“Alive!—you alive and here?” she repeated, “oh! but some one shall pay for this.” “You hurt me,” said Catharine, shrinking with pain. “I come to you for help; do not harm me!” “Help! to me for help—you, you!” cried the old woman, drawing back and pointing her lean finger almost into Catharine’s face; “help you shall have. Help to the house of correction. I’ll help you there, certainly. You can depend on me. But where is the baby—the dear little infant; what have you done with that, eh?” “It is dead!” answered Catharine, with simple pathos. “I am all alone.” “So the dear little baby is dead, is it? what a pity! There must have been lots of mourners at the funeral. Why didn’t you send for me? I’d a come with pleasure.” “Don’t,” said Catharine, lifting both her hands, and holding their palms out as if to ward off a blow, “don’t, unless you wish to kill me. It was your son’s child.” “My son’s child, was it? oh! yes, I remember now. You were married to my son, as you call him, the last time I saw you. Perhaps you will give me another sight of that precious marriage certificate.” “Don’t ask me for it?” murmured Catharine. “And why not? I must look at it again and again, before the fact will make itself clear. Come, come, let us see the paper.” “It is lost!” said Catharine, in a low voice; “there is nothing left but my word to prove that I am really and truly your son’s wife!” CHAPTER XX. ALL ALONE. Madame de Marke stood a moment irresolute, then she spoke out. “My son! you will call the young reprobate De Marke, my son, as if he ever had a drop of my blood in his veins. I tell you he was De Marke’s son by a first wife, and I——Well, yes, I am his stepmother, his father’s widow, and his guardian till, till——But what’s the use of talking? You couldn’t understand it.” “But I understand this, and thank God for it. De Marke is not your own son.” “No more my son than he is your husband, honey-bird, be sure of that,” cried the old woman, with a spiteful laugh. Catharine’s eyes sparkled. It was something to know that the old woman had really no claim on her for respect. “But you have always looked upon him as a son, and you _know_ that I am his wife.” “Indeed, _how_ do I know that? Let me read over the certificate, and then—” “He told you that we were married, I am sure of it.” “Oh! they are deceivers all; don’t put any faith in the blood, my dear; but just go away like a nice girl and hide your shame in the country. I’ll give you a trifle for travelling expenses, and then you might make a nice match, where no one ever heard of you before.” “Hush, madam, I will not listen to this; it degrades me and my husband.” “Your husband, ha! A tender, attentive husband, isn’t he? Don’t you wonder when he will come back?” “Tell me where he is gone. Oh, tell me that, and I will trouble you no more!” “Why? what would you do?”