Now see, mon gars, I was in the wrong to slip it out, but--well, there it is--I was wrong.

But, since it is done, and we must keep it to ourselves, I will tell you the rest.

You are old enough to know.

And Carette--eh bien! it is you yourself, and not your father--" "Ma fe, one does not choose one's father," said Carette, and slipped her hand through my arm, and clung tightly to it through all the telling.
And George Hamon told us briefly that which I have set forth in the beginning of my story.

We two talked of it many times afterwards, and it was at such odd times that he told me all the rest.