even though most of them had forgotten it, the place he was born in, what his father's name was, and how old he was at first, and even though he had never seen his father since he left him in the country. He didn't know why all these particulars had come back to his mind so clearly, as though the words had been spoken yesterday, but they were there all the same. For a moment he had a vision of himself as he had seen himself when he was a child, a tiny child in its mother's arms, in his father's arms, for the first time--this is how it seemed to him; and when his brain suddenly began to reel, and he closed his eyes, he almost fancied it was happening again. The vision lasted only for a moment; but it was a great moment for him; and he seemed to feel once more the gentle touch of the little hands on his cheeks, the tender caresses that made him feel so happy. When he opened his eyes again he saw his mother gazing at him in astonishment, but not speaking a word. "What is the matter, Rene?" she asked; "are you not well? How pale you are!" "Why do you say that, mother?" he asked in turn. "I am not ill." "You seem to me so," said she, trying to smile. Then Rene came close to her. "Have I been very naughty, mother?" he asked in a trembling voice. "Have I hurt any one? I have forgotten what I ought to have forgotten, mother; but when I remembered it I felt so frightened and unhappy that I could not sleep last night, and I tried to pray, but my lips moved without my knowing it. And then I saw myself crying, and I was so frightened and unhappy that I wanted to call for help, but I could not move, and at last I fell asleep--yes, mother, I was so unhappy that I cried myself to sleep." And then he went on to tell his mother all that had happened to him, about Monsieur Bonneville, and about his love for him. But it was inaccurate, for he did not dare to tell her all that was in his mind at that moment. He was confused and embarrassed, and he was so unhappy that he could hardly keep from crying. "Do not be alarmed, Rene," said Madame Dupont in a soothing voice. "I quite understand you, my son, and I can quite see how you felt; it is quite natural. But it will be very soon over. My poor Rene, you are young. When one is very young one loves without fear. You will be a man to-morrow, and I do not wonder that you are a little bit sad about it. I am sure you will remember better to-morrow." "I will try, mother." He was still speaking when he happened to raise his eyes, and his glance fell upon his step-father. The poor fellow was crying, and when he saw Rene's eyes fixed on him he turned away and left the room. It was then that the young man became alarmed. He felt that a great misfortune had happened. "Mother," he cried, "he wept." "He wept," repeated Madame Dupont; "but what of that? Monsieur Bonneville is a good man; he has been very kind to you." "But I have not told him about my mother," said Rene, and he began to cry like a child. He had only just recovered from one fright, and the fear of a second almost overcame him. "Why did I not see this before?" asked Madame Dupont in a low voice, "and why was I not told? How did I not see this? Do you think I do not know, my child?" "He is our master, mother. I ought to have told him before." "But we will tell him now, my son. Monsieur Bonneville will not keep you a prisoner, for he knows very well that you are of age." "Oh, yes," cried the poor boy in great distress; "I am older than he." Then he told her all that had happened to him the night before. And he reminded her of the letter, and he showed her the verses he had written on the sheet of paper--yes, it was the very same paper he had used to write the letter, which he had shown to her, and his mother knew it. "That is the kind of man Monsieur Bonneville is," she said as she put it back again. "He makes an impression at first sight, and then he soon tires of us and goes away. We should have spoken of it before; we should have known beforehand. To tell you the truth, I was never really taken by him, and I am sorry for it. He is a kind man, and has a tender heart; he does what he can for the poor. But he knows no one, and no one knows him, except the man who gives him his clothes. He is like a tree that grows up in the open air, and yet grows straight and strong; the man who gives him his clothes has planted the tree, and it will grow wherever he plants it, but one day it will fall to the ground. That was what happened to Monsieur Bonneville--not that he ever knew it; he thinks he has found a firm support, and he is happy, I can tell you. But one day his support will fail him, his tree will die; and then we shall all feel it." And Rene, who was calmer now, understood what she meant. "The man who gave him his clothes," he asked--"is it the man who brought him here?" "Yes," said his mother. "I think it is the same person who has lodged him in this poor house all these years; he is a man of much importance in our neighbourhood, and in his own place, I suppose. He is very kind to the poor, and so Monsieur Bonneville takes a great interest in him. He has often told me that he hoped some day to have much to do with the Sieur Luminot. But I dare say it was only a pretext to get him to take him as his secretary, and you know that he never cared for his letters. And, as he could not be bothered, Monsieur Bonneville was given him. He came here once, and I saw Monsieur Bonneville give him a roll of money, but I am sure he never knew what became of it." "It is impossible," murmured Rene, and he shuddered at the mere thought of such a thing. "So Monsieur Bonneville did not know what he was doing. And if it had not been for the secretary, who was with us yesterday, we should have known nothing of all this. You and I would have slept quietly to-night, but perhaps Monsieur Bonneville has already gone to see him, and will tell him." "Let us hope so, mother," said Rene; "but if they should tell him about the letter that I wrote--" He broke off, and hid his face in his hands. "It is not likely," said his mother; "I am sure they will not think of telling him; they are both quite accustomed to such things. But we must be careful, and you must be careful. You are free to go or to stay, as you choose, but you must never let yourself be surprised, or you will cause us great embarrassment. Never go out in the streets alone; go out with me at the same time every day, and whenever you go out we will go too. It is better to be always together. If Monsieur Bonneville should see us, he might believe we had been to the theatre together. We must learn to understand Monsieur Bonneville." "And if Monsieur Bonneville should ask me?" Rene murmured; and his mother did not seem to hear him. "Yes, my dear," she said, as though she had not heard what he was saying. "You have not spoken to him about your mother, and he did not know what you had done." "You know very well, mother, that I could not speak about it; I cannot tell it. But you understand that we must be careful--for my sake and for yours." He trembled as he spoke, and he rose from his chair. "Go to your bed now," said Madame Dupont. "Go and try and sleep; you will feel better in the morning. To-morrow we will ask Monsieur Rene's advice." He kissed his mother's hand and went away, but, instead of going into his own room, he went upstairs, and climbed upon the bed in Rene's little bed. The latter was asleep, and had left the candle burning; it was a habit of his to light a candle