She rose, and said with an apparent assurance she was far from feeling: 

“You forget, monsieur, that you are speaking to a woman who is now advanced in life, who is married, and who has grown sons.  If your brother loved me, it was his affair, and not yours.  If, young and ignorant, I was led into imprudence, it is not your place to remind me of it.  This past which you evoke I buried in oblivion twenty years ago.”

“Thus you have forgotten all that happened?”

“Absolutely all; everything.”

“Even your child, madame?”

This question, uttered in a sneer of triumph, fell upon Mme. Fauvel like a thunder-clap.  She dropped tremblingly into her seat, murmuring: 

“My God!  How did he discover it?”

Had her own happiness alone been at stake, she would have instantly thrown herself upon a Clameran’s mercy.  But she had her family to defend, and the consciousness of this gave her strength to resist him.

“Do you wish to insult me, monsieur?” she asked.

“Do you pretend to say you have forgotten Valentin-Raoul?”

She saw that this man did indeed know all.  How?  It little mattered.  He certainly knew; but she determined to deny everything, even the most positive proofs, if he should produce them.

For an instant she had an idea of ordering the Marquis of Clameran to leave the house; but prudence stayed her.  She thought it best to discover how much he really knew.

“Well,” she said with a forced laugh, “will you be kind enough to state what you wish with me?”

“Certainly, madame.  Two years ago the vicissitudes of exile took my brother to London.  There, at the house of a friend, he met a young man by the name of Raoul.  Gaston was so struck by the youth’s appearance and intelligence, that he inquired who he was, and discovered that beyond a doubt this boy was his son, and your son, madame.”

“This is quite a romance you are relating.”

“Yes, madame, a romance the denouement of which is in your hands.  Your mother certainly used every precaution to conceal your secret; but the best-laid plans always have some weak point.  After your marriage, one of your mother’s London friends came to Tarascon, and spread the report of what had taken place at the English village.  This lady also revealed your true name to the nurse who was bringing up the child.  Thus everything was discovered by my brother, who had no difficulty in obtaining the most positive proofs of the boy’s parentage.”

Louis closely watched Mme. Fauvel’s face to see the effect of his words.

To his astonishment she betrayed not the slightest agitation or alarm; she was smiling as if entertained by the recital of his romance.

“Well, what next?” she asked carelessly.

“Then, madame, Gaston acknowledged the child.  But the Clamerans are poor; my brother died on a pallet in a lodging-house; and I have only an income of twelve hundred francs to live upon.  What is to become of Raoul, alone with no relations or friends to assist him?  My brother’s last moments were embittered by anxiety for the welfare of his child.”