You
have heard my vows of vengeance if I ever succeeded in discovering
him. Ah, well, Lia, I have discovered him. The man who stole my
share of earthly happiness was the Count de Chalusse, your
brother."
With a sudden gesture Madame d'Argeles freed her hand from the
baron's grasp, and recoiled as terrified as if she had seen a
spectre rise up before her. Then with her hands extended as if to
ward off the horrible apparition, she exclaimed: "O, my God!"
A bitter smile curved the baron's lips. "What do you fear?" he
asked. "Isn't your brother dead? He has defrauded me alike of
happiness and vengeance!"
If her son's life had depended on a single word, Madame d'Argeles
could not have uttered it. She knew what mental agony had urged
the baron to a sort of moral suicide, and led him to contract the
vice in which he wasted his life and squandered, or, at least
risk, his millions.
"Nor is this all," he continued. "Listen. As I have often told
you, I was sure that my wife became a mother in my absence. I
sought the child for years, hoping that through the offspring I
might discover the father. Ah, well! I've found what I sought, at
last. The child is now a beautiful young girl. She lives at the
Hotel de Chalusse as your brother's daughter. She is known as
Mademoiselle Marguerite."
Madame d'Argeles listened, leaning against the wall for support,
and trembling like a leaf.
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