nd I consecrated all that was noble and generous in my nature
to you. Oh! I will discover the vile coward who sent you here, who
betrayed my secret. I will discover him and I will have my revenge! You
were never to know this, Wilkie. In parting from you, I took a solemn
oath never to see you again, and to die without the supreme consolation
of feeling your lips upon my forehead."

She could not continue; sobs choked her utterance. And for more than a
minute the silence was so profound that one could hear the sound of low
conversation in the hall outside, the exclamations of the players as
they greeted each unexpected turn of luck, and occasionally a cry of
"Banco!" or "I stake one hundred louis!" Standing silent and motionless
near the window, Wilkie gazed with consternation at Madame d'Argeles,
his mother, who was crouching in the middle of the room with her face
hidden in her hands, and sobbing as if her heart would break. He would
willingly have given his third share in Pompier de Nanterre to have
made his escape. The strangeness of the scene appalled him. It was
not emotion that he felt, but an instinctive fear mingled with
commiseration. And he was not only ill at ease, but he was angry
with himself for what he secretly styled his weakness. "Women are
incomprehensible," he thought. "It would be so easy to explain things
quietly and properly, but they must always cry and have a sort of
melodrama."

Suddenly the sound of footsteps near the door roused him from his
stupor. He shuddered at the thought that some one might come in. He
hated the very idea of ridicule. So summoning all his courage he went
toward Madame d'Argeles, and, raising her from the floor, he exclaimed:
"Don't cry so. You grieve me, upon my word! Pray get up. Some one is
coming. Do you hear me? Some one is coming." Thereupon, as she offered
no resistance, he half led, half carried her to an arm-chair, into
which she sank heavily. "Now she is going to faint!" thought Wilkie,
in despair. What should he do? Call for help? He dared not. However,
necessity inspired him. He knelt at Madame d'Argeles's feet, and gently
said: "Come, come, be reasonable! Why do you give way like this? I don't
reproach you!"

Slowly, with an air of humility which was indescribably touching,
she took her hands from her face, and for the first time raised her
tear-stained eyes to her son's. "Wilkie," she murmured.

"Madame!"

She heaved a deep sigh, and in a half-stifled v