Now let us sign our formal contract in
lieu of the temporary one you gave me the other day."
It is needless to say that Wilkie signed it eagerly. Not so the
viscount; he read the document through carefully, before appending
his signature, and then exclaimed: "The estate that belongs to you
is that of the Count de Chalusse, your uncle. He leaves, I am
informed, at least eight or ten millions of property."
By M. Wilkie's excited gestures, by the glitter in his eyes, it
might have been supposed that this wonderful good fortune was too
much for him, and that he was going mad. "I knew that I belonged
to a noble family," he began. "The Count de Chalusse my uncle! I
shall have a coronet on the corner of my visiting cards."
But with a gesture M. de Coralth silenced him. "Wait a little
before you rejoice," said he. "Yes, your mother is the sister of
the Count de Chalusse, and it is through her that you are an heir
to the estate. But--don't grieve too much--there are similar
misfortunes in many of our most distinguished families--
circumstances--the obstinacy of parents--a love more powerful than
reason----" The viscount paused, certainly he had no prejudices;
but at the moment of telling this interesting young man who his
mother really was, he hesitated.
"Go on," insisted M. Wilkie.
"Well--when your mother was a young girl, about twenty, she fled
from her paternal home with a man she loved.
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