"You don't understand, because you have never thought about these things. For instance, is it natural that the death of the man whom you called your father should give you such an impression of deliverance and relief?"
She seemed dazed:
"Why do you say, the man whom I called my father?"
"Well," I replied, smiling, "I have never seen your birth-certificate. And, as I have no proof of a fact which seems to me improbable . . ."
"But," she said, in a changed voice, "you have not the least proof either that it is not so. . . ."
"Perhaps I have," I answered.
"Oh," said Bérangère, "it would be too terrible to say that and not to let me learn the truth at once!"
"Do you know Massignac's writing?"
I took a letter from my pocket and handed it to her:
"Read this, my darling. It is a letter which Massignac wrote to me and which he handed to me as he lay dying. I read only the first few words to begin with and at once went off in search of you. Read it, Bérangère, and have no doubts: it is the evidence of a dead man."