'The letters,' said he in a short tone. I handed them
to him."

"How!" cried old Tabaret, "these letters,--the true ones? How
imprudent!"

"And why?"

"If he had--I don't know; but--" the old fellow hesitated.

The advocate laid his hand upon his friend's shoulder. "I was there,"
said he in a hollow tone; "and I promise you the letters were in no
danger."

Noel's features assumed such an expression of ferocity that the old
fellow was almost afraid, and recoiled instinctively. "He would have
killed him," thought he.

"That which I have done for you this evening, my friend," resumed the
advocate, "I did for the viscount. I obviated, at least for the moment,
the necessity of reading all of these hundred and fifty-six letters.
I told him only to stop at those marked with a cross, and to carefully
read the passages indicated with a red pencil."

"It was an abridgment of his penance," remarked old Tabaret.

"He was seated," continued Noel, "before a little table, too fragile
even to lean upon. I was standing with my back to the fireplace in which
a fire was burning. I followed his slightest movements; and I scanned
his features closely. Never in my life have I seen so sad a spectacle,
nor shall I forget it, if I live for a thousand years. In less than five
minutes his face changed to such an extent that his own valet would not
have recognized him. He held his handkerchief in his hand, with which
from time to time he mechanically wiped his lips. He grew paler and
paler, and his lips became as white as his handkerchief. Large drops of
sweat stood upon his forehead, and his eyes became dull and clouded, as
if a film had covered them; but not an exclamation, not a sigh, not a
groan, not even a gesture, escaped him. At one moment, I felt such pity
for him that I was almost on the point of snatching the letters from his
hands, throwing them into the fire and taking him in my arms, crying,
'No, you are my brother! Forget all; let us remain as we are and love
one another!'"

M. Tabaret took Noel's hand, and pressed it. "Ah!" he said, "I recognise
my generous boy."

"If I have not done this, my friend, it is because I thought to myself,
'Once these letters destroyed, would he recognise me as his brother?'"

"Ah! very true."

"In about half an hour, he had finished reading; he arose, and facing me
directly, said, 'You are right, sir. If these letters are really written
by my father, as I believe them to be, they distinc