from a man who had once loved her. "What can she do with it all?"
muttered the baron, overcome with sorrow and indignation. "How
can she succeed in spending the income of several millions?"

A name, the name of Ferdinand de Coralth, rose to his lips; but he
did not pronounce it. He saw Pascal emerging from the smoking-
room; and though he had forgotten the young advocate's very
existence, his appearance now restored him to a consciousness of
reality. "Ah, well! M. Ferailleur?" he said, like a man suddenly
aroused from some terrible nightmare. Pascal tried to make some
reply, but he was unable to do so--such a flood of incoherent
thoughts was seething and foaming in his brain. "Did you hear, M.
de Valorsay?" continued the baron. "Now we know, beyond the
possibility of doubt, who Mademoiselle Marguerite's mother is.
What is to be done? What would you do in my place?"

"Ah, monsieur! how can I tell?"

"Wouldn't your first thought be of vengeance! It is mine. But
upon whom can I wreak my vengeance? Upon the Count de Chalusse? He
is dead. Upon my wife? Yes, I might do so; but I lack the
courage--Mademoiselle Marguerite remains."

"But she is innocent, monsieur; she has never wronged you."

The baron did not seem to hear this exclamation. "And to make
Mademoiselle Marguerite's life one long misery," said he, "I need
only favor her marriage with the marquis. Ah, he would make her
cruelly expiate the crime of her birth."