's. And perhaps an idea of saving her empire by placing the works
in the hands of that heir was dimly rising within her, above all her
prejudices and her rancor. But however that might be, her feelings for
the time remained confused, and the only clear thing was her desperate
torment at being now and forever childless, a torment which goaded her
on to seek another's child with the wild idea of making that child in
some slight degree her own.

Mathieu, however, asked her, "Am I to inform Beauchene of the steps I
take?"

"Do you as you please," she answered. "Still, that would be the best."

That same evening there came a complete rupture between herself and her
husband. She threw in Beauchene's face all the contempt and loathing
that she had felt for him for years. Hopeless as she was, she revenged
herself by telling him everything that she had on her heart and
mind. And her slim dark figure, upborne by bitter rage, assumed such
redoubtable proportions in his eyes that he felt frightened by her and
fled. Henceforth they were husband and wife in name only. It was logic
on the march, it was the inevitable disorganization of a household
reaching its climax, it was rebellion against nature's law and
indulgence in vice leading to the gradual decline of a man of
intelligence, it was a hard worker sinking into the sloth of so-called
pleasure; and then, death having snatched away the only son, the home
broke to pieces--the wife--fated to childlessness, and the husband
driven away by her, rolling through debauchery towards final ruin.

But Mathieu, keeping his promise to Constance, discreetly began his
researches. And before he even consulted Beauchene it occurred to him to
apply at the Foundling Hospital. If, as he anticipated, the child were
dead, the affair would go no further. Fortunately enough he remembered
all the particulars: the two names, Alexandre-Honore, given to the
child, the exact date of the deposit at the hospital, indeed all the
little incidents of the day when he had driven thither with La Couteau.
And when he was received by the director of the establishment, and had
explained to him the real motives of his inquiries, at the same time
giving his name, he was surprised by the promptness and precision of
the answer: Alexandre-Honore, put out to nurse with the woman Loiseau
at Rougemont, had first kept cows, and had then tried the calling of a
locksmith; but for three months past he had been in apprenticeship