"Monsieur seemed the other day to take a little interest in me, and that is what encouraged me to come here." "Ah! in my house! you!" cried Brevanne, roused from his meditations by these words; "why, you know very well, mademoiselle, that my house is no place for you; that you less than any other ought to come here; that it's like defying me, like hurling an insult in my face, to come here!" Violette felt her strength giving way; as she was utterly unable to understand the indignation of this man who had been described to her as so kind-hearted, she lowered her eyes and faltered: "Monsieur, I did not know--I did not think--God knows that I had no such intention as you suppose. Excuse me, monsieur, I see that I did wrong to come, as it makes you angry; but I thought that you would have pity on me, a poor girl, alone on earth, without----" "Without parents? Who told you that you were without parents? I am almost certain that you have parents, for I know them." "Mon Dieu! can it be possible, monsieur, that you know my parents, that you can tell me whether my mother is still alive? Oh! for heaven's sake, do not deceive me, do not give me a false hope! See, monsieur, as your questions the other day led me to think that you might help me to find my family, to-day, when I came here, I thought I would bring with me the only object that I have that belonged to my parents." "Ah! you have something that proves to whom you belong--a paper, a letter, no doubt? Give it to me, give it to me; I shall recognize their handwriting." "No, monsieur, it isn't handwriting, it's nothing but a handkerchief. It seems that it was among the things they gave my nurse to procure clothes for me; you see I had a very strange kind of _layette_, monsieur; there were trousers in it and waistcoats and cravats; probably my parents thought I was a boy." "But this handkerchief--" "The handkerchief my nurse thought was so beautiful, so nicely embroidered, that she did not cut it up to make me a cap, but she kept it for me. Mon Dieu! now I can't find it; but I am sure that I brought it. Ah! here it is, monsieur, here it is." And Violette handed the count a handkerchief of the finest linen, with embroidery in each corner. The count walked to a window, examined the embroidery, and recognized his wife's monogram and his own, as well as his coat of arms and his coronet. That proof was convincing; it removed Monsieur de Brevanne's last doubt; and although he was previously almost certain that Violette was the daughter of his wife and of Roncherolle, on recognizing the monogram, he felt a violent wrench at his heart, and a shudder ran through his veins; for, however suspicious one may be of a fact, there is a vast distance between that and certainty. "Does monsieur see on the handkerchief anything that helps him to identify my parents, and to tell whether they are still alive?" murmured Violette, while the count kept his eyes fixed on the handkerchief.