The Mysteries of Paris, Volume 3 of 6

"Ah!" cried Rodolph, "the villain had evidently taken every precaution to prevent detection."

"He had, indeed. As for me, sir," continued Louise, "I was so thunderstruck with horror at these assertions of M. Ferrand, that I knew not what to reply. Ignorant of my having taken anything to induce sleep, I felt wholly unable to account for my having slept so unusually heavy and long. Appearances were strongly against me; what would it avail for me to publish the dreadful story? No one would believe me innocent. How, indeed, could I hope or expect they should, when even to myself the events of that fatal night continued an impenetrable mystery?"

Even Rodolph remained speechless with horror at this fearful revelation of the diabolical hypocrisy of M. Ferrand.

"Then," said he, after a pause of some minutes, "you never ventured to inform your father of the infamous treatment you had received?"

"No," answered she, "for I dreaded lest he might suppose I had willingly listened to the persuasions of my master; and I also feared that, in the first burst of his indignation, my poor father would forget that not only his own freedom, but the very existence of his family, depended upon the pleasure of M. Ferrand."

"And probably," continued Rodolph, desirous if possible to save Louise the painful confession, "probably, yielding to constraint, and the dread of endangering the safety of your father and family by a refusal, you continued to be the victim of this monster's brutality?"

Louise spoke not, but her cast-down eyes, and the deep blushes which dyed her pale cheek, answered most painfully in the affirmative.

"And was his conduct afterwards less barbarous and unfeeling than before?"

"Not in the least. And when, by chance, my master had the curé and vicaire of Bonne Nouvelle to dine with him, the better to avert all suspicion from himself, he would scold me severely in their presence, and even beg M. le Curé to admonish me, assuring him that some day or other I should fall into ruin; that I was a girl of free and bold manners, and that he could not make me keep my distance with the young men in his office; that I was an idle, unworthy person, whom he only kept out of charity and pity for my father, who was an honest man with a large family, whom he had greatly served and obliged. With the exception of that part of the statement which referred to my father, the rest was utterly false. I never, by any chance, saw the clerks belonging to his office, as it was situated in a building entirely detached from the house."

"And, when alone with M. Ferrand, how did he account for his treatment of you before the curé?"

"He assured me he was only jesting. However, the curé believed him, and reprehended me very severely, saying that a person must be vicious indeed to go astray in so godly a household, where I had none but the most holy and religious examples before my eyes. I knew not what answer to make to this address; I felt my cheeks burn and my eyes involuntarily cast down. All these indications of shame and confusion were construed to my disadvantage, until, at length, sick at heart, and weary, and disgusted, my very life seemed a burden to me, and many times I felt tempted to destroy myself; but the thoughts of my parents, my poor brothers and sisters, that my small earnings helped to maintain, deterred me from ending my sorrows by death. I therefore resigned myself to my wretched fate, finding one consolation, amidst the degradation of my lot, in the thought that, at least, I had preserved my father from the horrors of a prison. But a fresh misfortune overwhelmed me; I became enceinte. I now felt myself lost indeed. A secret presentiment assured me that, when M. Ferrand became aware of a circumstance which ought, at least, to have rendered him less harsh and cruel, he would treat me even more unkindly than before. I was still, however, far from expecting what afterwards occurred."

At this moment, Morel, recovering from his temporary abstraction, gazed around him, as though trying to collect his ideas, then, pressing his hand upon his forehead, looked at his daughter with an inquiring glance, and said:

"I fancy I have been ill, or something is wrong with my head – grief – fatigue – tell me, my child – what were you saying just now? I seem almost unable to recollect."

"When," continued Louise, unheeding her father's look, "when M. Ferrand discovered that I was likely to become a mother – "

Here the lapidary waved his hand in despairing agony, but Rodolph calmed him by an imploring look.

"Yes, yes," said Morel, "let me hear all; 'tis fit and right the tale should be told. Go on, go on, my girl, and I will listen from beginning to end."

Louise went on. "I besought M. Ferrand to tell me by what means I should conceal my shame, and the consequence of a crime of which he was the author. Alas, dear father, I can scarcely hope or believe you will credit what I am about to tell you."

"What did he say? Speak."

"Interrupting me with much indignation and well-feigned surprise, he affected not to understand my meaning, and even inquired whether I had not lost my senses. Terrified, I exclaimed, 'Oh, sir, what is to become of me? Alas, if you have no pity on me, pity at least the poor infant that must soon see the light!'

"'What a lost, depraved character!' cried M. Ferrand, raising his clasped hands towards heaven. 'Horrible, indeed! Why, you poor, wretched girl, is it possible that you have the audacity to accuse me of disgracing myself by any illicit acquaintance with a person of your infamous description? Can it be that you have the hardihood to lay the fruits of your immoral conduct and gross irregularity at my door, – I, who have repeated a hundred times, in the presence of respectable witnesses, that you would come to ruin some day, vile profligate that you are? Quit my house this instant, or I will drive you out!'"

Rodolph and Morel were struck with horror; a system of wickedness like this seemed to freeze their blood.

"By Heaven!" said Rodolph, "this surpasses any horrors that imagination could have conceived."

Morel did not speak, but his eyes expanded fearfully, whilst a convulsive spasm contracted his features. He quitted the stool on which he was sitting, opened a drawer suddenly, and, taking out a long and very sharp file, fixed in a wooden handle, he rushed towards the door. Rodolph, guessing his thoughts, seized his arm, and stopped his progress.

"Morel, where are you going? You will do a mischief, unhappy man!"

"Take care," exclaimed the infuriated artisan, struggling, "or I shall commit two crimes instead of one!" and the madman threatened Rodolph.

"Father, it is our benefactor!" exclaimed Louise.

"He is jesting at us; he wants to save the notary," replied Morel, quite crazed, and struggling with Rodolph. At the end of a second, the latter disarmed him, carefully opened the door, and threw the file out on the staircase. Louise ran to the lapidary, embraced him, and said:

"Father, it is our benefactor! You have raised your hand against him, – recover yourself."

These words recalled Morel to himself, and hiding his face in his hands, he fell mutely on his knees before Rodolph.

"Rise, rise, unhappy father," said Rodolph, in accents of great kindness; "be patient, be patient, I understand your wrath and share your hatred; but, in the name of your vengeance, do not compromise your daughter!"

"Louise! – my daughter!" cried the lapidary, rising, "but what can justice – the law – do against that? We are but poor wretches, and were we to accuse this rich, powerful, and respected man, we should be laughed to scorn. Ha! ha! ha!" and he laughed convulsively, "and they would be right. Where would be our proofs? – yes, our proofs? No one would believe us. So, I tell you – I tell you," he added, with increased fury, "I tell you that I have no confidence but in the impartiality of my knife."

"Silence, Morel! your grief distracts you," said Rodolph to him sorrowfully; "let your daughter speak; the moments are precious; the magistrate waits; I must know all, – all, I tell you; go on, my child."

Morel fell back on the stool, overwhelmed with his anguish.

"It is useless, sir," continued Louise, "to tell you of my tears, my prayers. I was thunderstruck. This took place at ten o'clock in the morning in M. Ferrand's private room. The curate was coming to breakfast with him, and entered at the moment when my master was assailing me with reproach and accusations. He appeared much put out at the sight of the priest."

"What occurred then?"

"Oh, he soon recovered himself, and exclaimed, call him by name, 'Well, Monsieur l'Abbé, I said so, I said this unhappy girl would be undone. She is ruined, ruined for ever; she has just confessed to me her fault and her shame, and entreated me to save her. Only think that, from commiseration, I have received such a wanton into my house!' 'How,' said the abbé to me with indignation, 'in spite of the excellent counsels which your master has given you a hundred times in my presence, have you really sunk so low? Oh, it is unpardonable! My friend, my friend, after the kindness you have evinced towards this wretched girl and her family, any pity would be weakness. Be inexorable,' said the abbé, the dupe, like the rest of the world, of M. Ferrand's hypocrisy."

"And you did not unmask the scoundrel on the spot?" asked Rodolph.

"Ah, no! monsieur, I was terrified, my head was in a whirl, I did not dare, I could not pronounce a word, – yet I was anxious to speak and defend myself. 'But sir – ' I cried. 'Not one word more, unworthy creature,' said M. Ferrand, interrupting me. 'You heard M. l'Abbé. Pity would be weakness. In an hour you leave my house!' Then, without allowing me time to reply, he led the abbé into another room. After the departure of M. Ferrand," resumed Louise, "I was almost bereft of my senses for a moment. I was driven from his house, and unable to find any home elsewhere, in consequence of my condition, and the bad character which my master would give with me. I felt sure, too, that in his rage he would send my father to prison; and I did not know what to do. I went to my room, and there I wept bitterly. At the end of two hours M. Ferrand appeared. 'Is your bundle made up?' said he. 'Pardon,' I exclaimed, falling at his feet, 'do not turn me from your house in my present condition. What will become of me? I have no place to turn to.' 'So much the better; this is the way that God punishes loose behaviour and falsehood.' 'Dare you say that I tell falsehood?' I asked, indignantly, 'dare you say that it is not you who have caused my ruin?' 'Leave my house this moment, you wretch, since you persist in your calumnies!' he replied in a terrible voice; 'and to punish you I will to-morrow send your father to the gaol.' 'Well, no, no!' said I, terrified; 'I will not again accuse you, sir; that I promise you; but do not drive me away from the house. Have pity on my father. The little I earn here helps to support my family. Keep me here; I will say nothing. I will endeavour to hide every thing; and when I can no longer do so, oh, then, but not till then, send me away!' After fresh entreaties on my part, M. Ferrand consented to keep me with him; and I considered that a great favour in my wretched condition. During the time that followed this cruel scene, I was most wretched, and miserably treated; only sometimes M. Germain, whom I seldom saw, kindly asked me what made me unhappy; but shame prevented me from confessing anything to him."

"Was not that about the time when he came to reside here?"

"Yes, sir, he was looking out for an apartment near the Rue du Temple or de l'Arsenal. There was one to let here, and I told him of that one which you now occupy, sir, and it suited him exactly. When he quitted it, about two months ago, he begged me not to mention his new address here, but that they knew it at M. Ferrand's."

The necessity under which Germain was to conceal himself from those who were trying to find him explained all these precautions to Rodolph.

"And it never occurred to you to make a confidant of Germain?" he said to Louise.

"No, sir, he was also a dupe to the hypocrisy of M. Ferrand; he called him harsh and exacting; but he thought him the honestest man on the face of the earth."

"When Germain was lodging here, did he never hear your father at times accuse the notary of desiring to seduce you?"

"My father never expressed his fears before strangers; and besides, at this period, I deceived his uneasiness, and comforted him by the assurances that M. Ferrand no longer thought of me. Alas! my poor father will now forgive me those falsehoods? I only employed them to tranquillise your mind, father dear, that was all."

Morel made no reply; he only leaned his forehead on his two arms, crossed on his working-board, and sobbed bitterly.

Rodolph made a sign to Louise not to address herself to her father, and she continued thus:

"I led from this time a life of tears and perpetual anguish. By using every precaution, I had contrived to conceal my condition from all eyes; but I could not hope thus to hide it during the last two months. The future became more and more alarming to me, as M. Ferrand had declared that he would not keep me any longer in the house; and therefore I should be deprived of the small resources which assisted our family to live. Cursed and driven from my home by my father, for, after the falsehoods I had told him to set his mind at ease, he would believe me the accomplice, and not the victim of M. Ferrand, what was to become of me? where could I find refuge or place myself in my condition? I then had a criminal idea; but, fortunately, I recoiled from putting it into execution. I confess this to you, sir, because I will not keep any thing concealed, not even that which may tell against myself; and thus I may show you the extremities to which I was reduced by the cruelty of M. Ferrand. If I had given way to such a thought, would he not have been the accomplice of my crime?"

After a moment's silence, Louise resumed with great effort, and in a trembling voice:

"I had heard say by the porteress that a quack doctor lived in the house, – and, – "

She could not finish.

Rodolph recollected that, at his first interview with Madame Pipelet, he had received from the postman, in her absence, a letter written on coarse paper, in a feigned hand, and on which he had remarked the traces of tears.

"And you wrote to him, unhappy girl, three days since? You wept over your letter; and the handwriting was disguised."

Louise looked at Rodolph in great consternation.

"How did you know that, sir?"

"Do not alarm yourself; I was alone in Madame Pipelet's lodge when they brought in the letter; and I remarked it quite accidentally."

"Yes, sir, it was mine. In this letter, which bore no signature, I wrote to M. Bradamanti, saying that, as I did not dare to go to him, I would beg him to be in the evening near the Château d'Eau. I had lost my senses. I sought fearful advice from him; and I left my master's house with the intention of following them; but, at the end of a minute, my reason returned to me, and I saw what a crime I was about to commit. I returned to the house, and did not attend the appointment I had written for. That evening an event occurred, the consequences of which caused the misfortune which has overwhelmed me. M. Ferrand thought I had gone out for a couple of hours, whilst, in reality, I had been gone but a very short time. As I passed before the small garden gate, to my great surprise I saw it half open. I entered by it, and took the key into M. Ferrand's private room, where it was usually kept. This apartment was next to his bedroom, the most retired place in the house; and it was there he had his private meetings with clients and others, transacting his every-day business in the office. You will see, sir, why I give you these particulars. As I very well knew the ways of the apartments, after having crossed the dining-room, which was lighted up, I entered into the salon without any candle, and then into the little closet, which was on this side of his sleeping-room. The door of this latter opened at the moment when I was putting the key on a table; and the moment my master saw me by the light of the lamp, which was burning in his chamber, then he suddenly shut the door on some person whom I could not see, and then, in spite of the darkness, rushed towards me and, seizing me by the throat as if he would strangle me, said, in a low voice, and in a tone at once savage and alarmed, 'What! listening! – spying at the door! What did you hear? Answer me, – answer directly, or I'll strangle you.' But, suddenly changing his idea, and not giving me time to say a word, he drove me back into the dining-room; the office door was open, and he brutally thrust me in and shut the door."

"And you did not hear the conversation?"

"Not a word, sir; if I had known that there was any one in his room with him, I should have been careful not to have gone there. He even forbade Madame Séraphin from doing so."

"And, when you left the office, what did he say to you?"

"It was the housekeeper who let me out, and I did not see M. Ferrand again that night. His violence to me, and the fright I had undergone, made me very ill indeed. The next day, at the moment when I went down-stairs, I met M. Ferrand, and I shuddered when I remembered his threats of the night before; what then was my surprise when he said to me calmly, 'You knew that I forbid any one to enter my private room when I have any person there; but, for the short time longer you will stay here, it is useless to scold you any more.' And then he went into his study. This mildness astonished me after his violence of the previous evening. I went on with my work as usual, and was going to put his bedchamber to rights. I had suffered a great deal all night, and was weak and exhausted. Whilst I was hanging up some clothes in a dark closet at the end of the room near the bed, I was suddenly seized with a painful giddiness, and felt as if I should lose my senses; as I fell, I tried to support myself by grasping at a large cloak which hung against the wainscot; but in my fall I drew this cloak down on me, and was almost entirely covered by it. When I came to myself, the glass door of the above closet was shut. I heard M. Ferrand's voice, – he was speaking aloud. Remembering the scene of the previous evening, I thought I should be killed if I stirred. I suppose that, hidden by the cloak which had fallen on me, my master did not perceive me when he shut the door of this dark wardrobe. If he found me, how could I account for, and make him believe, this singular accident? I, therefore, held my breath, and in spite of myself, overheard the conclusion of this conversation which, no doubt had begun some time."

"And who was the person who was talking with the notary and shut up in this room with him?" inquired Rodolph of Louise.

"I do not know, sir; I did not recognise the voice."

"And what were they saying?"

"No doubt they had been conversing some time; but all I heard was this: 'Nothing more easy,' said the unknown voice; 'a fellow named Bras Rouge has put me, for the affair I mentioned to you just now, in connection with a family of "fresh-water pirates,"¹ established on the point of a small islet near Asnières. They are the greatest scoundrels on earth; the father and grandfather were guillotined; two of the sons were condemned to the galleys for life; but there are still left a mother, three sons, and two daughters, all as infamous as they can possibly be. They say that at night, in order to plunder on both sides of the Seine, they sometimes come down in their boats as low as Bercy. They are ruffians, who will kill any one for a crown-piece; but we shall not want their aid further than their hospitality for your lady from the country. The Martials – that is the name of these pirates – will pass in her eyes for an honest family of fishers. I will go, as if from you, to pay two or three visits to your young lady. I will order her a few comforting draughts; and at the end of a week or ten days, she will form an acquaintance with the burial-ground of Asnières. In villages, deaths are looked on as nothing more than a letter by the post, whilst in Paris they are a little more curious in such matters. But when do you send your young lady from the provinces to the isle of Asnières, for I must give the Martials notice of the part they have to play?' 'She will arrive here to-morrow, and next day I shall send her to them,' replied M. Ferrand; 'and I shall tell her that Doctor Vincent will pay her a visit at my request.' 'Ah, Vincent will do as well as any other name,' said the voice."

"What new mystery of crime and infamy?" said Rodolph, with increased astonishment.

"New? No, sir, you will see that it is in connection with another crime that you know of," resumed Louise, who thus continued: "I heard a movement of chairs, – the interview had ended. 'I do not ask the secret of you,' said M. Ferrand, 'you behave to me as I behave to you.' 'Thus we may mutually serve without any power mutually to injure each other,' answered the voice. 'Observe my zeal! I received your letter at ten o'clock last night, and here I am this morning. Good-by, accomplice; do not forget the isle of Asnières, the fisher Martial, and Doctor Vincent. Thanks to these three magic words, your country damsel has only eight days to look forward to.' 'Wait,' said M. Ferrand, 'whilst I go and undo the safety-bolt, which I have drawn to in my closet, and let me look out and see that there is no one in the antechamber, in order that you may go out by the side path in the garden by which you entered.' M. Ferrand went out for a moment, and then returned; and I heard him go away with the person whose voice I did not know. You may imagine my fright, sir, during this conversation, and my despair at having unintentionally discovered such a secret. Two hours after this conversation, Madame Séraphin came to me in my room, whither I had gone, trembling all over, and worse than I had been yet. 'My master is inquiring for you,' said she to me; 'you are better off than you deserve to be. Come, go down-stairs. You are very pale; but what you are going to hear will give you a colour.' I followed Madame Séraphin, and found M. Ferrand in his private study. When I saw him, I shuddered in spite of myself, and yet he did not look so disagreeable as usual. He looked at me steadfastly for some time, as if he would read the bottom of my thoughts. I lowered my eyes. 'You seem very ill?' he said. 'Yes, sir,' I replied, much surprised at being thus addressed. 'It is easily accounted for,' added he; 'it is the result of your condition and the efforts you make to conceal it; but, in spite of your falsehoods, your bad conduct, and your indiscretion yesterday,' he added, in a milder tone, 'I feel pity for you. A few days more, and it will be impossible to conceal your situation. Although I have treated you as you deserve before the curate of the parish, such an event in the eyes of the world will be the disgrace of a house like mine; and, moreover, your family will be deeply distressed. Under these circumstances I will come to your aid.' 'Ah! sir,' I cried, 'such kind words from you make me forget everything.' 'Forget what?' asked he, hastily. 'Nothing, – nothing, – forgive me, sir!' I replied, fearful of irritating him, and believing him kindly disposed towards me. 'Then attend to me,' said he; 'you will go to see your father to-day, and tell him that I am going to send you into the country for two or three months, to take care of a house which I have just bought. During your absence I will send your wages to him. To-morrow you will leave Paris. I will give you a letter of introduction to Madame Martial, the mother of an honest family of fishers, who live near Asnières. You will say you came from the country and nothing more. You will learn hereafter my motive for this introduction, which is for your good. Madame Martial will treat you as one of the family, and a medical man of my acquaintance, Dr. Vincent, will give you all you require in your situation. You see how kind I am to you!'"

"What a horrible snare!" exclaimed Rodolph; "I see it all now. Believing that overnight you had listened to some secret, no doubt very important for him, he desired to get rid of you. He had probably an interest in deceiving his accomplice by describing you as a female from the country. What must have been your alarm at this proposal?"

"It was like a violent blow; it quite bereft me of sense. I could not reply, but looked at M. Ferrand aghast; my head began to wander. I should, perhaps, have risked my life by telling him that I had overheard his projects in the morning, when fortunately I recollected the fresh perils to which such an avowal would expose me. 'You do not understand me, then?' he said, impatiently. 'Yes, sir, – but,' I added, all trembling, 'I should prefer not going into the country.' 'Why not? You will be taken every care of where I send you.' 'No, no, I will not go; I would rather remain in Paris, and not go away from my family; I would rather confess all to them, and die with them, if it must be so.' 'You refuse me, then?' said M. Ferrand, repressing his rage, and looking fixedly at me. 'Why have you so suddenly changed your mind? Not a minute ago you accepted my offer.' I saw that if he guessed my motive I was lost, so I replied that I did not then think that he desired me to leave Paris and my family. 'But you dishonour your family, you wretched girl!' he exclaimed, and unable any longer to restrain himself, he seized me by the arms, and shook me so violently that I fell. 'I will give you until the day after to-morrow,' he cried, 'and then you shall go from here to the Martials, or go and inform your father that I have turned you out of my house, and will send him to gaol to-morrow.' He then left me, stretched on the floor, whence I had not the power to rise. Madame Séraphin had run in when she heard her master raise his voice so loud, and with her assistance, and staggering at every step, I regained my chamber, where I threw myself on my bed, and remained until night, so entirely was I prostrated by all that had happened. By the pains that came on about one o'clock in the morning, I felt assured that I should be prematurely a mother."

"Why did you not summon assistance?"

"Oh, I did not dare. M. Ferrand was anxious to get rid of me, and he would certainly have sent for Dr. Vincent, who would have killed me at my master's instead of killing me at the Martials, or else M. Ferrand would have stifled me, and said that I had died in my confinement. Alas, sir, perhaps these were vain terrors, but they came over me at this moment and caused my suffering; otherwise I would have endured the shame, and should never have been accused of killing my child. Instead of calling for help, and for fear my cries should be heard, I stuffed my mouth full with the bedclothes. At length, after dreadful anguish, alone, in the midst of darkness, the child was born, and, – dead, – I did not kill it! – indeed, I did not kill it, – ah, no! In the midst of this fearful night I had one moment of bitter joy, and that was when I pressed my child in my arms."

And the voice of Louise was stifled with sobs.

Morel had listened to his daughter's recital with a mournful apathy and indifference which alarmed Rodolph. However, seeing her burst into tears, the lapidary, who was still leaning on his work-board with his two hands pressed against his temples, looked at Louise steadfastly, and said:

"She weeps, – she weeps, – why is she weeping?" Then, after a moment's hesitation, "Ah, yes, – I know, I know, – the notary, – isn't it? Go on my poor Louise, – you are my daughter, – I love you still, – just now I did not recognise you, – my eyes were darkened with my tears, – oh, my head, – how badly it aches, – my head, my head!"

"You do not believe me guilty, do you, father, do you?"

"Oh, no, no!"

"It is a terrible misfortune; but I was so fearful of the notary."

"The notary? Ah, yes, and well you might be; he is so wicked, so very wicked!"

"But you will forgive me now?"

"Yes, yes."

"Really and truly?"

"Yes – ah, yes! Ah! I love you the same as ever, – although I cannot – not say – you see – because – oh, my head, my head!"

Louise looked at Rodolph in extreme alarm.

"He is suffering deeply; but let him calm himself. Go on."

Louise, after looking twice or thrice at Morel with great disquietude, thus resumed:

"I clasped my infant to my breast, and was astonished at not hearing it breathe. I said to myself, 'The breathing of a baby is so faint that it is difficult to hear it.' But then it was so cold. I had no light, for they never would leave one with me. I waited until the dawn came, trying to keep it warm as well as I could; but it seemed to me colder and colder. I said to myself then; 'It freezes so hard that it must be the cold that chills it so.' At daybreak I carried my child to the window and looked at it; it was stiff and cold. I placed my mouth to its mouth, to try and feel its breath. I put my hand on its heart; but it did not beat; it was dead."

And Louise burst into tears.

"Oh! at this moment," she continued, "something passed within me which it is impossible to describe. I only remember confusedly what followed, – it was like a dream, – it was at once despair, terror, rage, and above all, I was seized with another fear; I no longer feared M. Ferrand would strangle me, but I feared that, if they found my child dead by my side, I should be accused of having killed it. Then I had but one thought, and that was to conceal the corpse from everybody's sight; and then my dishonour would not be known, and I should no longer have to dread my father's anger. I should escape from M. Ferrand's vengeance, because I could now leave his house, obtain another situation, and gain something to help and support my family. Alas! sir, such were the reasons which induced me not to say any thing, but try and hide my child's remains from all eyes. I was wrong, I know; but, in the situation in which I was, oppressed on all sides, worn out by suffering, and almost mad, I did not consider to what I exposed myself if I should be discovered."