“And if, as you say, I never was the wife of Victoire L’Orient—_what then was I to him_?” “The good old pastor winced and fidgetted, but at last replied— “His innocent victim!” “‘His innocent victim!’ And think you, then, that this ‘victim’ of Monsieur Victoire L’Orient is a fit and proper consort for the Right Honorable, the Viscount Montressor?” “Madam, his lordship thinks so.” Slowly and sadly Estelle shook her head— “No, Mr. Oldfield! he is a moral hero—and he loves the poor woman before you. He would risk name, rank, and social influence—every thing, save true honor, to rescue her from the slough of despond into which she has fallen. He would be the Curtius to throw himself into the yawning abyss opened in my life.” “Lady Montressor, you are wrong upon this subject! You accuse yourself too bitterly. Reflect! your sole error in this affair was a thoughtless disregard of your filial relations. Even that fault, I am constrained to say, was very much palliated by the circumstances in which you were placed—from earliest infancy under the sole charge and absolute rule of an artful and unscrupulous woman. You were the victim, I repeat, of a pair of accomplished villains—mother and son. As far as your part in that _quasi_ marriage went, you acted in good faith, you believed the proceeding to be a lawful one. If that marriage was illegal and has been vacated, you are not to be blamed; the fault was not yours. History and biography record many cases in which, under like circumstances, the marriage even of kings and queens have been dissolved, or rather pronounced invalid from the beginning, and the parties have been left free to contract second matrimonial engagements. Lord Montressor, I am sure, takes this view of the subject.” Again and more mournfully Estelle shook her head.