orgetting myself, I replied
rather sharply, "You are mistaken, madam, in thinking that I am
unrelated to your family."

"You will have to prove that to me, young man."

Confused and ashamed, I withdrew into the corner and tried to talk to
Mlle. Helouin about poetry and art, but at last, upset and distracted, I
arose and walked out of the room. Mlle. de Porhoet followed me.

"Monsieur Odiot," she said, "would you mind seeing me home? My servant
has not arrived, and I am growing too feeble now to walk without help."

Naturally, I went with her.

"What did you mean," she said, as we walked on together, "by claiming to
be a relation of mine?"

"I hope," I replied very humbly, "that you will pardon a jest that--"

"A jest!" she interrupted. "Is a matter touching my honour a jest? I
see; a remark which would be an insult if addressed to a man becomes
only a jest when it is levelled at an old, unprotected woman."

After that, nothing was left to me, as a man of honour, but to entrust
her with my secret. There had been several marriages between our
families, and after listening with great interest to the story of my
troubles, she became wonderfully kind in her manner to me.

"You must come and see me to-morrow, cousin," she said, when we parted.
"My law-suit is going very badly and I should like you to go through all
my papers, and see if you can discover any new documents in support of
my claim. Do not despair, my dear, over your own misfortunes. I think I
shall be able to help you."

_II.--Love and Jealousy_

I am afraid I lack the industry necessary for keeping a diary. It is now
two months since I wrote the last entry. If I had made every night a
brief note of the events of the day, I should now have a better view of
my position. Has Mlle. de Porhoet betrayed my secret? There has
certainly been a curious change in my relations with the Laroques. I
fancy it began on the day when Marguerite and I met at last on an equal
footing at Mlle. de Porhoet's house. The document which I had just then
found may not be as important as we thought, but our common joy in what
we considered was a discovery of tremendous value brought us closer
together.

But I cannot understand Marguerite. Sometimes she still goes out of her
way to be insulting towards me, and sometimes she treats me with a sweet
frankness which has something sisterly in it. One day, for instance, she
came to my window and asked me if I would go for a walk