"Yes," replied Madame Bastien, thoughtfully, "I shall show no mock modesty with you, my dear doctor. I am conscious of having performed my duties as a mother to the very best of my ability, and I recognise the fact that it was not within the limits of human possibility for any one to foresee or prevent the misfortune which has overtaken my son." "One word more, my dear doctor," continued Marie, after a moment's silence. "Your friend saw Frederick for only a few minutes, but long enough, alas! to be treated with inexcusable rudeness. A generous-minded person feels only indulgence and compassion for a poor sick child, I know, but there is a wide difference between this compassion and the profound interest which your friend manifests in Frederick. What has my son done to deserve this interest?" "The latter part of this letter will explain, I think, but I will say this much by way of explanation. My friend had a brother very much younger than himself, of whom he had entire charge after his father's death. My friend idolised this brother, who was about Frederick's age. Like him, he was extremely handsome; like him, he was passionately loved, not by a mother, but by the tenderest of brothers." "And what became of him?" inquired Marie, with interest. "My friend lost this brother six years ago." "Ah, now I understand," cried Marie, deeply moved. Then even more thoughtfully she resumed the reading of the letter: "'I am almost positive that Frederick has never evinced any lack of confidence in his mother up to this time because he has had nothing to hide from her, but the more reprehensible the secret he is concealing from his mother is now at this present time, the more impenetrable he is likely to be. "'But now the malady is known to us, what are the best means or the chances of a cure? "'The first thing to be done is to discover the cause of Frederick's animosity. How is this discovery to be effected? Frederick loves his mother devotedly, nevertheless he has remained deaf to her entreaties, so it is almost certain that he will never tell her his unhappy secret now, partly from a fear of forfeiting the respect of his friends, partly from a fear of imperilling his prospect of vengeance, the inevitable consequence of hatred when it is as energetic and intense as Frederick's seems to be.'" Madame Bastien trembled violently as she read this prophecy which the scene she had lately witnessed in the forest verified but too well, and it was in a voice full of emotion she continued: "'Consequently it seems almost certain that Madame Bastien must renounce all hope of gaining her son's confidence. That being the case, shall she resort to penetration, that compound of watchfulness, dissimulation, and trickery? for to ferret out a secret, at least a jealously guarded secret, one must employ all sorts of cunning expedients.