A natural question, but one that caused his mother to shiver.
"Do not use that awful word," she said. "He was condemned to death, but the sentence was afterwards changed."
Certain past events were now seen by Idris in a new light.
"Mother, I know in what prison father is. It is the one on the moorland over there," he exclaimed, indicating the direction with his hand.
"You are right, Idie: and now you know why I live at Quilaix. It is that I may be near your father. I am happier here—if indeed I may use the word happy in speaking of myself—than in any other place. I have a beautiful house at Nantes, but I cannot live there in ease and luxury while your father is deprived of everything that makes life bright. Now listen, Idie, for I am going to require of you a solemn promise. Since your father did not commit the murder it is certain that some one else did. I want you to find that man."
"I, mother?"
"Of course I do not mean now. In after years. When you are a man."
"But supposing the murderer should be dead?"
"You must find him, living or dead: if living, you must bring him to justice: if dead, you must show to the world that your father was guiltless of the deed. He himself, confined as he is within prison walls, can do nothing to establish his innocence: and as for me, I have the feeling that I shall not live long. Grief is shortening my days. To you, then, I leave this task: to it you must devote your whole life. You will be spared the necessity of having to earn your living, since you are well provided for. But though health, strength, and fortune be yours, you will find these advantages embittered by the constant thought, 'Men think me the son of a murderer!' Will you let the world do you this injustice? Will you not try to clear your father's memory? Will you not ever bear in mind your mother's dearest wish?"