He then confirmed what his daughter had told me. From my birth he had
earnestly desired to undertake my education. But his brother Tristan
had always stubbornly opposed this desire. There the chevalier's brow
darkened.

"You do not know," he said, "how baneful have been the consequences of
that simple wish of mine--baneful for me, and for you too. But that must
remain wrapped in mystery--a hideous mystery, the blood of the
Atridae. . . ."

He took my hand, and added, in a broken voice:

"Bernard, we are both of us victims of a vicious family. This is not
the moment to pile up charges against those who in this very hour are
standing before the terrible tribunal of God; but they have done me an
irreparable wrong--they have broken my heart. The wrong they have done
you shall be repaired--I swear it by the memory of your mother. They
have deprived you of education; they have made you a partner in their
brigandage; yet your soul has remained great and pure as was the soul of
the angel who gave you birth. You will correct the mistakes which others
made in your childhood; you will receive an education suitable to your
rank. And then, Bernard, you will restore the honour of your family. You
will, won't you? Promise me this, Bernard. It is the one thing I long
for. I will throw myself at your knees if so I may win your confidence;
and I shall win it, for Providence has destined you to be my son. Ah,
once it was my dream that you should be more completely mine. If, when
I made my second petition, they had granted you to my loving care, you
would have been brought up with my daughter and you would certainly have
become her husband. But God would not have it so. You have now to begin
your education, whereas hers is almost finished. She is of an age to
marry; and, besides, her choice is already made. She loves M. de la
Marche; in fact, their marriage is soon to take place. Probably she had
told you."

I stammered out a few confused words. The affection and generous ideas
of this noble man had moved me profoundly, and I was conscious of a new
nature, as it were, awakening within me. But when he pronounced the name
of his future son-in-law, all my savage instincts rose up again, and I
felt that no principle of social loyalty would make me renounce my claim
to her whom I regarded as my fairly won prize. I grew pale; I grew red;
I gasped for breath. Luckily, we were interrupted by the Abbe Aubert
(the Jansenist cure), who came to