The count listened in silence to Frédéric's story. "So your wife knows all!" he said; "she knows that you are that girl's seducer, the father of her child; and she insists that she shall continue to live in your house?" "Her purpose at first was to send her away, to take her and the child to one of our estates, where she would have everything that her comfort and welfare required; the day for their departure was fixed. I have no idea why she changed her mind, but now she insists that Sister Anne shall not go." "And you can't divine the reason? My son, such conduct is too extraordinary not to have some secret cause. It is not natural that a wife who loves, yes, adores her husband, should want to keep by her side her rival, or, at all events, the woman he once loved and may love again. But Constance has a soul capable of sacrificing everything, of immolating itself for your happiness! Ought you to allow that? Don't you see how she has changed? She conceals her tears from you, but she can't conceal her pallor, the suffering that is working havoc on her lovely features. There is not a minute in the day when she is not thinking that you are under the same roof as the mother of your son; that you can see her, speak to her." "Oh! I swear to you, father, that I never----" "I am glad to believe you; but your wife is in a cruel position. To-morrow, your victim will no longer be under your eyes." "What! father!" "Do you disapprove of my determination?" "I? oh, no! far from it. No; I realize all that I owe you. Surely I do not need to commend that poor creature--and my son--to your care!" "No, monsieur; I know what my duty is; your wife's beneficent intentions shall be carried out. Indeed, do you suppose that that young woman is indifferent to me, or that her son has no claim upon my heart? Because it is no longer subject to the ardent passions of youth, do you think that it is closed to all sentiment? Let me restore peace of mind and repose to your wife; and do you restore her happiness, if possible, by redoubling your devotion and your love. That is the way to atone for your wrong-doing, Frédéric, and to pay me for all that I propose to do for Sister Anne and her son." Frédéric shed tears upon his father's hand. The count left him, to go to Constance; he did not mention the dumb girl to her, but, as he looked into her face, he felt that he admired her and loved her more than ever. Constance did not know to what she should attribute the marks of affection which the count, usually so cold, took pleasure in lavishing upon her; she could not divine the explanation of them. She believed that he was ignorant of his son's fault. The count sent his servant to Paris, with orders to have a post chaise with two good horses at the garden gate the next morning at daybreak. He proposed to accompany Sister Anne, and he went to the pavilion to tell her what he had determined upon.