"I left the Ministry, and she came to live in my house in the Rue de Grenelle. She often spoke to me about the child, but I scarcely listened to what she said about it; it did not concern me. Now and then I placed a rather large sum of money in her hand, saying: 'Put that by for him.'
"Two more years glided by; and she was more eager to tell me some news about the youngster—'about Leon.'
"Sometimes she would say in the midst of tears: 'You don't care about him; you don't even wish to see him. If you know what grief you cause me!'
"At last I was so much harassed by her that I promised, one day, to go, next morning, to the Champs Elysees, when she took the child there for an airing.
"But at the moment when I was leaving the house, I was stopped by a sudden apprehension. Man is weak and foolish. What if I were to get fond of this tiny being of whom I was the father—my son?
"I had my hat on my head, my gloves in my hands. I flung down the gloves on my desk, and my hat on a chair:
"No. Decidedly I will not go; it is wiser not to go.'
"My door flew open. My brother entered the room. He handed me an anonymous letter he had received that morning:
"'Warn the Comte de L——, your brother, that the little woman of the Rue Casette is impudently laughing at him. Let him make some inquiries about her.'
"I had never told anybody about this intrigue, and I now told my brother the history of it from the beginning to the end. I added: