had come there twice to speak to La Couteau.  Nevertheless, many points remained unexplained; the whole affair had taken place amid the tragic, murky gloom of Parisian low life, whose mire it is not healthy to stir.  Mathieu ended by resting content with a general notion of the business, for he himself felt frightened at the charges already hanging over those two young bandits, who lived so precariously, dragging their idleness and their vices over the pavement of the great city.  And thus all his researches had resulted in but one consoling certainty, which was that even if Norine the mother was known, the father’s name and position were certainly not suspected by anybody.

When Mathieu saw Norine again on the subject he terrified her by the few particulars which he was obliged to give her.

“Oh!  I beg you, I beg you, do not let him come again,” she pleaded.  “Find some means; prevent him from coming here.  It upsets me too dreadfully to see him.”

Mathieu, of course, could do nothing in this respect.  After mature reflection he realized that the great object of his efforts must be to prevent Alexandre from discovering Beauchene.  What he had learnt of the young man was so bad, so dreadful, that he wished to spare Constance the pain and scandal of being blackmailed.  He could see her blanching at the thought of the ignominy of that lad whom she had so passionately desired to find, and he felt ashamed for her sake, and deemed it more compassionate and even necessary to bury the secret in the silence of the grave.  Still, it was only after a long fight with himself that he came to this decision, for he felt that it was hard to have to abandon the unhappy youth in the streets.  Was it still possible to save him?  He doubted it.  And besides, who would undertake the task, who would know how to instil honest principles into that waif by teaching him to work?  It all meant yet another man cast overboard, forsaken amid the tempest, and Mathieu’s heart bled at the thought of condemning him, though he could think of no reasonable means of salvation.

“My opinion,” he said to Norine, “is that you should keep his father’s name from him for the present.  Later on we will see.  But just now I should fear worry for everybody.”

She eagerly acquiesced.  “Oh! you need not be anxious,” she responded.  “I have already told him that his father is dead.  If I were to speak out everything would fall on my shoulders, and my great desire is to be left in peace in my corner with my little one.”

With sorrowful mien Mathieu continued reflecting, unable to make up his mind to utterly abandon the young man.  “If he would only work, I would find him some employment.  And I would even take him on at the farm later, when I should no longer have cause to fear that he might contaminate my people.  However, I will see what can be done; I know a wheelwright who would doubtless employ him, and I will write to you in order that you may tell him where to apply, when he comes back to see you.”