“That, then,” said he to himself, “is my legitimate son. I am sure of his birth, at any rate. Besides I should be foolish to disown him, for I find him the exact picture of myself at thirty. He is a handsome fellow, Noel, very handsome. His features are decidedly in his favour. He is intelligent and acute. He knows how to be humble without lowering himself, and firm without arrogance. His unexpected good fortune does not turn his head. I augur well of a man who knows how to bear himself in prosperity. He thinks well; he will carry his title proudly. And yet I feel no sympathy with him; it seems to me that I shall always regret my poor Albert. I never knew how to appreciate him. Unhappy boy! To commit such a vile crime! He must have lost his reason. I do not like the look of this one’s eye. They say that he is perfect. He expresses, at least, the noblest and most appropriate sentiments. He is gentle and strong, magnanimous, generous, heroic. He is without malice, and is ready to sacrifice himself to repay me for what I have done for him. He forgives Madame Gerdy; he loves Albert. It is enough to make one distrust him. But all young men now-a-days are so. Ah! we live in a happy age. Our children are born free from all human shortcomings. They have neither the vices, the passions, nor the tempers of their fathers; and these precocious philosophers, models of sagacity and virtue, are incapable of committing the least folly. Alas! Albert, too, was perfect; and he has assassinated Claudine! What will this one do?--All the same,” he added, half-aloud, “I ought to have accompanied him to see Valerie!” And, although the advocate had been gone at least a good ten minutes, M. de Commarin, not realising how the time had passed, hastened to the window, in the hope of seeing Noel in the court-yard, and calling him back. But Noel was already far away. On leaving the house, he took a cab and was quickly driven to the Rue St. Lazare. On reaching his own door, he threw rather than gave five francs to the driver, and ran rapidly up the four flights of stairs. “Who has called to see me?” he asked of the servant. “No one, sir.” He seemed relieved from a great anxiety, and continued in a calmer tone, “And the doctor?” “He came this morning, sir,” replied the girl, “while you were out; and he did not seem at all hopeful. He came again just now, and is still here.” “Very well. I will go and speak to him. If any one calls, show them into my study, and let me know.” On entering Madame Gerdy’s chamber, Noel saw at a glance that no change for the better had taken place during his absence. With fixed eyes and convulsed features, the sick woman lay extended upon her back. She seemed dead, save for the sudden starts, which shook her at intervals, and disarranged the bedclothes.