She paused to gather fresh strength, and Paul caught hold of some of the bedclothes, and clutched them in his fingers convulsively. This woman, the daughter of the Count of Cruta! this wan, faded creature, the girl whom his father had borne away in triumph! His brain reeled with the wonder of it! If only he had known a few weeks ago! She should never have left the Hermitage until she had told him everything! Was it too late now? She was trying to speak to him. Was he upon the brink of a tremendous revelation? Was the whole past about to be made clear? Oh! if the old Count would keep away for awhile.
Her lips commenced to move. He bent close over her, determined not to lose a syllable. "You know the story about your father, Martin de Vaux and me. I——"
"Yes, yes! I know!" he assured her softly. "I have only heard it lately!"
"From whom?"
"From the priest who was always with you at De Vaux,—from your son!" he added, as the truth suddenly swept in upon him. Yes; Father Adrian was this woman's son!
Her corpse-like face was fixed steadily upon him. Her words were monotonous and slow, yet they preserved their distinctness. "You have come here to know the truth of the story he told you?"
"Yes; I have come to discover it, if I can!"
"The holy Saints must have brought you to me. The story——"
"Yes?"
"The story is false!"