s mother's voice, always her most gracious quality, just now
affected him almost to tears.

"I did write, mother, several times. The journey may wait. I have bad
news for you."

"None is possible for me while you live, my son."

"Yes, yes," he said. "The man Carteaux, having heard of Schmidt's
absence and mine, has formally charged me with shooting him without
warning in order to steal his despatches."

"Ah, you should have killed him. I said so."

"Yes, perhaps. The charge is clearly made on paper, attested by
witnesses. He is said to be dying."

"Thank God."

"I have only my word." He told quietly of the weakness of his position,
of the political aspect of the affair, of his interview and his
resignation.

"Did you ask Mr. Randolph to apologize, Rene?"

"Oh, mother, one cannot do that with a cabinet minister."

"Why not? And is this all? You resign a little clerkship. I am surprised
that it troubles you."

"Mother, it is ruin."

"Nonsense! What is there to make you talk of ruin?"

"The good word of men lost; the belief in my honor. Oh, mother, do you
not see it? And it is a case where there is nothing to be done, nothing.
If Randolph, after my long service, does not believe me, who will?"

She was very little moved by anything he said. She lived outside of the
world of men, one of those island lives on which the ocean waves of
exterior existence beat in vain. The want of sympathy painfully affected
him. She had said it was of no moment, and had no helpful advice to
give. The constantly recurring thought of Margaret came and went as they
talked, and added to his pain. He tried to make her see both the shame
and even the legal peril of his position. It was quite useless. He was
for her the Vicomte de Courval, and these only common people whom a
revolution had set in high places. Never before had he fully realized
the quality of his mother's unassailable pride. It was a foretaste of
what he might have to expect when she should learn of his engagement to
Margaret; but now that, too, must end. He went away, exhausted as from a
bodily struggle.

In the hall he met Margaret just come in, the joy of time-nurtured love
on her face. "Oh, Rene!" she cried. "How I have longed for thee! Come
out into the garden. The servants hear everything in the house."

They went out and sat down under the trees, she talking gaily, he
silent.

"What is the matter?" she inquired at last, of a sudden anxious.

"Pearl," he