"Yes, yes, I have no doubt whatever now, and I had rightly divined who you were." "In that case, monsieur will certainly tell me----" "But whoever entrusted you to a nurse must have given you some name, have told her the name of your parents, or given her their address. Tell me, mademoiselle, what name did they give? Answer; I insist that you conceal nothing from me!" The count's wrathful expression, and the tone in which he questioned the girl, made her tremble; poor Violette dared not meet the angry glances that were bent upon her, and she hardly had the strength to reply: "Mon Dieu, monsieur, I am not concealing anything; on the contrary, I came here to find out. I don't remember my nurse, but the kind lady who took me in, and who brought me up and took me to Paris, was careful to write down all that the nurse had told her. That is how I know that the gentleman who placed me in the nurse's charge told her that my name was Evelina de Paulausky; but he didn't give any address; he said that he would come to see me, that he would write; but no one came, no one ever wrote, they forgot me, abandoned me; that is all that I know, monsieur, absolutely all; for if I knew anything else, why should I not tell it to you, monsieur, as it might help me to find out who my parents are?" "Evelina de Paulausky!" exclaimed the count, pacing the floor. "At least they had the decency to conceal their names! But Roncherolle? Why didn't he give her his?--Because, after doing the wrong, he did not choose to take the consequences, and they considered that the simplest way was to abandon the child. Ah! the wretches!" Violette waited in fear and trembling for the count to speak to her; for she saw from his excitement, and from the threatening expression of his face, that he was still angry, and she dared not question him further; but, as time passed and the count, absorbed in his reflections, continued to pace the floor and to pay no attention to the girl, she mustered all her courage and said to him at last: "Since you know my parents, monsieur, in pity's name be kind enough to tell me who they are. Is my mother still alive?" "Your parents?" cried Brevanne, halting suddenly in front of the girl; "your parents? Ah! you want to know who they are, do you? Well, learn that you are the child of crime--treachery! Your mother was false to all her duties, she was false to the oaths she had taken to an honorable man, she was obliged to lay aside the name which she had sullied. Your father! ah! your father betrayed friendship in the most dastardly way; believing in nothing, respecting nothing, mocking at all that is held sacred in the world, turning to ridicule the most sacred sentiments, he betrayed his best friend!" "Oh! pity, pity for them, monsieur!"