he, with a smile which sent a shudder
through the veins of him he thus addressed. "When I presented myself
before you for the first time in London, it was to ask you what had
become of my fortune; the second time it was to demand who had sullied
my name; and this time I come before you to ask a question far more
terrible than any other, to say to you as God said to the first
murderer: 'Cain, what hast thou done to thy brother Abel?' My lord, what
have you done with your sister--your sister, who was my mother?"

De Winter shrank back from the fire of those scorching eyes.

"Your mother?" he said.

"Yes, my lord, my mother," replied the young man, advancing into the
room until he was face to face with Lord de Winter, and crossing his
arms. "I have asked the headsman of Bethune," he said, his voice hoarse
and his face livid with passion and grief. "And the headsman of Bethune
gave me a reply."

De Winter fell back in a chair as though struck by a thunderbolt and in
vain attempted a reply.

"Yes," continued the young man; "all is now explained; with this key I
open the abyss. My mother inherited an estate from her husband, you have
assassinated her; my name would have secured me the paternal estate,
you have deprived me of it; you have despoiled me of my fortune. I am
no longer astonished that you knew me not. I am not surprised that you
refused to recognize me. When a man is a robber it is hard to call him
nephew whom he has impoverished; when one is a murderer, to recognize
the man whom one has made an orphan."

These words produced a contrary effect to that which Mordaunt had
anticipated. De Winter remembered the monster that Milady had been; he
rose, dignified and calm, restraining by the severity of his look the
wild glance of the young man.

"You desire to fathom this horrible secret?" said De Winter; "well,
then, so be it. Know, then, what manner of woman it was for whom to-day
you call me to account. That woman had, in all probability, poisoned my
brother, and in order to inherit from me she was about to assassinate me
in my turn. I have proof of it. What say you to that?"

"I say that she was my mother."

"She caused the unfortunate Duke of Buckingham to be stabbed by a man
who was, ere that, honest, good and pure. What say you to that crime, of
which I have the proof?"

"She was my mother."

"On our return to France she had a young woman who was attached to one
of her opponents poisoned in the conven