"She reddened to her very temples, and with downcast eyes, murmured: 'Yes--but--' She either dared not or would not finish the sentence. "I understood, and I prudently enclosed her in an envelope the expenses of the journey. * * * * * "Eight days later, she sent me a letter from Genoa. The following week, I received one from Florence. Then letters reached me from Leghorn, Rome, and Naples. "She said to me: 'I am in good health, my dear love, but I am looking frightful. I would not care to have you see me till it is all over; you would not love me. My husband suspects nothing. As his business in this country will require him to stay there much longer, I will not return to France till after my confinement.' "And, at the end of about eight months, I received from Venice these few words: 'It is a boy.' "Some time after, she suddenly entered my study one morning, fresher and prettier than ever, and flung herself into my arms. "And our former connection was renewed. "I left the Ministry, and she came to live in my house in the Rue de Grenelle. She often spoke to me about the child, but I scarcely listened to what she said about it; it did not concern me. Now and then I placed a rather large sum of money in her hand, saying: 'Put that by for him.' "Two more years glided by; and she was more eager to tell me some news about the youngster--'about Leon.' "Sometimes she would say in the midst of tears: 'You don't care about him; you don't even wish to see him. If you know what grief you cause me!' "At last I was so much harassed by her that I promised, one day, to go, next morning, to the Champs Elysees, when she took the child there for an airing. "But at the moment when I was leaving the house, I was stopped by a sudden apprehension. Man is weak and foolish. What if I were to get fond of this tiny being of whom I was the father--my son? "I had my hat on my head, my gloves in my hands. I flung down the gloves on my desk, and my hat on a chair: "No. Decidedly I will not go; it is wiser not to go.' "My door flew open. My brother entered the room. He handed me an anonymous letter he had received that morning: "'Warn the Comte de L----, your brother, that the little woman of the Rue Casette is impudently laughing at him. Let him make some inquiries about her.' "I had never told anybody about this intrigue, and I now told my brother the history of it from the beginning to the end. I added: "For my part, I don't want to trouble myself any further about the matter; but will you, like a good fellow, go and find out what you can about her? "When my brother had left me, I said to myself: 'In what way can she have deceived me? She has other lovers? What does it matter to me? She is young, fresh, and pretty; I ask nothing more from her. She seems to love me, and as a matter of fact, she does not cost me much. Really, I don't understand this business.'