“Really, monsieur——­”

“Allow me to finish,” interrupted Louis.  “In that supreme hour Gaston opened his heart to me.  He told me to apply to you.  ‘Valentine,’ said he, ’Valentine will remember the past, and will not let our son want for anything; she is wealthy, she is just and generous; I die with my mind at rest.’”

Mme. Fauvel rose from her seat, and stood, evidently waiting for her visitor to retire.

“You must confess, monsieur,” she said, “that I have shown great patience.”

This imperturbable assurance amazed Louis.

“I do not deny,” she continued, “that I at one time possessed the confidence of M. Gaston de Clameran.  I will prove it by restoring to you your mother’s jewels, with which he intrusted me on his departure.”

While speaking she took from beneath the sofa-cushion the purse of jewels, and handed it to Louis.

“These jewels would have been given to the owner the instant they were called for, monsieur, and I am surprised that your brother never reclaimed them.”

Louis betrayed his astonishment at the sight of the jewels.  He tried to cover his embarrassment by boldly saying: 

“I was told not to mention this sacred trust.”

Mme. Fauvel, without making any reply, laid her hand on the bell-rope and quietly said: 

“You will allow me to end this interview, monsieur, which was only granted for the purpose of placing in your hands these precious jewels.”

Thus dismissed, M. de Clameran was obliged to take his leave without attaining his object.

“As you will, madame,” he said, “I leave you; but before doing so I must tell you the rest of my brother’s dying injunctions:  ’If Valentine disregards the past, and refuses to provide for our son, I enjoin it upon you to compel her to do her duty.’  Meditate upon these words, madame, for what I have sworn to do, upon my honor, shall be done!”

At last Mme. Fauvel was alone.  She could give vent to her despair.

Exhausted at her efforts at self-restraint during the presence of Clameran, she felt weary and crushed in body and spirit.

She had scarcely strength to drag herself up to her chamber, and lock the door.

Now there was no room for doubt; her fears had become realities.  She could fathom the abyss into which she was about to be hurled, and knew that in her fall she would drag her family with her.

God alone, in this hour of danger, could help her, could save her from destruction.  She prayed.

“Oh, my God!” she cried, “punish me for my great sin, and I will evermore adore thy chastising hand!  I have been a bad daughter, an unworthy mother, and a perfidious wife.  Smite me, oh, God, and only me!  In thy just anger spare the innocent, have pity upon my husband and my children!”

What were her twenty years of happiness compared to this hour of misery?  A bitter remorse; nothing more.  Ah, why did she listen to her mother?  Why had she committed moral suicide?