iplied. This was her hour, he reflected. Perhaps an all-wise
Providence had selected him to fill this part and to bring glory to her
withered heart. At any rate, he would have been unspeakably cruel to
disillusionize her.

He led her to a chair, then knelt and bowed his head to her straying
fingers, murmuring those terms of endearment which cause a mother's
breast to thrill. When he looked up to Madelon, at last, she saw that he
was crying--quite like a little boy.

From the disconnected words that fell from the blind woman's lips he
began, after a time, to piece the truth together.

Emile had been an only son, a paragon of manly virtues, the keeper of
his mother's soul. There had come a great shock and a great disgrace
that had evidently conspired to unseat her reason. She spoke indirectly
of them, as a child marked by some prenatal influence recoils at contact
with the cause of its infirmity. Then, it seemed, Madelon had come to
watch over and to comfort her, filling a son's place with a daughter's
devotion. There had been persecution, want, the loss of property through
an enemy of whom the mother spoke ramblingly. Van Dam recollected the
dried-up villain in the closet down the hall, and felt a flame of rage
mount through him. He longed mightily to ask questions, to run the
matter down without delay, but dared not, for he was in momentary dread
that the imposture would be discovered. So he spoke as infrequently as
possible, and substituted for words those gentle caresses and endearing
attentions that are far more welcome to a starving heart. Madelon
remained close by, adding a grain of comfort and encouragement now and
then, and regarding Van Dam with a strangely bewildered attention.

But the mother was far from strong. Her excitement had wearied her, and
now, with the relaxation of contentment, fatigue stole over her. She lay
back among the soft cushions, her restless hands moving more slowly, her
gentle voice stilled. She dozed at last, her face serene and beatific.

Madelon motioned to Van Dam, and he rose. Noiselessly they stole across
the hall and into the drawing-room, leaving the placid figure in repose.

She turned upon him, saying, doubtfully: "With every moment you surprise
me, Emile. You are not at all what I expected, not at all the cousin of
whom I have heard so much! Even in looks you seem--how shall I say
it?--strange."

"Are you pleased or disappointed?"

"Ah! Pleased! I--I feel that I must we