"We travelled through Italy, the Alps and Switzerland; more than six months had passed since our marriage, and we were in Auvergne, when Adèle felt that her time was at hand.
"Adèle’s health compelled us to stop in a small village, named, I think, Saint-Sandoux, about two leagues from here; I had taken the name of Gervais. There it was that she brought into the world a daughter, whom I caused to be baptised under the name of Isaure Gervais."
"Isaure!" cried Edouard, interrupting the baron; "what! can it be, monsieur, that Isaure is——"
"Adèle’s daughter, yes, Edouard; but, for heaven’s sake, let me finish this painful story.—I had made my plans long before; that child could not remain with her mother. I rode about the neighboring country, alone, carrying concealed beneath my cloak the innocent creature whom I desired to hate, and in whom, nevertheless, in spite of myself, I already felt an affectionate interest. I arrived in this valley, I entered the cottage then occupied by André Sarpiotte and his wife; she was nursing a young baby, and I proposed to her to be the nurse of the little girl whom I carried in my arms, inventing a story concerning Isaure’s birth and parents.
"The worthy Auvergnats accepted my proposition, which I supported with a purse filled with gold. They swore to me to take the greatest care of the child whom I entrusted to them; and being then more at ease in my mind, I returned to Adèle, to whom I announced that she could henceforth be at ease concerning the fate of her daughter; but I did not tell her where the child was.
"As soon as Adèle was restored to health we left Auvergne; but before returning to Paris and laying aside the assumed name I had taken upon my journey, I took pains to make several detours in order to avoid the possibility of anyone discovering what my honor was so much interested in concealing. At last we reached Paris, my dear Alfred! I had longed so to be there, in order to see you and to embrace you once more. There I introduced my new wife in society; and she, by her lovable qualities, readily won general esteem. A single thought still disturbed my tranquillity: I might meet in society my wife’s lover; but in that case his blood would have washed out the outrage that he had perpetrated on Adèle. However, my thirst for vengeance was constantly disappointed; I never saw or heard of the Chevalier de Savigny.
"Adèle never dared to mention her daughter; but she poured out upon you, my dear Alfred, the affection of a mother; caring nothing for society, desiring nothing but you, and liberty to kiss you, to lavish caresses upon you, how many times have I seen her, while covering you with kisses, furtively wipe away the tears that she shed for the child who was banished from her arms! And yet, never a complaint, never a word escaped her upon that subject; attentive and submissive to me, it seemed that in every action of her life she sought to show her gratitude to me. What a woman! And how fervently I would have adored her forever! Ah! even if she were guilty for one moment, how many others are there in society who are guiltier than she and have nothing to offer us to redeem their shortcomings!
"Five months after our arrival in Paris, I set out secretly for Auvergne, and went to see little Isaure, under the name of Gervais as before. The good people to whom I had entrusted her loved her as dearly as their own child. André at that time wanted to sell this house, which he had just built; it occurred to me that, if I should buy it, it would be convenient for me in the trips which I expected to make into this country. So I became, still under the name of Gervais, the owner of the White House. I furnished it so that I might have everything that I required when I came here; then, after making the peasants swear that they would not say that the owner of the White House was the same man who had placed Isaure in their charge, I returned to Paris, where I afforded Adèle the most delicious pleasure by giving her most satisfactory news of her daughter.
"Two years passed; every six months I came secretly to the White House. As soon as they saw a light here, André or his wife never failed to come and bring little Isaure to me. The child of those worthy peasants died and they promised to adopt Isaure to replace him whom they had lost; for I, on my part, had promised to leave the girl with them forever.
"Meanwhile, Adèle’s health was still poor; I believed her to be better than she really was, and she concealed her sufferings from me and always greeted me with a smile. Soon, however, it was impossible for me to delude myself as to her condition. Presuming that her grief at being separated from her daughter was the cause of the sorrow which was secretly undermining her health, I swore to her that before long I would devise some way to have the child brought to us, without running the risk of disclosing the secret of her birth. Adèle thanked me affectionately; but alas! it was too late; in a short time her disease made alarming progress, and soon I was forced to see the woman whom I adored fade away in my arms. She died, urging me never to abandon her daughter, to forgive her for her mother’s sin, and imploring me to love her Isaure a little.