is no mistaking that. It is by no means a common complaint,
in spite of the constant working of that organ. What can have caused
it? There appears to be no injury to the brain or its bony covering, the
mischief, then, must have been caused by some violent emotion, a great
grief, some unexpected catastrophe . . ."

Noel interrupted his friend by a gesture, and drew him into the
embrasure of the window. "Yes, my friend," said he in a low tone,
"Madame Gerdy has experienced great mental suffering, she has been
frightfully tortured by remorse. Listen, Herve. I will confide our
secret to your honour and your friendship. Madame Gerdy is not my
mother; she despoiled me, to enrich her son with my fortune and my name.
Three weeks ago I discovered this unworthy fraud; she knows it, and
the consequences terrify her. Ever since, she has been dying minute by
minute."

The advocate expected some exclamations of astonishment, and a host
of questions from his friend; but the doctor received the explanation
without remark, as a simple statement, indispensable to his
understanding the case.

"Three weeks," he murmured; "then, that explains everything. Has she
appeared to suffer much during the time?"

"She complained of violent headaches, dimness of sight, and intolerable
pains in her ears, she attributed all that though to megrims. Do
not, however, conceal anything from me, Herve; is her complaint very
serious?"

"So serious, my friend, so invariably fatal, that I am almost
undertaking a hopeless task in attempting a cure."

"Ah! good heaven!"

"You asked for the truth, and I have told it you. If I had that courage,
it was because you told me this poor woman is not your mother. Nothing
short of a miracle can save her; but this miracle we may hope and
prepare for. And now to work!"

CHAPTER VI.

The clock of the St. Lazare terminus was striking eleven as old Tabaret,
after shaking hands with Noel, left his house, still bewildered by what
he had just heard. Obliged to restrain himself at the time, he now fully
appreciated his liberty of action. It was with an unsteady gait that
he took his first steps in the street, like the toper, who, after being
shut up in a warm room, suddenly goes out into the open air. He was
beaming with pleasure, but at the same time felt rather giddy, from that
rapid succession of unexpected revelations, which, so he thought, had
suddenly placed him in possession of the truth.

Notwithstanding