ng to be the one he sought, he kept his pale
eyes steadily fixed on Norine. The growing anguish with which he saw
her quivering, the appeal that she was evidently making to her memory,
induced him to prolong things for another moment. Then he spoke out:
"I am the child who was put to nurse at Rougemont; my name is
Alexandre-Honore."

There was no need for him to say anything more. The unhappy Norine began
to tremble from head to foot, clasped and wrung her hands, while an
ashen hue came over her distorted features. Good heavens--Beauchene!
Yes, it was Beauchene whom he resembled, and in so striking a manner,
with his eyes of prey, his big jaw which proclaimed an enjoyer consumed
by base voracity, that she was now astonished that she had not been able
to name him at her first glance. Her legs failed her, and she had to sit
down.

"So it's you," said Alexandre.

As she continued shivering, confessing the truth by her manner, but
unable to articulate a word, to such a point did despair and fright
clutch her at the throat, he felt the need of reassuring her a little,
particularly if he was to keep that door open to him.

"You must not upset yourself like that," said he; "you have nothing to
fear from me; it isn't my intention to give you any trouble. Only when
I learnt at last where you were I wished to know you, and that was
natural, wasn't it? I even fancied that perhaps you might be pleased to
see me.. .. Then, too, the truth is that I'm precious badly off. Three
years ago I was silly enough to come back to Paris, where I do little
more than starve. And on the days when one hasn't breakfasted, one feels
inclined to look up one's parents, even though they may have turned one
into the street, for, all the same, they can hardly be so hard-hearted
as to refuse one a plateful of soup."

Tears rose to Norine's eyes. This was the finishing stroke, the return
of that wretched cast-off son, that big suspicious-looking fellow who
accused her and complained of starving. Annoyed at being unable to
elicit from her any response but shivers and sobs, Alexandre turned
to Cecile: "You are her sister, I know," said he; "tell her that it's
stupid of her to go on like that. I haven't come to murder her. It's
funny how pleased she is to see me! Yet I don't make any noise, and I
said nothing whatever to the door-porter downstairs, I assure you."

Then as Cecile, without answering him, rose to go and comfort Norine, he
again became inte