my heart beat faster. You and I can never have anything to say to each
other in this life, beyond"--her voice changed, she paused--"beyond one
thing--"

Going to the bed where the child lay, she drew the curtain softly, and
pointing, she said:

"There is my child. I have set my life to the one task, to keep him to
myself, and yet to win for him the heritage of the dukedom of Bercy.
You shall yet pay to him the price of your wrong-doing."

She drew back slightly so that he could see the child lying with its rosy
face half buried in its pillow, the little hand lying like a flower upon
the coverlet.

Once more with a passionate exclamation he moved nearer to the child.

"No farther!" she said, stepping before him.

When she saw the wild impulse in his face to thrust her aside, she added:
"It is only the shameless coward that strikes the dead. You had a wife--
Guida d'Avranche, but Guida d'Avranche is dead. There only lives the
mother of this child, Guida Landresse de Landresse."

She looked at him with scorn, almost with hatred. Had he touched her--
but she would rather pity than loathe!

Her words roused all the devilry in him. The face of the child had sent
him mad.