"And Daubrecq?" asked Lupin, interrupting her. "Did he not try... "

"No, but on our wedding-day, Louis Prasville, who acted as my husband's best man in defiance of Danbrecq's opposition, went home to find the girl he loved, the opera-singer, dead, strangled...

"What!" said Lupin, with a start. "Had Daubrecq... "

"It was known that Daubrecq had been persecuting her with his attentions for some days; but nothing more was known. It was impossible to discover who had gone in or out during Prasville's absence. There was not a trace found of any kind: nothing, absolutely nothing."

"But Prasville... "

"There was no doubt of the truth in Prasville's mind or ours. Daubrecq had tried to run away with the girl, perhaps tried to force her, to hustle her and, in the course of the struggle, maddened, losing his head, caught her by the throat and killed her, perhaps without knowing what he was doing. But there was no evidence of all this; and Daubrecq was not even molested."

"And what became of him next?"

"For some years we heard nothing of him. We knew only that he had lost all his money gambling and that he was travelling in America. And, in spite of myself, I forgot his anger and his threats and was only too ready to believe that he had ceased to love me and no longer harboured his schemes of revenge. Besides, I was so happy that I did not care to think of anything but my happiness, my love, my husband's political career, the health of my son Antoine."

"Antoine?"

"Yes, Antoine is Gilbert's real name. The unhappy boy has at least succeeded in concealing his identity."

Lupin asked, with some hesitation:

"At what period did... Gilbert... begin?"

"I cannot tell you exactly. Gilbert - I prefer to call him that and not to pronounce his real name - Gilbert, as a child, was what he is to-day: lovable, liked by everybody, charming, but lazy and unruly. When he was fifteen, we put him to a boarding-school in one of the suburbs, with the deliberate object of not having him too much at home. After two years' time he was expelled from school and sent back to us."

"Why?"

"Because of his conduct. The masters had discovered that he used to slip out at night and also that he would disappear for weeks at a time, while pretending to be at home with us."

"What used he to do?"

"Amuse himself backing horses, spending his time in cafes and public dancing-rooms."

"Then he had money?"

"Yes."

"Who gave it him?"

"His evil genius, the man who, secretly, unknown to his parents, enticed him away from school, the man who led him astray, who corrupted him, who took him from us, who taught him to lie, to waste his substance and to steal."

"Daubrecq?"

"Daubrecq."

Clarisse Mergy put her hands together to hide the blushes on her forehead. She continued, in her tired voice:

"Daubrecq had taken his revenge. On the day after my husband turned our unhappy child out of the house, Daubrecq sent us a most cynical letter in which he revealed the odious part which he had played and the machinations by which he had succeeded in depraving our son. And he went on to say, 'The reformatory, one of these days... Later on, the assize-court ... And then, let us hope and trust, the scaffold!'"