“One night,--it is exactly twenty-five years ago,--some one knocked at my door; I went to open it and found your father there, carrying in his arms a woman whose face was veiled. He brought her into this room, and laid her on that bed. And then returning to me in the adjoining room, where I was waiting mute and motionless with astonishment, he placed his hand upon my shoulder, and looking at me in a supplicating manner, although he had the right to command me, said, ‘Louis, you can do more than save my life and honor--you can save the life and honor of her I love--get on horseback, gallop to the next town, and return here in an hour with a doctor.’ He spoke to me in that short and hasty tone, which indicated that there was not a moment to be lost. I immediately obeyed. The day was beginning to break when we returned. The doctor was introduced by the Count de Morlaix into this room, the door of which was immediately closed: he remained there during the whole day; towards five in the afternoon, the doctor left the house, and at nightfall your father also left the house carrying in his arms the mysterious veiled lady whom he had brought the previous night. When they had gone, I came into this room and found you here--you had just been born.” “And how did you learn that this woman was the Marchioness d’Auray?” “Oh!” exclaimed the old man, in a way which was as terrible as it was unexpected; “I had offered the Count de Morlaix to keep you here, and he accepted my proposal: from time to time he would come to spend an hour with you.” “Alone?” demanded Paul, with much anxiety. “Yes, always; but as he had given me permission to walk with you in the park, it would sometimes happen that at the corner of one of the avenues I would meet the marchioness, whom chance appeared to have conducted in that direction. She would make you a sign to come to her, and she would kiss you as people kiss a strange child, because he is handsome. Four years passed on in this way, and then one night some one again knocked at this door, and it was again your father. He was more calm, but had, perhaps, a more gloomy look than on the first occasion. ‘Louis,’ said he, ‘to-morrow, at the break of day, I have to meet the Marquis d’Auray. It is a duel in which one of us must fall, and you are to be the only witness of it. The terms are agreed upon. You must, therefore, give me shelter for this night, and let me have materials for writing.’ He sat down at this table, on the very chair you are now seated.” Paul sprang up, but supported himself on the back of the chair, without again sitting down upon it. “He sat up all night. At day-break he came into my room and found me up--I had not gone to bed. As to you poor child, unconscious of the passions and miseries of this life, you were quietly sleeping.” “And then,--pray go on.”