"It makes but little difference to me whether it was a true copy or not," she added.
"The originals of Marguerite's letters were in my safe, and were stolen with other papers. If your son knows Pilky Wayne, he may be able to recover them."
"I scorn the insinuation, Mr. Checkynshaw," replied Fitz, indignantly.
"I speak a little French, Ellen, but I do not read it very readily; and I had translations made of Marguerite's letters," continued Mr. Checkynshaw, without noticing the irate young man. "One of these translations I had rendered back into the French rather to give employment to the barber's daughter than for any other reason."
Mrs. Wittleworth felt no interest in the translation. Probably the banker was imposing upon her credulity, but she did not care if he was.
"Are the papers ready, Mr. Checkynshaw?" she asked, timidly, fearful that he had altered his mind in regard to the money.
"They are."
"I am ready to sign the deed."
The banker produced the document, and the check, and laid them upon the desk.
"Will you witness your mother's signature, Fitz?" asked Mr. Checkynshaw.