f his fingers.

"Oh! good Heavens," murmured Norine, who had turned quite pale, "I
feared that he had slit his hand."

For a moment Mathieu wondered if he would serve any useful purpose by
fulfilling the strange mission he had undertaken. Then it seemed to him
that it might be as well to say at least a word of warning to the young
woman who had grown so calm and quiet, thanks to the life of work
which she had at last embraced. And he proceeded very prudently, only
revealing the truth by slow degrees. Nevertheless, there came a moment
when, after reminding Norine of the birth of Alexandre-Honore, it became
necessary for him to add that the boy was living.

The mother looked at Mathieu in evident consternation. "He is living,
living! Why do you tell me that? I was so pleased at knowing nothing."

"No doubt; but it is best that you should know. I have even been assured
that he must now be in Paris, and I wondered whether he might have found
you, and have come to see you."

At this she lost all self-possession. "What! Have come to see me! Nobody
has been to see me. Do you think, then, that he might come? But I don't
want him to do so! I should go mad! A big fellow of fifteen falling on
me like that--a lad I don't know and don't care for! Oh! no, no; prevent
it, I beg of you; I couldn't--I couldn't bear it!"

With a gesture of utter distraction she had burst into tears, and had
caught hold of the little one near her, pressing him to her breast as if
to shield him from the other, the unknown son, the stranger, who by his
resurrection threatened to thrust himself in some degree in the younger
lad's place.

"No, no!" she cried. "I have but one child; there is only one I love; I
don't want any other."

Cecile had risen, greatly moved, and desirous of bringing her sister to
reason. Supposing that the other son should come, how could she turn
him out of doors? At the same time, though her pity was aroused for the
abandoned one, she also began to bewail the loss of their happiness.
It became necessary for Mathieu to reassure them both by saying that he
regarded such a visit as most improbable. Without telling them the exact
truth, he spoke of the elder lad's disappearance, adding, however, that
he must be ignorant even of his mother's name. Thus, when he left the
sisters, they already felt relieved and had again turned to their little
boxes while smiling at their son, to whom they had once more intrusted
the scissors in or