“Don’t ask me for it?” murmured Catharine.
“And why not? I must look at it again and again, before the fact will make itself clear. Come, come, let us see the paper.”
“It is lost!” said Catharine, in a low voice; “there is nothing left but my word to prove that I am really and truly your son’s wife!”
CHAPTER XX.
ALL ALONE.
Madame de Marke stood a moment irresolute, then she spoke out. “My son! you will call the young reprobate De Marke, my son, as if he ever had a drop of my blood in his veins. I tell you he was De Marke’s son by a first wife, and I——Well, yes, I am his stepmother, his father’s widow, and his guardian till, till——But what’s the use of talking? You couldn’t understand it.”
“But I understand this, and thank God for it. De Marke is not your own son.”
“No more my son than he is your husband, honey-bird, be sure of that,” cried the old woman, with a spiteful laugh.
Catharine’s eyes sparkled. It was something to know that the old woman had really no claim on her for respect.
“But you have always looked upon him as a son, and you know that I am his wife.”
“Indeed, how do I know that? Let me read over the certificate, and then—”