"Marquis, it is not favourable, and you will need all your courage to bear it. But it is my rule to proceed methodically.—In the year 1820 Mlle. Louise Hélène Dugald Delatouche d’Erouville was sought in marriage by Charles-Christian Odiot, Marquis de Champcey d’Hauterive. A tradition a century old had placed the management of the Dugald Delatouche affairs in my hands, and I was further permitted a respectful intimacy with the young heiress of the house. I thought it my duty, therefore, to oppose her infatuation by every argument in my power and to dissuade her from this deplorable alliance. I say deplorable alliance without reference to M. de Champcey’s fortune, which was nearly equal to that of Mlle. Delatouche, though even at this time he had mortgaged it to some extent. I say so because I knew his character and temperament, which were in the main hereditary. Under the fascinating and chivalrous manner common to all of his race I saw clearly the heedless obstinacy, the incurable irresponsibility, the mania for pleasure, and, finally, the pitiless selfishness." "Sir," I interrupted sharply, "my father’s memory is sacred to me, and so it must be to every one who speaks of him in my presence." "Sir," replied the old man with a sudden and violent emotion, "I respect that sentiment, hut when I speak of your father I find it hard to forget that he was the man who killed your mother, that heroic child, that saint, that angel!" I had risen in great agitation. M. Laubépin, who had taken a few steps across the room, seized my arm. "Forgive me, young man," he said to me. "I loved your mother and wept for her. You must forgive me." Then returning to the fire-place, he continued in his usual solemn tone: "I had the honour and the pain of drawing up your mother’s marriage contract. "In spite of my remonstrance, the strict settlement of her property upon herself had not been adopted, and it was only with much difficulty that I got included in the deed a protective clause by which about a third of your mother’s estate could not be sold, except with her consent duly and legally authenticated. A useless precaution, marquis; I might call it the cruel precaution of an ill-advised friendship. This fatal clause brought most intolerable sufferings to the very person whose peace it was intended to secure. I refer to the disputes and quarrels and wrangles the echo of which must sometimes have reached your ears, and in which, bit by bit, your mother’s last heritage—her children’s bread—was torn from her!" "Spare me, M. Laubépin!" "I obey.... I will speak only of the present. Directly I was honoured with your confidence, marquis, my first duty was to advise you not to accept the encumbered estate unless after paying all liabilities." "Such a course seemed to cast a slur on my father’s memory, and I could not adopt it." M. Laubépin darted one of his inquisitorial glances at me, and continued: