"No!" exclaimed André, with something like a shudder at the thought of having Maggie taken from him, even to dwell in the palatial home of the banker.
"Why may it not have been?"
"Because I traced the parents of my Maggie to their lodgings, and both of them had died of cholera. The concierge identified the clothing and a locket I found upon her neck. Besides, Maggie spoke French then, and the other child did not. I have no doubt the child that died was Mr. Checkynshaw's."
"André, your hand!" said Fitz.
"I don't wish to harm Mr. Checkynshaw," protested the barber, taking the hand involuntarily, rather than because he was interested in the act.
"You love truth and justice; you have the reputation of loving truth and justice, all over the world—you have. You are a noble-minded man," continued Fitz, eloquently. "Now you can see what Checkynshaw is, and now you can see what I am."
"Don't be foolish, Fitz!" interposed Mrs. Wittleworth.
"Foolish! Mother, have I not furnished wisdom for our family? Have I not told you from the beginning what Checkynshaw was? I told you the child was dead. Now it is proved."
"No matter if it is. It makes no difference now."
"It is matter; it does make a difference. Mother, you know how earnestly I protested against your signing that quitclaim deed. Now I am justified. Now you can see that I was right, and you were wrong."