At a given moment, D'Orsay
learned that a young man known as Lord Raoul Ardale was in reality his
son. Instantly the man of the world, the squire of dames, went off into
a deliquium of tender emotion. For "my bo-o-oy" he would do anything and
everything. He would go down to Crockford's and win a pot of money to
pay "my boy's" debts--Fortune could not but be kind to a doting parent.
In the beautiful simplicity of his soul, he looked forward with eager
delight to telling Raoul that the mother he adored was no better than
she should be, and that he had no right to his name or title. Not for a
moment did he doubt that the young man would share his transports. When
the mother opposed his purpose of betraying her secret, he wept with
disappointment. "All day," he said, "I have been saying to myself: When
that sun sets, I shall hear him say, 'Good-night, Father!'" He
postulated in so many words the "voix du sang," trusting that, even if
the revelation were not formally made, "Nature would send the boy some
impulse" of filial affection.
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