“Truly, as I look upon and hear you, madame, I can hardly believe the scandals I have heard of you, you, who I have been told, are dangerous company.” “Dangerous to myself, perhaps.” “But this lawyer’s letter, does it not prove my poor son’s ruin? does it not show he is realizing all he is worth?” She took the letter in her hand, and glanced hastily over its contents. “I declare to you I know nothing of this act. I declare to you that your son knows I would refuse to take money from him.” “You have not always spoken so.” “I have not always been the woman that I am.” The unfortunate creature then burst into an incoherent declaration of her passion for the youth, but the disbelieving gentleman merely shrugged his shoulders. She added she knew the oaths of such as she were not believed, yet she could swear she knew nothing of Armand’s collecting his fortune into his own hands; but M. Duval, still being in doubt, she nervously took from a drawer a folded paper, and gave it into his hands. It was a paper on which she had noted down what each of her valuables would probably realize; and, as her visitor had come without warning, he saw that she could not have prepared it in anticipation of his present visit. Then, believing her words were true, he began to show a courtesy to her which an hour before he would not have dreamed of using. Indeed, he expressed himself sorry that he had entered so abruptly, and told her that he thought, perhaps, she had a good heart after all. “And,” he added, “perhaps so good that it will prompt you to make a sacrifice greater than all you have yet made.” She trembled violently; but strong in his duty, the old man went mercilessly on. Gradually as he proceeded, the place grew dark around her; gradually all happiness drifted away, and she was left tossing about on a sea of troubles quite alone, with no guide, no hope. He began by saying he had more than one child--he had a daughter, whose happiness rested on her brother’s will. She might be married, but on one condition--that her brother led an honest life. As Marguerite covered her mouth, that she might save herself from hearing her own cry of terror, he added, that away in the provinces, they looked more severely on sin than they did in large cities; and indeed he had that morning received a letter from the father of his daughter’s proposed husband, which peremptorily said that if Armand did not at once break off his connexion with Marguerite, all intercourse between the families must immediately cease. “See,” he continued, “refined as you may have become, even in my eyes, by your affection for my son, the world will only look on your past life, and will forever close its doors to you.” She said she comprehended, and would obey him. She must leave his son for a time--only for a time? And he might write to her? He required more--she must leave his son altogether--for good.