smothered amongst all the mass of impurities with which the man's heart was filled.
She was too much a woman to be quite unconscious of her power. She spoke in soft and coaxing accents now, while she replied—
"I know it, Stefano. I believe it. I have also a good memory, and am not likely to forget. And, Stefano, you have a kind heart—you will not keep me longer in suspense about the child. He is here? In this house? In the next room? Oh! let me see him! Let me only see him, and I will do anything you ask!"
She had slid from her chair, and knelt before him, holding the Adept's scarred, burned fingers to her lips.
His face betrayed the pain he suffered in inflicting pain on her. "What can I tell you?" he answered. "It is cruel to deceive you. It is cruel to speak the truth. I have never seen the boy since he left me. Do you think I would have kept him from you? How can I find him? How can I bring him back? You talk as if I was King of France!"
A horrible fear came across her. She rose to her feet, and shook both fists in his face.
"Man!" she exclaimed, "do not tell me he is dead! You shall answer for it, if heaven or hell have any power on earth!"
There were tears in his little beady eyes, unaccustomed tears, that vouched for his truth, even to her, while he replied—
"You are unjust, Célandine; and you would see your injustice if you did but think for a moment. What had I to gain by taking care of the boy? What had I to gain by ridding myself of him? Had I been to blame, do you suppose I should have sent you the earliest information of his flight? Have I not felt your sorrows keenly as if they were my own? Do I not feel for you now? Listen. I am the same Stefano Bartoletti who told you the secret of his life, the desire of his heart, by the side of that sweet serene lagoon, in the beautiful island which probably neither of us may ever see again. I have learned many strange lessons—I have witnessed many strange scenes since then. Many years have passed over my head, and wisdom has not despised me as the least apt among her pupils. Statesmen,
