived. God knows that it was not my fault if I did
not succeed. There are some sacrifices that are above human strength."

M. Wilkie deigned to smile. "Oh! yes, I saw your little game," he said,
with a knowing air. "But I had been well posted, and besides, it is not
very easy to fool me."

Madame d'Argeles did not even hear him. "Perhaps destiny is weary of
afflicting us," she continued; "perhaps a new life is about to begin.
Through you, Wilkie. I can again be happy. I, who for years have lived
without even hope. But will you have courage to forget?"

"What?"

She hung her head, and in an almost inaudible voice replied, "The past,
Wilkie."

But with an air of the greatest indifference, he snapped his fingers,
and exclaimed: "Nonsense! What is past is past. Such things are soon
forgotten. Paris has known many such cases. You are my mother; I care
very little for public opinion. I begin by pleasing myself, and I
consult other people afterward; and when they are dissatisfied, I tell
them to mind their own business."

The poor woman listened to these words with a joy bordering on rapture.
One might have supposed that the strangeness of her son's expressions
would have surprised her--have enlightened her in regard to his true
character--but no. She only saw and understood one thing--that he had no
intention of casting her off, but was indeed ready to devote himself to
her. "My God!" she faltered, "is this really true? Will you allow me
to remain with you? Oh, don't reply rashly! Consider well, before you
promise to make such a sacrifice. Think how much sorrow and pain it will
cost you."

"I have considered. It is decided--mother."

She sprang up, wild with hope and enthusiasm. "Then we are saved!"
she cried. "Blessed be he who betrayed my secret! And I doubted your
courage, my Wilkie! At last I can escape from this hell! This very night
we will fly from this house, without one backward glance. I will never
set foot in these rooms again--the detested gamblers who are sitting
here shall never see me again. From this moment Lia d'Argeles is dead."

M. Wilkie positive