rich enough to satisfy his greed without feeling it."

M. Wilkie remained silent for a moment, as if he were deliberating upon
the course he ought to pursue. "If my father is reasonable, I will be
the same," he said at last. "I will choose as an arbiter between us one
of my friends--a man who acts on the square, like myself--the Marquis de
Valorsay."

"My God! do you know him?"

"He is one of my most intimate friends."

Madame d'Argeles had become very pale. "Wretched boy!" she exclaimed.
"You don't know that it's the marquis----" She paused abruptly. One word
more and she would have betrayed Pascal Ferailleur's secret plans, with
which she had been made acquainted by Baron Trigault. Had she a right
to do this, even to put her son on his guard against a man whom she
considered the greatest villain in the world?

"Well?" insisted M. Wilkie, in surprise.

But Madame d'Argeles had recovered her self-possession. "I only wished
to warn you against too close a connection with the Marquis de Valorsay.
He has an excellent position in society, but yours will be far more
brilliant. His star is on the wane; yours is just rising. All that he is
regretting, you have a right to hope for. Perhaps even now he is jealous
of you, and wishes to persuade you to take some false step."

"Ah! you little know him!"

"I have warned you."

M. Wilkie took up his hat, but, though he was longing to depart,
embarrassment kept him to the spot. He vaguely felt that he ought not to
leave his mother in this style. "I hope I shall soon have some good news
to bring you," he began.

"Before night I shall have left this house," she answered.

"Of course. But you are going to give me your new address."

"No."

"What?--No!"

She shook her head sadly, and in a scarcely audible voice responded: "It
is not likely that we shall meet again."

"And the two millions that I am to turn over to you?"

"Mr. Patterson will collect the money. As for me, say to yourself
that I'm dead. You have broken the only link that bound me to life, by
proving the futility of the most terrible sacrifices. However, I am a
mother, and I forgive you." Then as he did not move, and as she felt
that her strength was deserting her, she dragged herself from the room,
murmuring, "Farewell!"

XVI.

Stupefied with astonishment, M. Wilkie stood for a moment silent and
motionless. "Allow me," he faltered at last; "Allow me--I wish to
explain." But Madame d'Argeles