"I see," he said again; and added now, "Of course, any but a fool would have guessed it long ago."
It was M. de Kercadiou who cried out, M. de Kercadiou who recoiled as from a blow.
"My God, André, of what are you made? You can take such an announcement in this fashion?"
"And how would you have me take it? Should it surprise me to discover that I had a mother? After all, a mother is an indispensable necessity to getting one's self born."
He sat down abruptly, to conceal the too-revealing fact that his limbs were shaking. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his brow, which had grown damp. And then, quite suddenly, he found himself weeping.
At the sight of those tears streaming silently down that face that had turned so pale, M. de Kercadiou came quickly across to him. He sat down beside him and threw an arm affectionately over his shoulder.
"André, my poor lad," he murmured. "I ... I was fool enough to think you had no heart. You deceived me with your infernal pretence, and now I see ... I see..." He was not sure what it was that he saw, or else he hesitated to express it.
"It is nothing, monsieur. I am tired out, and ... and I have a cold in the head." And then, finding the part beyond his power, he abruptly threw it up, utterly abandoned all pretence. "Why ... why has there been all this mystery?" he asked. "Was it intended that I should never know?"
"It was, André. It ... it had to be, for prudence' sake."
"But why? Complete your confidence, sir. Surely you cannot leave it there. Having told me so much, you must tell me all."
"The reason, my boy, is that you were born some three years after your mother's marriage with M. de Plougastel, some eighteen months after M. de Plougastel had been away with the army, and some four months before his return to his wife. It is a matter that M. de Plougastel has never suspected, and for gravest family reasons must never suspect.
