other's voice had been so well masked that he did not catch its satire.
"But see my peril, and mark the ground of my interest in this poor
wanton! Yet a woman--a woman-frail creatures, as we know, and to be
pitied, not made more pitiable by the stronger sex. . . . But, see
now! Why should I have perilled mine own conjugal peace, given ground
for suspicion even--for I am unfortunate, unfortunate in the exterior
with which Dame Nature has honoured me!" Again he looked in the mirror
with sad complacency.

On these words his listener offered no comment, and he continued:

"For this reason I lifted my voice for the poor wanton. It was I who
wrote the letter to her that her child was alive. I did it with high
purpose--I foresaw that she would change her ways if she thought her
child was living. Was I mistaken? No. I am an observer of human
nature. Intellect conquered. 'Io triumphe'. The poor fly-away changed,
led a new life. Ever since then she has tried to get the man--the
lawyer--to tell her where her child is. He has not done so. He has said
the child is dead--always. When she seemed to give up belief, then would
come another letter to her, telling her the child was living--but not
where. So she would keep on writing to the man, and sometimes she would
go away searching--searching. To what end? Nothing! She had a letter
some months ago, for she had got restless, and a young kinsman of the
Seigneur had come to visit at the seigneury for a week, and took much
notice of her. There was danger. Voila, another letter."

"From you?"

"Monsieur, of course! Will you keep a secret--on your sacred honour?"