"The handkerchief my nurse thought was so beautiful, so nicely embroidered, that she did not cut it up to make me a cap, but she kept it for me. Mon Dieu! now I can't find it; but I am sure that I brought it. Ah! here it is, monsieur, here it is."
And Violette handed the count a handkerchief of the finest linen, with embroidery in each corner. The count walked to a window, examined the embroidery, and recognized his wife's monogram and his own, as well as his coat of arms and his coronet.
That proof was convincing; it removed Monsieur de Brévanne's last doubt; and although he was previously almost certain that Violette was the daughter of his wife and of Roncherolle, on recognizing the monogram, he felt a violent wrench at his heart, and a shudder ran through his veins; for, however suspicious one may be of a fact, there is a vast distance between that and certainty.
"Does monsieur see on the handkerchief anything that helps him to identify my parents, and to tell whether they are still alive?" murmured Violette, while the count kept his eyes fixed on the handkerchief.
"Yes, yes, I have no doubt whatever now, and I had rightly divined who you were."
"In that case, monsieur will certainly tell me——"
"But whoever entrusted you to a nurse must have given you some name, have told her the name of your parents, or given her their address. Tell me, mademoiselle, what name did they give? Answer; I insist that you conceal nothing from me!"
The count's wrathful expression, and the tone in which he questioned the girl, made her tremble; poor Violette dared not meet the angry glances that were bent upon her, and she hardly had the strength to reply:
"Mon Dieu, monsieur, I am not concealing anything; on the contrary, I came here to find out. I don't remember my nurse, but the kind lady who took me in, and who brought me up and took me to Paris, was careful to write down all that the nurse had told her. That is how I know that the gentleman who placed me in the nurse's charge told her that my name was Evelina de Paulausky; but he didn't give any address; he said that he would come to see me, that he would write; but no one came, no one ever wrote, they forgot me, abandoned me; that is all that I know, monsieur, absolutely all; for if I knew anything else, why should I not tell it to you, monsieur, as it might help me to find out who my parents are?"
"Evelina de Paulausky!" exclaimed the count, pacing the floor. "At least they had the decency to conceal their names! But Roncherolle? Why didn't he give her his?—Because, after doing the wrong, he did not choose to take the consequences, and they considered that the simplest way was to abandon the child. Ah! the wretches!"