With a gesture of utter distraction she had burst into tears, and had caught hold of the little one near her, pressing him to her breast as if to shield him from the other, the unknown son, the stranger, who by his resurrection threatened to thrust himself in some degree in the younger lad’s place.

“No, no!” she cried.  “I have but one child; there is only one I love; I don’t want any other.”

Cecile had risen, greatly moved, and desirous of bringing her sister to reason.  Supposing that the other son should come, how could she turn him out of doors?  At the same time, though her pity was aroused for the abandoned one, she also began to bewail the loss of their happiness.  It became necessary for Mathieu to reassure them both by saying that he regarded such a visit as most improbable.  Without telling them the exact truth, he spoke of the elder lad’s disappearance, adding, however, that he must be ignorant even of his mother’s name.  Thus, when he left the sisters, they already felt relieved and had again turned to their little boxes while smiling at their son, to whom they had once more intrusted the scissors in order that he might cut out some paper men.

Down below, at the street corner, Constance, in great impatience, was looking out of the cab window, watching the house-door.

“Well?” she asked, quivering, as soon as Mathieu was near her.

“Well, the mother knows nothing and has seen nobody.  It was a foregone conclusion.”

She sank down as if from some supreme collapse, and her ashen face became quite distorted.  “You are right, it was certain,” said she; “still one always hopes.”  And with a gesture of despair she added:  “It is all ended now.  Everything fails me, my last dream is dead.”

Mathieu pressed her hand and remained waiting for her to give an address in order that he might transmit it to the driver.  But she seemed to have lost her head and to have forgotten where she wished to go.  Then, as she asked him if he would like her to set him down anywhere, he replied that he wished to call on the Seguins.  The fear of finding herself alone again so soon after the blow which had fallen on her thereupon gave her the idea of paying a visit to Valentine, whom she had not seen for some time past.

“Get in,” she said to Mathieu; “we will go to the Avenue d’Antin together.”

The vehicle rolled off and heavy silence fell between them; they had not a word to say to one another.  However, as they were reaching their destination, Constance exclaimed in a bitter voice:  “You must give my husband the good news, and tell him that the boy has disappeared.  Ah! what a relief for him!”