The Washington times., 1912-02-07
GORON,

F., Paris found that my old employer
| had given up his business, but had
good references. and soon found an
| other position
and she wrote to me regularly. She had
not spoken of our Relationship 10 her
uncle and aunt, so as not to soil our
mothers memory. We met in secret
Adrienne was all had in the world to
care for. One day she told me that she
was going to marry M. Roger Deverly
| the architect.
When I am married. she said, we
VIII try and see one another frequently.
! II l only dare tell Roger who you are;
put for our mothers sake we had best
! Yes said, we will see later, but
now he must not know
Adrienne married and went to live at
Sourbeyoie. Twelve months later she
had a little girl, and 1 used to go to
Courbevoie and often meet them when
| they were taking their walk.
| "One day at the office 1 was looking
to see the name Chauffard. I found out
| that he was doing some business with
my employer, and that he lived at
! Neuilly, near the bridge.
| For many years he had lived In In
Ola and had returned to Paris with con-
| siderable wealth. He speculated on the
, Bourse and loaned money on mort
cages. All the information CLEANED
convinced me that this man was my
| father.
'I hesitated a long time whether
should go and see him. Should l call
on the man who had abandoned my
"Then that extraordinary power of
natural ties that had already asserted
ITSELF when 1 had found my mother be-
| gan to make me feel uneasy.
| something stronger than my will
| seemed to push me each day to the
| house by the bridge at Neuilly. Then
L ~ do mr. Hnur 1~.NIA -
longer. I knocked at the door and
asked to see M. Chauffard. was
shown into his study, a large room on
about SoF S S s RSthng oo
lection of weapons and Indian bronzes.
IN. Chauffard asked me my business.
He was a stout, tall. buslnesslike
photograph of himself when he was
twenty years of age. 1t was exactly the
same as the one had in my pocket that
my mother had given me; MY hand
had, under which was written:
To my beloved Henri
IN. Chauffard turned pale and looked
who gave you this Photograph he
MY mother. who was Mile. Julie
"Look at these I said. as I drew
out of my pocket the souvenirs my
mother had given me. There were some
old, yellow letters a little gold ring
by Ef her b Rsfa s sRe ded statement written
! although I was shorter and smaller
than NJ. Chauffard, my likeness to him
was striking.
'Well?. ! replied, my voice trem-
bling slightly. may I not call you
father I held out my hand to him.
II was craving for a word of affec-
THAT'S ali right said NJ. Chauffard,
shaking my hand coldly. DO not speak
Of this to anyone. I will take charge of
| these papers,
May come to see you sometimes
because you are my father"
"I'll write to you; don't give your
| self any trouble AS If to soften tho
should not like you to call and find me
Lot at home
when got outside the house I Won
dered what i was that had made dem, me
, affection or anything good from the
man who had left my own mother?
Then something happened that changed
| ALL"
Leon Laroche closed his eyes for
moment and was silent.
The lawyer had been listening to his
clients story with keen interest. The
| man continued:
IT was at the foot OF the garden
, steps; the sun shone and the birds were
singing. A young girl came toward me.
Sne was ABOUT eighteen years OIu' oHS
had the sweet, pure face OF child and
large, dark, sad eyes: .,.
| Monsieur" she said. courteously,
the servant has just told me that you
wish to see my uncle. He Is in the
| library
II bowed and said: I have seen him,
mademoiselle, thank you Then left
| the garden.
| de Boulogne for long time and gave
myself up to bitter thoughts. This man
who was my father had humiliated me
greatly: had vowed as | left him that
would never return to him, even II he
| wrote me-
And yet the following Sunday rang
| the bell by the iron gate of the house
at Neuilly again. When my father saw
Did I not say that you were not
to come until I wrote to your" .
my usual timidity vanished. I said
| as boldly as / could:
I'M. Chauffard. since I saw you last
Sunday I have thought matters over.
| We both know the truth. Then 1t Is
my duty to give you affection and re-
spect. and yours to give me a little
| twitch.
"Do not worry FASTENED to say;
st is simply a moral support that
mean: ] earn sufficient for my needs.
I only asked to be allowed to call occa-
sionally.'
MY father looked at me. He was
evidently reaSSured.
Livery WE'LL he said, only 1 don't
wish anyone to know our relationship.
| will say that you are the son Of
friend of mine who died in India. Will
| you have luncheon with us?'
ut seemed to have cost him an effort
| to extend the invitation. The us was
evidently NJ. Chauffard and the beauu-
| full girl had seen in the garden.
IT accepted. A few minutes later his
niece came into the study. When she
saw me she apologized to her uncle
| and was leaving the room.
"'No, Georgette,' he said, you can
stay. This young man is going to have
luncheon with us. He is the son of an
old friend of mine who died fifteen years
| ago in India
she blushed and made me a little
| bow.
M. Chauffard had only one interest
in the world-money. Every thought
| centered around his money bags. My
coming into his life had at first been
very disagreeable to him, for he was
afraid I might ask for some money.
Later, when he saw that was not what
came for, he treated me with indif-
| ference.
Every fifteen days I had luncheon