you the truth. I hope the future will prove that I am wrong. However,
you are without resources, and you have no profession. Pray Heaven that
you may never know what it is to be hungry and to have no bread."

For some time already the ingenious young man had shown unmistakable
signs of impatience. This gloomy prediction irritated him beyond
endurance.

"All this is empty talk," he interrupted. "I don't mean to work, for
it's not at all in my line. Still, I don't expect to want for anything!
That's plain enough, I hope."

Madame d'Argeles did not wince. "What do you mean to do then?" she
asked, coldly. "I don't understand you."

He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "Are we to keep up this farce for
ever?" he petulantly exclaimed. "It doesn't take with me. You know what
I mean as well as I do. Why do you talk to me about dying of starvation?
What about the fortune?"

"What fortune?"

"Eh? why, my uncle's, of course! Your brother's, the Count de Chalusse."

Now M. Wilkie's visit, manner, assurance, wheedling, and contradictions
were all explained. That maternal confidence which is so strong in the
hearts of mothers vanished from Madame d'Argeles's for ever. The depths
of selfishness and cunning she discerned in Wilkie's mind appalled her.
She now understood why he had declared himself ready to brave public
opinion--why he had proved willing to accept his share of the past
ignominy. It was not his mother's, but the Count de Chalusse's estate
that he claimed. "Ah! so you've heard of that," she said, in a tone
of bitter irony. And then, remembering M. Isidore Fortunat, she asked:
"Some one has sold you this valuable secret. How much have you promised
to pay him in case of success?"

Although Wilkie prided himself on being very clever, he did not pretend
to be a diplomatist, and, indeed, he was greatly disconcerted by this
question; still, recovering himself, he replied: "It doesn't matter how
I obtained the information--whether I paid for it, or whether it cost
me nothing--but I know that you are a Chalusse, and that you are
the heiress of the count's property, which is valued at eight or ten
millions of francs. Do you deny it?"

Madame d'Argeles sadly shook her head. "I deny nothing," she replied,
"but I am about to tell you something which will destroy all your plans
and extinguish your hopes. I am resolved, understand, and my resolution
is irrevocable, never to assert my rights. To receive this fortune, I
sho