saffected subjects can do nothing. The nobility has
lost its rights, and the highest in the land are treated the same as
the meanest peasants!' Lower down I find,--'My heart loves to picture to
itself the likeness of our son. He will have the spirit, the mind, the
beauty, the grace, all the fascinations of his mother. He will inherit
from his father, pride, valour, and the sentiments of a noble race. And
the other, what will he be like? I tremble to think of it. Hatred can
only engender a monster. Heaven reserves strength and beauty for the
children of love!' The monster, that is I!" said the advocate, with
intense rage. "Whilst the other--But let us ignore these preliminaries
to an outrageous action. I only desired up to the present to show you
the aberration of my father's reason under the influence of his passion.
We shall soon come to the point."

M. Tabaret was astonished at the strength of this passion, of which Noel
was disturbing the ashes. Perhaps, he felt it all the more keenly on
account of those expressions which recalled his own youth. He understood
how irresistible must have been the strength of such a love and he
trembled to speculate as to the result.

"Here is," resumed Noel, holding up a sheet of paper, "not one of those
interminable epistles from which I have read you short extracts, but a
simple billet. It is dated from Venice at the beginning of May; it is
short but nevertheless decisive; 'Dear Valerie,--Tell me, as near as
possible, the probable date of your confinement. I await your reply
with an anxiety you would imagine, could you but guess my projects with
regard to our child.'

"I do not know," said Noel, "whether Madame Gerdy understood; anyhow
she must have answered at once, for this is what my father wrote on the
14th: 'Your reply, my darling, is what I did not dare expect it to be.
The project I had conceived is now practicable. I begin to feel more
calm and secure. Our son shall bear my name; I shall not be obliged to
separate myself from him. He shall be reared by my side, in my mansion,
under my eyes, on my knees, in my arms. Shall I have strength enough to
bear this excess of happiness? I have a soul for grief, shall I have
one for joy? Oh! my adored one, oh! my precious child, fear nothing, my
heart is vast, enough to love you both! I set out to-morrow for Naples,
from whence I shall write to you at length. Happen what may, however,
though I should have to sacrifice the important in