“The secret,” said Lebel to me, “will never be known, and your son will be my sole heir, or will share my property with my children if I ever have any, which I doubt.”

“My dear,” said his wife, “there is somebody who has very strong suspicions on the subject, and these suspicions will gain strength as the child grows older; but we have nothing to fear on that score, as she is well paid to keep the secret.”

“And who is this person?” said I.

“Madame——.  She has not forgotten the past, and often speaks of you.”

“Will you kindly remember me to her?”

“I shall be delighted to do so, and I am sure the message will give her great pleasure.”

Lebel shewed me my ring, and I shewed him his, and gave him a superb watch for my son.

“You must give it him,” I said, “when you think he is old enough.”

We shall hear of the young gentleman in twenty-one years at Fontainebleau.

I passed three hours in telling them of all the adventures I had during the twenty-seven months since we had seen one another.  As to their history, it was soon told; it had all the calm which belongs to happiness.

Madame Lebel was as pretty as ever, and I could see no change in her, but I was no longer the same man.  She thought me less lively than of old, and she was right.  The Renaud had blasted me, and the pretended Lascaris had given me a great deal of trouble and anxiety.

We embraced each other tenderly, and the wedded pair returned to Soleure and I to Geneva; but feeling that I wanted rest I wrote to the syndic that I was not well and could not come till the next day, and after I had done so I went to bed.

The next day, the eve of my dinner party, I ordered a repast in which no expense was to be spared.  I did not forget to tell the landlord to get me the best wines, the choicest liqueurs, ices, and all the materials for a bowl of punch.  I told him that we should be six in number, for I foresaw that M. Tronchin would dine with us.  I was right; I found him at his pretty house ready to receive us, and I had not much trouble in inducing him to stay.  In the evening I thought it as well to tell the syndic and his three friends about it in Helen’s presence, while she, feigning ignorance, said that her mother had told her they were going somewhere or other to dinner.

“I am delighted to hear it,” said I; “it must be at M. Tronchin’s.”

My dinner would have satisfied the most exacting gourmet, but Hedvig was its real charm.  She treated difficult theological questions with so much grace, and rationalised so skilfully, that though one might not be convinced it was impossible to help being attracted.  I have never seen any theologian who could treat the most difficult points with so much facility, eloquence, and real dignity, and at dinner she completed her conquest of myself.  M. Tronchin, who had never heard her speak before, thanked me a hundred times for having procured him this pleasure, and being obliged to leave us by the call of business he asked us to meet again in two days’ time.