"That was kind of Mr. Quinlevin."
"We thought so—yer Highness—but it was kind of Father Reilly too—for nobody was afther coming to see about the poor choild and Mr. Quinlevin was that grateful—he watched the babby like it was his own——"
"That's true enough. He would," sneered the Duc. "And what happened then?"
"Mrs. Boyle and I we lived in the house of Mr. Quinlevin, her as cook and me as nurse, bringin' up the choild as Miss Moira Quinlevin,—alone in the house for wakes at a toime, when Mr. Quinlevin was afther bein' away to London or Paris on business. But all the whoile I was kapin' the birth certificate an' all the whoile tryin' me best to take the place of poor Mary Callonby."
"And you were well paid for this service?" asked de Vautrin.
"I had me wages. It was enough."
"And when you heard that Mr. Quinlevin had seen me in Paris, two years afterward, you received more money?"
Nora's glance sought Quinlevin, who broke in calmly.
"I gave Nora as well as Mrs. Boyle a bit more, ye understand—a proper share of the sum for the support of the child. And they agreed to say nothing." He fingered in his pocket and brought forth a paper. "This, as ye can plainly see, is a copy of the birth certificate of yer child."
"And the original?" asked the Duc.