name it was impossible for her to recall. By degrees, all her former feelings of aversion and terror declined away. She forgot that it was the murderer of Cardillac who knelt before her, and spoke to him in that graceful tone of quiet benevolence which was so peculiarly her own, asking him why he had requested this meeting, and what he had to disclose to her? The youth still remained in his suppliant posture, heaved a deep sigh, and answered, "Oh, my worthy benefactress, is it then possible that all remembrance of me has vanished from your mind?"
De Scuderi replied, that she had certainly found a resemblance between him, and some one that had been well known to her; moreover, that he was indebted solely to this likeness, if she could now get the better of her abhorrence, and quietly listen to the confession of an assassin. At these words Brusson was evidently much hurt; he rose indignantly, and retired a few paces, while his brows assumed a lowering and fixed expression. "It seems then," said he, "that your ladyship has forgotten Anne Guiot; but, however that may be, it is her son Olivier, the boy whom in his infancy you have so often held caressingly in your arms, who now stands before you."
"Good heavens!" exclaimed de Scuderi, and with both hands covering her face, she sank back on the sofa. There was, indeed, reasonable ground for the painful sensations by which she was now overpowered. Anne Guiot, the neglected daughter of a poor citizen, had been from childhood protected in de Scuderi's house, who had behaved to her with the utmost kindness and affection, even like a mother. After she had grown up to a woman's estate, it happened that there was a handsome young man, named Claude Brusson, who paid his addresses to the girl. As this youth was a very clever watch-maker, and as such would scarcely fail to gain a sufficient livelihood in Paris, de Scuderi knowing that Anne was much attached to him, had no hesitation in agreeing to their marriage. The young couple set up house for themselves, seemed
