One thing alone interfered with my happiness.

The Countess de Commarin adored him whom she believed to be her son, and always wished to have him on her knees.

I cannot express what I suffered at seeing my wife cover with kisses and caresses the child of my mistress.

But I kept him from her as much as I could; and she, poor woman! not understanding what was passing within me, imagined that I was doing everything to prevent her son loving her.

She died, sir, with this idea, which poisoned her last days.