left it there. Here are the clothes that my child wore. It was this good woman who brought up my son. Do you wish to read this confession. Do you wish to examine these clothes?"
James Milligan looked at us as though he would liked to have strangled us, then he turned on his heels. At the threshold he turned round and said: "We'll see what the courts will think of this boy's story."
My mother, I may call her so now, replied quietly: "You may take the matter to the courts; I have not done so because you are my husband's brother."
The door closed. Then, for the first time in my life, I kissed my mother as she kissed me.
"Will you tell your mother that I kept the secret?" said Mattia, coming up to us.
"You knew all, then?"
"I told Mattia not to speak of all this to you," said my mother, "for though I did believe that you were my son, I had to have certain proofs, and get Madame Barberin here with the clothes. How unhappy we should have been if, after all, we had made a mistake. We have these proofs and we shall never be parted again. You will live with your mother and brother?" Then, pointing to Mattia and Lise, "and," she added, "with those whom you loved when you were poor."
