Celestine took it and shook it warmly.

“Of course,” said Peter.  “Mr. D’Alloi owes you an ample income.”

“Ah!” cried Celestine, shrugging her shoulders.  “Do not talk of him—­I leave it to you to make him do what is right.”

“And you will return to France?”

“Yes, yes.  If you say so?” Celestine looked at Peter in a manner known only to the Latin races.  Just then a side door was thrown open, and a boy of about twelve years of age dashed into the room, followed by a French poodle.

“Little villain!” cried Celestine.  “How dare you approach without knocking?  Go.  Go.  Quickly.”

“Pardon, Madame,” said the child.  “I thought you still absent.”

“Is that the child?” asked Peter.

“Yes,” said Celestine.

“Does he know?”

“Nothing.  I do not tell him even that I am his mother.”

“Then you are not prepared to give him a mother’s care and tenderness?”

“Never.  I love him not.  He is too like his father.  And I cannot have it known that I am the mother of a child of twelve.  It would not be believed, even.”  Celestine took a look at herself in the tall mirror.

“Then I suppose you would like some arrangement about him?”

“Yes.”

Peter stayed for nearly an hour with the woman.  He stayed so long, that for one of the few times in his life he was late at a dinner engagement.  But when he had left Celestine, every detail had been settled.  Peter did not have an expression of pleasure on his face as he rode down-town, nor was he very good company at the dinner which he attended that evening.

The next day did not find him in any better mood.  He went down-town, and called on an insurance company and talked for a while with the president.  Then he called at a steamship office.  After that he spent twenty minutes with the head of one of the large schools for boys in the city.  Then he returned to his office.

“A Mr. D’Alloi is waiting for you in your private office, sir,” he was told.  “He said that he was an old friend and insisted on going in there.”

Peter passed into his office.

Watts cried:  “My dear boy, how can I ever—­”

He was holding out his hand, but Peter failed to take it, and interrupted him.

“I have arranged it all with Madame Lacour,” Peter said coldly.  “She sails on La Bretagne on Thursday.  You are to buy an annuity for three thousand dollars a year.  In addition, you are to buy an annuity for the boy till he is twenty-five, of one thousand dollars a year, payable to me as his guardian.  This will cost you between forty and fifty thousand dollars.  I will notify you of the amount when the insurance company sends it to me.  In return for your check, I shall send you the letters and other things you sent Madame Lacour, or burn them, as you direct.  Except for this the affair is ended.  I need not detain you further.”