ton's guilty silence
(for, if he had helped a friend, why keep it a secret from me?), his
insatiable desire for money, and his frequent journeys to Paris; jealous
too of the work from which he seemed unable to tear himself, I at last
made up my mind to take certain steps, of such a degrading nature that
I cannot tell you about them. Suffice it to say that three days ago I
ascertained that Gaston, when in Paris, visits a house in the Rue de
la Ville l'Eveque, where he guards his mistress with jealous mystery,
unexampled in Paris. The porter was surly, and I could get little out of
him, but that little was enough to put an end to any lingering hope, and
with hope to life. On this point my mind was resolved, and I only waited
to learn the whole truth first.

With this object I went to Paris and took rooms in a house exactly
opposite the one which Gaston visits. Thence I saw him with my own eyes
enter the courtyard on horseback. Too soon a ghastly fact forced itself
on me. This Englishwoman, who seems to me about thirty-six, is known as
Mme. Gaston. This discovery was my deathblow.

I saw him next walking to the Tuileries with a couple of children. Oh!
my dear, two children, the living images of Gaston! The likeness is
so strong that it bears scandal on the face of it. And what pretty
children! in their handsome English costumes! She is the mother of his
children. Here is the key to the whole mystery.

The woman herself might be a Greek statue, stepped down from some
monument. Cold and white as marble, she moves sedately with a mother's
pride. She is undeniably beautiful but heavy as a man-of-war. There
is no breeding or distinction about her; nothing of the English lady.
Probably she is a farmer's daughter from some wretched and remote
country village, or, it may be, the eleventh child of some poor
clergyman!

I reached home, after a miserable journey, during which all sorts of
fiendish thoughts had me at their mercy, with hardly any life left in
me. Was she married? Did he know her before our marriage? Had she been
deserted by some rich man, whose mistress she was, and thus thrown back
upon Gaston's hands? Conjectures without end flitted through my brain,
as though conjecture were needed in the presence of the children.

The next day I returned to Paris, and by a free use of my purse
extracted from the porter the information that Mme. Gaston was legally
married.

His reply to my question took the form, "Yes, _Miss_