words with a serious expression, and accompanied them by a glance which
made the notary tremble. "Hush--do not look at me thus; you will make me
mad. I prefer that you should say to me _never_; at least, I could
abhor you, drive you from the house," cried Jacques Ferrand, who again
abandoned his vain hopes. "Yes, for I expect nothing from you. But woe is
me! woe! I know you now enough. You tell me to convince you of my love; do
you not see how unhappy I am! Yet I do all I can to please you. You wish to
be concealed from every eye: I conceal you, perhaps at the risk of
compromising myself; in fine, I do not know who you are; I respect your
secret; I never speak to you about it. I have interrogated you on your past
life; you have not answered me."

"Well! I was wrong; I am going to give you a mark of blind confidence. Oh!
my master, listen to me."

"Once more a bitter joke!"

"No, it is very serious. You must know, you should know, the history of her
to whom you give such generous hospitality."

And Cecily added, in a tone of hypocritical and tearful compunction:

"The daughter of a brave soldier, brother of my Aunt Pipelet, I have
received an education above my condition; I was seduced, then abandoned, by
a rich young man. Then, to escape from the rage of my old father, I fled my
native country." Then, laughing heartily, Cecily added: "There, I hope is a
little story very presentable, and, above all, very probable, for it has
often been related. Amaze your curiosity with that, while waiting for some
revelation more piquant."