“Wait, young man, wait; do not allow pride to carry you thus away, for I have not yet told you the name of her who gave you being, and you are still ignorant of the dreadful secret of your birth.” “Well: be it so. I shall not with the less respect and veneration hear the name of my mother. What was my mother’s name?” “The Marchioness d’Auray,” slowly replied the old man, as if regretting that he was compelled to mention her name. “What is it that you tell me!” cried Paul, starting from his chair, and seizing the hands of the old man. “The truth!” replied Achard, sorrowfully. “Then Emanuel is my brother--Marguerite is my sister.” “Do you then already know them?” exclaimed the old servant, much astounded. “Oh! you were right, old man,” said Paul, throwing himself into his chair. “God orders all things according to His will, and what He does ordain, His wisdom has long before matured.” They both remained silent for a time, when at length Paul raised his head, and resolutely fixing his eyes on the old man’s face, said: “Now, I am ready to hear all you have to communicate--you may go on.” CHAPTER IX.--FATAL LOVE. I shall a tale unfold Will harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood; Make thy two eyes like stars, start from their spheres; Thy knotted and combined locks to part. And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porcupine. Shakespeare. The old man seemed to be summoning up his recollections for a time, and then began: