an in my line of
business has to learn many things. If I did not take the greatest
precautions, I should be deceived daily, and so lead others into error."

Paul had not been more than an hour in the office, but the directions
given to Beaumarchef had already taught him how many of these events
were arranged.

"Though I may be curious," went on Mascarin, "I am the symbol of
discretion; so answer me frankly: How did your mother receive this
annuity?"

"Through a Parisian solicitor."

"Do you know him?"

"Not at all," answered Paul, who had begun to grow uneasy under this
questioning, for a kind of vague apprehension was aroused in his mind,
and he could not see the utility of any of these interrogations. There
was, however, nothing in Mascarin's manner to justify the misgivings
of the young man, for he appeared to ask all these questions in quite a
matter-of-course way, as if they were purely affairs of business.

After a protracted silence, Mascarin resumed,--

"I am half inclined to believe that the solicitor sent the money on his
own account."

"No, sir," answered Paul. "I am sure you are mistaken."

"Why are you so certain?"

"Because my mother, who was the incarnation of truth, often assured me
that my father died before my birth. Poor mother! I loved and respected
her too much to question her on these matters. One day, however,
impelled by an unworthy feeling of curiosity, I dared to ask her the
name of our protector. She burst into tears, and then I felt how mean
and cruel I had been. I never learned his name but I know that he was
not my father."

Mascarin affected not to notice the emotion of his young client.

"Did the allowance cease at your mother's death?" continued he.

"No; it was stopped when I came of age. My mother told me that this
would be the case; but it seems only yesterday that she spoke to me of
it. It was on my birthday, and she had prepared a little treat for my
supper; for in spite of the affliction my birth had caused her, she
loved me fondly. Poor mother! 'Paul,' said she, 'at your birth a genuine
friend promised to help me to bring up and educate you, and he kept his
word. But you are now twenty-one, and must expect nothing more from him.
My son, you are a man now, and I have only you to look to. Work and earn
an honest livelihood----'"

Paul could proceed no farther, for his emotions choked him.

"My mother died suddenly some ten months after this
conversation--without