"I'm sure," said she, "I don't know what to say to that. I'm afraid to say anything. I don't know what may happen yet; you may at any time find out something which would break through all your indifference, and fill you with a thirst for vengeance. I don't know, and you don't know, what may be--before us. So don't make any rash offers, but merely do as I asked you before; and that is,--while papa is here,--refrain from mentioning this subject to him. It is simply for the sake of his--his peace of mind--and--and--his health. I know it will excite him so dreadfully--that I tremble for the result."
"O, of course," said Claude, "I promise, as I did before. You needn't be at all afraid."
"Would you have any objection," she asked, after a short silence, "to tell me how much you do really know?"
"Of course not," said Claude, with his usual frankness. "I'll tell you the whole story. There isn't much of it. I always believed myself to be the son of Jean Motier, until a short time ago. We lived near Boston, a place that you, perhaps, have heard of. He was always careful to give me the best education that could be had in a colony, and particularly in all the accomplishments of a gentleman. We were both very happy, and lived very well, and I called him father, and he called me son; and so things went on until a few weeks ago. I went off hunting with some British officers, and on my return found the old man dying. The shock to me was a terrible one. At that time I believed that it was my father that I was losing. What made it worse, was the evident fact that there was something on his mind, something that he was longing to tell me; but he could not collect his thoughts, and he could only speak a few broken words. He kept muttering, '_Mon trésor_, _Mon trésor_;' but I thought it was merely some loving words of endearment to me, and did not imagine what they really meant. Still I saw that there was something on his mind, and that he died without being able to tell it."
Claude paused for a moment, quite overcome by his recollections, and Mimi's large dark eyes filled with tears in her deep sympathy with his sorrows.
"Well," said Claude, regaining his composure with an effort, "I'll go on. As soon as he was buried I began to search the papers, partly to see how the business was, and how I was situated in the world; but more for the sake of trying to find out what this secret could be. There was an old cabinet filled with papers and parcels, and here I began my search. For a long time I found nothing but old business letters and receipts; but at last I found some religious books--with a name written in them. The name was Louise de Montresor. Well, no sooner had I seen this than I at once recollected the words of my father, as I supposed him, which I thought words of endearment--Montresor, Montresor. I saw now that it was the name of a person--of a woman; so this excited me greatly, and I continued the search with greater ardor.