Such is the truth, and I have no reason to make their
disgrace known. Besides, if I proclaimed it from the house-tops,
no one would believe me. But you are my son, and I owe you the
truth, the whole truth!"
In any age but the present, Madame d'Argeles's story would have
seemed absolutely incredible. Nowadays, however, such episodes
are by no means rare. Two men--two men of exalted rank and highly
respected, to use a common expression--associate in opening a
gaming-house under the very eyes of the police, and in coining
money out of a woman's supposed disgrace. 'Tis after all but an
everyday occurrence.
The unhappy woman had told her story with apparent coldness, and
yet, in her secret heart, she perhaps hoped that by disclosing her
terrible sacrifice and long martyrdom, she would draw a burst of
gratitude and tenderness from her son, calculated to repay her for
all her sufferings. But the hope was vain. It would have been
easier to draw water from a solid rock than to, extract a
sympathetic tear from Wilkie's eyes. He was only alive to the
practical side of this narrative, and what impressed him most was
the impudent assurance of Madame d'Argeles's business associates.
"Not a bad idea; not bad at all," he exclaimed. And, boiling over
with curiosity, he continued: "I would give something handsome to
know those men's names.
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