"But you can determine your duty in regard to my claim, and inform me of your intentions."
"I have no intentions at present, and you will pardon me if I decline to say anything more about it to-night."
Fitz began to think he was overdoing the matter. André appeared to be slightly ruffled, and he deemed it prudent to proceed no further.
"Very well, André; if you do not see the justice of my claim, I will not press it. You are an honest and a just man. If I had not known you as such, I should not have troubled you. Of course my future opinion of you must depend very much upon your decision in this matter. Not that I care so much for the money, but I love justice. If I can afford you any information in regard to Checkynshaw's child, I shall be glad to do so."
"Mr. Wittleworth, I was in one of the cholera hospitals of Paris at the time that child died—I think you said ten years ago."
"Is it possible!" exclaimed Fitz. "It was ten years ago last August."
"Do you know in what hospital the child was placed?" asked André, with breathless interest.
"I do not, but my mother does. She has a letter written to her by the present Mrs. Checkynshaw, in which she informed her that Marguerite had died in the hospital. But Checkynshaw looked the matter up afterwards; and he says the child did not die; that she was taken away by the Sisters of Charity. That was all bosh."
"Could I see your mother?" asked André.
"Certainly; you can walk over to my house and see her if you like."