Pascal turned pale, moved to the depths of his soul by his mother’s extraordinary vehemence. He trembled lest she should say: “And you, my son, would you marry the child of such a mother?” For he knew his mother’s prejudices, and the great importance she attached to a spotless reputation transmitted from parent to child, from generation to generation. “The baroness knew that her husband adored her, and hearing of his return she became terrified; she lost her senses,” he ventured to say in extenuation. “Would you try to defend her?” exclaimed Madame Ferailleur. “Do you really think one can atone for a fault by a crime?” “No, certainly not, but----” “Perhaps you would censure the baroness more severely if you knew what her daughter has suffered--if you knew the perils and miseries she has been exposed to from the moment her mother left her on a door-step, near the central markets, till the day when her father found her. It is a miracle that she did not perish.” Where had Madame Ferailleur learned these particulars? Pascal asked himself this question without being able to answer it. “I don’t understand you, mother,” he faltered. “Then you know nothing of Mademoiselle Marguerite’s past life. Is it possible she never told you anything about it?” “I only know that she has been very unhappy.” “Has she never alluded to the time when she was an apprentice?” “She has only told me that she earned her living with her own hands at one time of her life.” “Well, I am better informed on the subject.” Pascal’s amazement was changed to terror. “You, mother, you!” “Yes; I--I have been to the asylum where she was received and educated. I have had a conversation with two Sisters of Charity who remember her, and it is scarcely an hour since I left the people to whom she was formerly bound as an apprentice.” Standing opposite his mother with one hand convulsively clutching the back of the chair he was leaning on, Pascal tried to nerve himself for some terrible blow. For was not his life at stake? Did not his whole future depend upon the revelations Madame Ferailleur was about to make? “So this was your object in going out, mother?” he faltered. “Yes.” “And you went without warning me?” “Was it necessary? What! you love a young girl, you swear in my presence that she shall be your wife, and you think it strange that I should try to ascertain whether she is worthy of you or not? It would be very strange if I did not do so.” “This idea occurred to you so suddenly!” Madame Ferailleur gave an almost imperceptible shrug of the shoulders, as if she were astonished to have to answer such puerile objections. “Have you already forgotten the disparaging remarks made by our new servant, Madame Vantrasson?” “Good Heavens!”