Duplessis was deeply affected by these simple words; they seized him on the tenderest side of his character--for his heart was generous, and no one, except his lost wife and his loving child, had ever before discovered it to be so. Has it ever happened to you, reader, to be appreciated on the one point of the good or the great that is in you--on which secretly you value yourself most--but for which nobody, not admitted into your heart of hearts, has given you credit? If that has happened to you, judge what Duplessis felt when the fittest representative of that divine chivalry which, if sometimes deficient in head, owes all that exalts it to riches of heart, spoke thus to the professional moneymaker, whose qualities of head were so acknowledged that a compliment to them would be a hollow impertinence, and whose qualities of heart had never yet received a compliment! Duplessis started from his seat and embraced Alain, murmuring, "Listen to me, I love you--I never had a son--be mine--Rochebriant shall be my daughter's dot." Alain returned the embrace, and then recoiling, said: "Father, your first desire must be honour for your son. You have guessed my secret--I have learned to love Valerie. Seeing her out in the world, she seemed like other girls, fair and commonplace--seeing her--at your house, I have said to myself, 'There is the one girl fairer than all others in my eyes, and the one individual to whom all other girls are commonplace.'" "Is that true?--is it?" "True! does a _gentilhomme_ ever lie? And out of that love for her has grown this immovable desire to be something worthy of her--something that may lift me from the vulgar platform of men who owe all to ancestors, nothing to themselves. Do you suppose for one moment that I, saved from ruin and penury by Valerie's father, could be base enough to say to her, 'In return be Madame la Marquise de Rochebriant'? Do you suppose that I, whom you would love and respect as son, could come to you and say: 'I am oppressed by your favours--I am crippled with debts--give me your millions and we are quits.' No, Duplessis! You, so well descended yourself--so superior as man amongst men that you would have won name and position had you been born the son of a shoeblack,--you would eternally despise the noble who, in days when all that we Bretons deem holy in noblesse are subjected to ridicule and contempt, should so vilely forget the only motto which the scutcheons of all _gentilhommes_ have in common, 'Noblesse oblige.' War, with all its perils and all its grandeur,--war lifts on high the banners of France,--war, in which every ancestor of mine whom I care to recall aggrandised the name that descends to me. Let me then do as those before me have done; let me prove that I am worth something in myself, and then you and I are equals; and I can say with no humbled crest, 'Your benefits are accepted:' the man who has fought not ignobly for France may aspire to the hand of her daughter. Give me