tten.

Standing erect, with threatening air, angry look, his forehead scarlet,
the comte looked down upon his son, who, with his head bent down, dared
not raise his eyes towards him. Still, M. de Saint-Remy, for some
motive, made a violent effort to remain calm, and conceal his real
feelings and resentment.

"My father!" said Florestan, half choked. "You were there?"

"I was there."

"You heard, then?"

"All!"

"Ah!" cried the vicomte, in agony, and hiding his face in his hands.

There was a minute's silence. Florestan, at first as much astonished as
annoyed at the unexpected appearance of his father, began to reflect
upon what advantage he could derive from this incident.

"All is not lost," he said to himself; "my father's presence is a stroke
of fate. He knows all; he will not have his name dishonoured. He is not
rich, but he must possess more than twenty-five thousand francs. A
little skill, and I may leave my duchess at peace, and be saved!" Then,
giving to his handsome features an expression of grief and dejection,
moistening his eye with the tears of repentance, assuming his most
touching tone of voice, he exclaimed, clasping his hands with a gesture
of despair:

"Ah, father, I am indeed wretched! After so many years,--to see you--at
such a moment! I must appear to you most culpable; but deign to listen
to me! I beseech you, allow me, not to justify myself, but to explain to
you my conduct! Will you, my father?"

M. de Saint-Remy made no reply; his features remained rigid; but,
seating himself, his chin leaning on the palm of his hand, he
contemplated the vicomte in silence. Had Florestan known the motives
which filled the mind of his father with fury and vengeance, alarmed by
the apparent composure of the comte, he would not, doubtless, have tried
to dupe him. But, ignorant of the suspicions respecting the legitimacy
of his birth, and of his mother's lapse of virtue, he had no doubt of
the success of his deceit, thinking his father, who was very proud of
his name, was capable of making any sacrifice rather than allow it to be
dishonoured.

"My father," resumed Florestan, timidly, "allow me to endeavour, not to
exculpate myself, but to tell you by what a series of involuntary
temptations I have done, in spite of myself,--such--an infamous action."

The vicomte took his father's silence for tacit consent, and continued:

"When I had the misfortune to lose my mother--my poor mother!--I was
alone, w