“You see then, doctor, what a villain he was. I suppose he felt remorse for the crime he intended to commit in this house. Did he make any avowal? Is any thing known of his family?”
“Nothing, except that he was an illegitimate child, and was found, shortly after his birth, under the peristyle of St. Louis’ church.”
“St. Louis’ church?”
“Yes: and he was taken to the Foundling Hospital in the Rue du Plessis.”
“The Rue du Plessis?”
“Yes: he told me the whole story the day before yesterday, at my evening visit to the prison infirmary. He had carefully preserved an old card, upon which were traced some strange characters, and an engraved stone belonging to a seal. He requested me to take charge of them. I believe they are still in my pocket-book. Yes, here they are. This stone must have belonged to a valuable trinket—he probably sold the setting. Here is the card.”
The old invalid, whose increasing agitation had not been observed by the doctor, threw a rapid glance over these objects,—then, with a shriek of horror, sunk back upon his chair.
“Great God,” he exclaimed, “the mendicant was my son!”
A few minutes after, this unnatural parent had ceased to breathe.