“But it was necessary to bring up this child, and to keep her in ignorance of the circumstances of her birth. This was a matter of difficulty; it is true that we were relieved of her father, who died a few months after his condemnation. Unfortunately, several persons knew the whole story; and we wished to preserve Cécile from all the gossip she would hear if she associated with other children. You saw how solitary her life was. Thanks to this precaution, she to-day knows nothing of the tempest that surrounded her birth; for not one of the kind people about us would utter one word which would give her reason to suspect that there was any mystery. My wife, however, was always in dread of some childish questions from Cécile. But I had other fears: who could be certain that the child of my child did not inherit from her father some of his vices? I acknowledge to you, Jack, that for years I dreaded seeing her father’s characteristics in Cécile; I dreaded the discovery of deceit and falsehood; but what joy it has been to me to find that the child is the perfected image of her mother! She has the same tender and half-sad smile, the same candid eyes, and lips that can say No. “Meanwhile the future alarmed me: my granddaughter must some day learn the truth, and that truth must be divulged if she should ever marry. “‘She must never love any one,’ said her grandmother. “If this were possible, would it be wise to pass through life without a protector? Her destiny must be united with a fate as exceptional as her own. Such a one could hardly be found in our village, and in Paris we knew no one. It was about the time when these anxieties occupied our minds that your mother came to this place. She was supposed to be the wife of D’Argenton, but the forester’s wife told me the real circumstances. I said to myself instantly, ‘This boy ought to be Cécile’s husband;’ and from that time I attended to your education.