egard to his history.

"Why do you wish to know?"

"Because, three years ago, the first day that I was on board a steamer,
I had a singular sensation. It seemed to me that I had seen it all
before; the cabins, and the narrow ladders, impressed me as familiar; it
seemed to me that I had once played on those very stairs."

She looked around to assure herself that they were entirely alone.

"It was not a dream, Jack. You were three years old when we came from
Algiers. Your father died suddenly, and we came back to Tours."

"What was my father's name?"

She hesitated, much agitated, for she was not prepared for this sudden
curiosity; and yet she could not refuse to answer these questions.

"He was called by one of the grandest names in France, my child--by
a name that you and I would bear to-day if a sudden and terrible
catastrophe had not prevented him from repairing his fault. Ah, we
were very young when we met! I must tell you that at that time I had a
perfect passion for the chase. I remember a little Arabian horse called
Soliman--"

She was gone, at full speed, mounted on this horse, and Jack made no
effort to interrupt her--he knew that it was useless. But when she
stopped to take breath, he profited by this brief halt to return to his
fixed idea.

"What was my father's name?" he repeated.

How astonished those clear eyes looked! She had totally forgotten of
whom they had been speaking. She answered quickly,--"He was called
the Marquis de l'Epau." Jack certainly had but little of his mother's
respect for high birth, its rights and its prerogatives, for he received
with the greatest tranquillity the intelligence of his illustrious
descent. What mattered it to him that his father was a marquis, and
bore a distinguished name? This did not prevent his son from earning his
bread as a stoker on the Cydnus.

"Look here, Charlotte," said D'Argenton impatiently, one day, "something
must be done! A decided step must be taken with this boy. He cannot
remain here forever without doing anything. He is quite well again; he
eats like an ox. He coughs a little still, to be sure, but Dr. Hirsch
says that is nothing,--that he will always cough. He must decide on
something. If the life in the engine-room of a steamer is too severe for
him, let him try a railroad."

Charlotte ventured to say, timidly, "If you could see how he loses his
breath when he climbs the stairs, and how thin he is, you would still
feel that he is fa