"No, she lived with him."
The old man started: "With him? With Pravallon?"
"Why, yes."
And the betrayed man rapidly calculated that the woman who had deceived him, had lived over thirty years with his rival.
Almost unconsciously he asked: "Were they happy?"
The young man sneered. "Why, yes, with ups and downs! It would have been better had I not been there. I always spoiled everything."
"How, and why?" inquired the priest.
"I have already told you. Because he thought I was his son up to my fifteenth year. But the old fellow wasn't a fool, and soon discovered the likeness. That created scenes. I used to listen behind the door. He accused mother of having deceived him. Mother would answer: 'Is it my fault? you knew quite well when you took me that I was the mistress of that other man.' You were that other man."
"Ah! They spoke of me sometimes?"
"Yes, but never mentioned your name before me, excepting toward the end, when mother knew she was lost. I think they distrusted me."