"Your mother's then?" said the Abbé, without replying to his question. "Your mother's? what was your mother's name?" "Her name was Laura Pandolfini," replied the boy, gazing upon the Abbé with a degree of sternness in his look. "Did you know her?" The face of the Abbé changed from deadly pale to glowing red in a moment; and after a pause he replied angrily and abruptly, "I know her?--I know her? I know a common strumpet?" The boy's eyes flashed fire; and his hand was in his bosom in a moment seeking the knife that lay there. But he had put the pipe in the breast of his doublet also, and ere he could reach a weapon, which, as we have seen, he was able to use with fatal effect, the form of a lady passing across the two open doors on the other side of the room made him suddenly pause; and after a moment's thought, he drew back his hand and said, "What you say is false! She deserved not the name you have given her!" He was turning towards the door, when the Abbé cried "Stay!" and as the boy turned, he put his hand to his head and mused thoughtfully. Then starting suddenly he added, "No, no! It would be discovered!--Come hither, boy!" he added; and taking out his purse he counted out some pieces of gold, to no light amount; and giving them to the boy, he said, "There, you have lost your master and seem to be poorly off. Take those, and get thee into some reputable employment." But the boy gave one fierce glance at his countenance, dashed down the gold upon the pavement, and exclaiming, "I will have no liar's money!" quitted the chamber and the house. The Abbé gazed after him for a moment or two, fell into deep thought, and ended by pressing his hands over his eyes and exclaiming, "I am a fool!" After pausing for a few moments more, he said to himself, "Well, I must wait no longer here. This girl seems pleased with my new demeanour towards her. Of my past language which frightened her, it seems that very soon no other impression will remain but the memory of the deep and passionate love I testified. That is never displeasing to any woman; and if I can lead her gently on, the matter will be soon accomplished, now that this her first fancy is at an end, and the grave has taken the great obstacle out of the way. Love him, she did not, with true, womanly, passionate, love; but fond of him she was, with the sickly fancy of an idle girl; and her grief will be sufficient to soften her proud heart. It is a wonderful softener, grief; and she will cling to whosoever is near her, that has skill and power to soothe and support her. I will teach her to love better than she has loved!--But I must write down these tidings. I must not tell them to her with my own voice, and with her eyes upon me, lest she learn to hate me as the bearer of evil tidings."