He beat the desk.

“And heir to your wealth, for example?”

“Certainly.”

The lady bowed in solemn mockery.

“It will make him a magnificent funeral!”

The father bounded up and stood speechless, trembling from head to foot. 
Madame looked straight in his eye.

“Your son has met the writer of that article.”

“Where?” the old man’s lips tried to ask.

“Suddenly, unexpectedly, in a passage-way.”

“My God! and the villain”—­

“Lives!” cried Madame.

He rushed to the door, forgetting that it was locked.

“Give me that key!” he cried, wrenched at the knob, turned away bewildered, turned again toward it, and again away; and at every step and turn he cried, “Oh! my son, my son!  I have killed my son!  Oh!  Mossy, my son, my little boy!  Oh! my son, my son!”

Madame buried her face in her hands and sobbed aloud.  Then the father hushed his cries and stood for a moment before her.

“Give me the key, Clarisse, let me go.”

She rose and laid her face on his shoulder.

“What is it, Clarisse?” asked he.

“Your son and I were ten years betrothed.”

“Oh, my child!”

“Because, being disinherited, he would not be me husband.”

“Alas! would to God I had known it!  Oh!  Mossy, my son.”

“Oh!  Monsieur,” cried the lady, clasping her hands, “forgive me—­mourn no more—­your son is unharmed!  I wrote the article—­I am your recanting slanderer!  Your son is hunting for me now.  I told my aunt to misdirect him.  I slipped by him unseen in the carriage-way.”

The wild old General, having already staggered back and rushed forward again, would have seized her in his arms, had not the little Doctor himself at that instant violently rattled the door and shook his finger at them playfully as he peered through the glass.

“Behold!” said Madame, attempting a smile:  “open to your son; here is the key.”

She sank into a chair.

Father and son leaped into each other’s arms; then turned to Madame: 

“Ah! thou lovely mischief-maker”—­

She had fainted away.

“Ah! well, keep out of the way, if you please, papa,” said Dr. Mossy, as Madame presently reopened her eyes; “no wonder you fainted; you have finished some hard work—­see; here; no; Clarisse, dear, take this.”

Father and son stood side by side, tenderly regarding her as she revived.

“Now, papa, you may kiss her; she is quite herself again, already.”

“My daughter!” said the stately General; “this—­is my son’s ransom; and, with this,—­I withdraw the Villivicencio ticket.”

“You shall not,” exclaimed the laughing lady, throwing her arms about his neck.

“But, yes!” he insisted; “my faith! you will at least allow me to remove my dead from the field.”

“But, certainly;” said the son; “see, Clarisse, here is Madame, your aunt, asking us all into the house.  Let us go.”