dead. He
had killed himself to avoid the dishonor of a trial and the shame of
death upon the scaffold. Juana did not see at first the logic of
such conduct, and her husband was obliged to explain to her the fine
jurisprudence of French law, which does not prosecute the dead.

"But, papa, didn't you tell us the other day that the king could
pardon?" asked Francisque.

"The king can give nothing but life," said Juan, half scornfully.

Diard and Juana, the spectators of this little scene, were differently
affected by it. The glance, moist with joy, which his wife cast upon her
eldest child was a fatal revelation to the husband of the secrets of
a heart hitherto impenetrable. That eldest child was all Juana; Juana
comprehended him; she was sure of his heart, his future; she adored him,
but her ardent love was a secret between herself, her child, and God.
Juan instinctively enjoyed the seeming indifference of his mother in
presence of his father and brother, for she pressed him to her heart
when alone. Francisque was Diard, and Juana's incessant care and
watchfulness betrayed her desire to correct in the son the vices of the
father and to encourage his better qualities. Juana, unaware that her
glance had said too much and that her husband had rightly interpreted
it, took Francisque in her lap and gave him, in a gentle voice still
trembling with the pleasure that Juan's answer had brought her, a lesson
upon honor, simplified to his childish intelligence.

"That boy's character requires care," said Diard.

"Yes," she replied simply.

"How about Juan?"

Madame Diard, struck by the tone in which the words were uttered, looked
at her husband.

"Juan was born perfect," he added.

Then he sat down gloomily, and reflected. Presently, as his wife
continued silent, he added:--

"You love one of _your_ children better than the other."

"You know that," she said.

"No," said Diard, "I did not know until now which of them you
preferred."

"But neither of them have ever given me a moment's uneasiness," she
answered quickly.

"But one of them gives you greater joys," he said, more quickly still.

"I never counted them," she said.

"How false you women are!" cried Diard. "Will you dare to say that Juan
is not the child of your heart?"

"If that were so," she said, with dignity, "do you think it a
misfortune?"

"You have never loved me. If you had chosen, I would have conquered
worlds for your sake. You know all that