Baron Trigault's Vengeance ...............................................................................................................................1

Vengeance! that is the first, the only thought, when a man finds himself victimized, when his honor and

fortune, his present and future, are wrecked by a vile conspiracy! The torment he endures under such

circumstances can only be alleviated by the prospect of inflicting them a hundredfold upon his persecutors.

And nothing seems impossible at the first moment, when hatred surges in the brain, and the foam of anger

rises to the lips; no obstacle seems insurmountable, or, rather, none are perceived. But later, when the

faculties have regained their equilibrium, one can measure the distance which separates the dream from

reality, the project from execution. And on setting to work, how many discouragements arise! The fever of

revolt passes by, and the victim wavers. He still breathes bitter vengeance, but he does not act. He despairs,

and asks himself what would be the good of it? And in this way the success of villainy is once more assured.

Similar despondency attacked Pascal Ferailleur when he awoke for the first time in the abode where he had

hidden himself under the name of Maumejan. A frightful slander had crushed him to the earthhe could kill

his slanderer, but afterward? How was he to reach and stifle the slander itself? As well try to hold a

handful of water; as well try to stay with extended arms the progress of the poisonous breeze which wafts an

epidemic on its wings. So the hope that had momentarily lightened his heart faded away again. Since he had

received that fatal letter from Madame Leon the evening before, he believed that Marguerite was lost to him

forever, and in this case, it was useless to struggle against fate. What would be the use of victory even if he

conquered? Marguerite lost to himwhat did the rest matter? Ah! if he had been alone in the world. But he

had his mother to think of;he belonged to this bravehearted woman, who had saved him from suicide

already. "I will not yield, then; I will struggle on for her sake," he muttered, like a man who foresees the

He rose, and had nearly finished dressing, when he heard a rap at his chamber door. "It is I, my son," said

Pascal hastened to admit her. "I have come for you because the woman you spoke about last evening is

On entering the little parlor with his mother, Pascal found himself in the presence of a portly, palefaced

woman, with thin lips and restless eyes, who bowed obsequiously. It was indeed Madame Vantrasson, the

landlady of the model lodginghouse, who was seeking employment for the three or four hours which were at

her disposal in the morning, she said. It certainly was not for pleasure that she had decided to go out to

service again; her dignity suffered terribly by this fallbut then the stomach has to be cared for. Tenants

were not numerous at the model lodging house, in spite of its seductive title; and those who slept there

occasionally, almost invariably succeeded in stealing something. Nor did the grocery store pay; the few

halfpence which were left there occasionally in exchange for a glass of liquor were pocketed by Vantrasson,

who spent them at some neighboring establishment; for it is a wellknown fact that the wine a man drinks in

his own shop is always bitter in flavor. So, having no credit at the butcher's or the baker's, Madame

Vantrasson was sometimes reduced to living for days together upon the contents of the shopmouldy figs or

dry raisinswhich she washed down with torrents of ratafia, her only consolation here below.

But this was not a satisfying diet, as she was forced to confess; so she decided to find some work, that would

furnish her with food and a little money, which she vowed she would never allow her worthy husband to see.

She seemed to reflect, and after a great deal of counting on her fingers, she finally declared that she would be

content with breakfast and fifteen francs a month, on condition she was allowed to do the marketing. The first

question of French cooks, on presenting themselves for a situation, is almost invariably, "Shall I do the

marketing?" which of course means, "Shall I have any opportunities for stealing?" Everybody knows this,

Pascal and his mother exchanged glances. They were both unfavorably impressed by this woman, and were

equally determined to rid themselves of her, which it was easy enough to do. "Too dear!" said Madame

But Madame Vantrasson was not the woman to be easily discouraged, especially as she knew that if she

failed to obtain this situation, she might have considerable difficulty in finding another one. She could only

hope to obtain employment from strangers and newcomers, who were ignorant of the reputation of the model

lodginghouse. So in view of softening the hearts of Pascal and his mother, she began to relate the history of

her life, skilfully mingling the false with the true, and representing herself as an unfortunate victim of

circumstances, and the inhuman cruelty of relatives. For she belonged, like her husband, to a very respectable

family, as the Maumejans might easily ascertain by inquiry. Vantrasson's sister was the wife of a man named

Greloux, who had once been a bookbinder in the Rue SaintDenis, but who had now retired from business

with a competency. "Why had this Greloux refused to save them from bankruptcy? Because one could never

hope for a favor from relatives," she groaned; "they are jealous if you succeed; and if you are unfortunate,

However, these doleful complaints, far from rendering Madame Vantrasson interesting, imparted a deceitful

and most disagreeable expression to her countenance. "I told you that I could only give fifteen francs,"

Madame Vantrasson protested. She expressed her willingness to deduct five francs from the sum she had

named, but moreit was impossible! Would they haggle over ten francs to secure such a treasure as herself,

an honest, settled woman, who was entirely devoted to her employers?" Besides, I have been a grand cook in

my time," she added, "and I have not lost all my skill. Monsieur and madame would be delighted with my

cooking, for I have seen more than one fine gentleman smack his lips over my sauces when was in the

Pascal and his mother could not repress a start on hearing this name; but it was in a tone of wellassumed

"Yes, madamea countand so rich that he didn't know how much he was worth. If he were still alive I

shouldn't be compelled to go out to service again. But he's dead and he's to be buried this very day." And with

an air of profound secrecy, she added: "On going yesterday to the Hotel de Chalusse to ask for a little help, I

heard of the great misfortune. Vantrasson, my husband, accompanied me, and while we were talking with the

concierge, a young woman passed through the hall, and he recognized her as a person who some time ago

waswellno better than she should be. Now, however, she's a young lady as lofty as the clouds, and the

deceased count has been passing her off as his daughter. Ah! this is a strange world."

Pascal had become whiter than the ceiling. His eyes blazed; and Madame Ferailleur trembled. "Very well,"

she said, "I will give you twentyfive francsbut on condition you come without complaining if I

sometimes require your services of an evening. On these occasions I will give you your dinner." And taking

five francs from her pocket she placed them in Madame Vantrasson's hand, adding: ' Here is your earnest

The other quickly pocketed the coin, not a little surprised by this sudden decision which she had scarcely

hoped for, and which she by no means understood. Still she was so delighted with this denouement that she

expressed her willingness to enter upon her duties at once; and to get rid of her Madame Ferailleur was

obliged to send her out to purchase the necessary supplies for breakfast. Then, as soon as she was alone with

But the wretched man seemed turned to stone, and seeing that he neither spoke nor moved, she continued in a

severe tone: "Is this the way you keep your resolutions and your oaths! You express your intention of

accomplishing a task which requires inexhaustible patience and dissimulation, and at the very first unforeseen

circumstance your coolness deserts you, and you lose your head completely. If it had not been for me you

would have betrayed yourself in that woman's presence. You must renounce your revenge, and tamely submit

to be conquered by the Marquis de Valorsay if your face is to be an open book in which any one may read

"What that vile woman said? This young lady whom she spoke of, whom her husband recognized, can be

He recoiled in horror. "You are sure of it!" he repeated; "and you can tell me this unmovedcoldly, as if it

were a natural, a possible thing. Didn't you understand the shameful meaning of her insinuations? Didn't you

see her hypocritical smile and the malice gleaming in her eyes?" He pressed his hands to his burning brow,

and groaned "And I did not crush the infamous wretch! I did not fell her to the ground!"

Ah! if she had obeyed the impulse of her heart. Madame Ferailleur would have thrown her arms round her

son's neck, and have mingled her tears with his, but reason prevailed. The worthy woman's heart was

pervaded with that lofty sentiment of duty which sustains the humble heroines of the fireside, and lends them

even more courage than the reckless adventurers whose names are recorded by history could boast of. She

felt that Pascal must not be consoled, but spurred on to fresh efforts; and so mustering all her courage, she

said: "Are you acquainted with Mademoiselle Marguerite's past life? No. You only know that hers has been a

life of great vicissitudesand so it is not strange that she should be slandered."

"In that case, mother," said Pascal, "you were wrong to interrupt Madame Vantrasson. She would probably

"I interrupted her, it is true, and sent her awayand you know why. But she is in our service now; and when

you are calm, when you have regained your senses, nothing will prevent you from questioning her. It may be

useful for you to know who this man Vantrasson is, and how and where he met Mademoiselle Marguerite."

Shame, sorrow, and rage, brought tears to Pascal's eyes. "My God!" he exclaimed, "to be reduced to the

unspeakable misery of hearing my mother doubt Marguerite!" He did not doubt her. HE could have listened

to the most infamous accusations against her without feeling a single doubt. However, Madame Ferailleur

had sufficient selfcontrol to shrug her shoulders. "Ah, well! silence this slander," she exclaimed. "I wish for

nothing better; but don't forget that we have ourselves to rehabilitate. To crush your enemies will be far more

profitable to Mademoiselle Marguerite than vain threats and weak lamentations. It seemed to me that you had

This ironical thrust touched Pascal's sensitive mind to the quick; he rose at once to his feet, and coldly said,

She made no rejoinder, but mentally thanked God. She had read her son's heart, and perceiving his hesitation

and weakness she had supplied the stimulus he needed. Now she saw him as she wished to see him. Now he

was ready to reproach himself for his lack of courage and his weakness in displaying his feelings. And as a

test of his powers of endurance, he decided not to question Madame Vantrasson till four or five days had

elapsed. If her suspicions had been aroused, this delay would suffice to dispel them.

He said but little during breakfast; for he was now eager to commence the struggle. He longed to act, and yet

he scarcely knew how to begin the campaign. First of all, he must study the enemy's positiongain some

knowledge of the men he had to deal with, find out exactly who the Marquis de Valorsay and the Viscount de

Coralth were. Where could he obtain information respecting these two men? Should he be compelled to

follow them and to gather up here and there such scraps of intelligence as came in his way? This method of

proceeding would be slow and inconvenient in the extreme. He was revolving the subject in his mind when

he suddenly remembered the man who, on the morning that followed the scene at Madame d'Argeles's house,

had come to him in the Rue d'Ulm to give him a proof of his confidence. He remembered that this strange

man had said: "If you ever need a helping hand, come to me." And at the recollection he made up his mind. "I

am going to Baron Trigault's," he remarked to his mother; "if my presentiments don't deceive me, he will be

In less than half an hour he was on his way. He had dressed himself in the oldest clothes he possessed; and

this, with the change he had made by cutting off his hair and beard, had so altered his appearance that it was

necessary to look at him several times, and most attentively, to recognize him. The visiting cards which he

carried in his pocket bore the inscription: "P. Maumejan, Business Agent, Route de la Revolte." His

knowledge of Parisian life had induced him to choose the same profession as M. Fortunat followeda

profession which opens almost every door. "I will enter the nearest cafe and ask for a directory," he said to

The baron lived in the Rue de la Villel'Eveque. His mansion was one of the largest and most magnificent in

the opulent district of the Madeleine, and its aspect was perfectly in keeping with its owner's character as an

expert financier, and a shrewd manufacturer, the possessor of valuable mines. The marvellous luxury so

surprised Pascal, that he asked himself how the owner of this princely abode could find any pleasure at the

gaming table of the Hotel d'Argeles. Five or six footmen were lounging about the courtyard when he entered

it. He walked straight up to one of them, and with his hat in his hand, asked: "Baron Trigault, if you please?"

If he had asked for the Grand Turk the valet would not have looked at him with greater astonishment. His

surprise, indeed, seemed so profound that Pascal feared he had made some mistake and added: "Doesn't he

The servant laughed heartily. "This is certainly his house," he replied, "and strange to say, by some fortunate

The servant called one of his colleagues. "Eh! Florestanis the baron receiving?"

This seemed to satisfy the footman; for, turning to Pascal he said: "In that case, you can follow me."

The sumptuous interior of the Trigault mansion was on a par with its external magnificence. Even the

entrance bespoke the lavish millionaire, eager to conquer difficulties, jealous of achieving the impossible, and

never haggling when his fancies were concerned. The spacious hall, paved with costly mosaics, had been

transformed into a conservatory full of flowers, which were renewed every morning. Rare plants climbed the

walls up gilded trellis work, or hung from the ceiling in vases of rare old china, while from among the depths

of verdure peered forth exquisite statues, the work of sculptors of renown. On a rustic bench sat a couple of

tall footmen, as bright in their gorgeous liveries as gold coins fresh from the mint; still, despite their splendor,

they were stretching and yawning to such a degree, that it seemed as if they would ultimately dislocate their

"Tell me," inquired the servant who was escorting Pascal, "can any one speak to the baron?"

The two valets eyed the unknown visitor, plainly considering him to be one of those persons who have no

existence for the menials of fashionable establishments, and finally burst into a hearty laugh. "Upon my

word!" exclaimed the eldest, "he's just in time. Announce him, and madame will be greatly obliged to you.

She and monsieur have been quarrelling for a good halfhour. And, heavenly powers, isn't he tantalizing!"

The most intense curiosity gleamed in the eyes of Pascal's conductor, and with an airy of secrecy, he asked:

"The same. Monsieur and madame were breakfasting togethera most unusual thingwhen M. Van

Klopen made his appearance. I thought to myself, when I admitted him: 'Look out for storms!' I scented one

in the air, and in fact the dressmaker hadn't been in the room five minutes before we heard the baron's voice

rising higher and higher. I said to myself: 'Whew! the mantuamaker is presenting his bill!' Madame cried

and went on like mad; but, pshaw! when the master really begins, there's no one like him. There isn't a cab

"Oh, he's used to such scenes! When gentlemen abuse him he does the same as dogs do when they come up

out of the water; he just shakes his head and troubles himself no more about it. He has decidedly the best of

A terrible crash of breaking china interrupted this edifying conversation. "There!" exclaimed one of the

footmen, "that's monsieur; he has smashed two or three hundred francs' worth of dishes. He MUST be rich to

"Well," observed the other, "if I were in monsieur's place I should be angry too. Would you let your wife

have her dresses fitted on by a man? I says that it's indecent. I'm only a servant, but"

"Nonsense, it's the fashion. Besides, monsieur does not care about that. A man who"

He stopped short; in fact, the others had motioned him to be silent. The baron was surrounded by exceptional

servants, and the presence of a stranger acted as a restraint upon them. For this reason, one of them, after

asking Pascal for his card, opened a door and ushered him into a small room, saying: "I will go and inform

"Here," as he called it, was a sort of smokingroom hung with cashmere of fantastic design and gorgeous

hues, and encircled by a low, cushioned divan, covered with the same material. A profusion of rare and costly

objects was to be seen on all sides, armor, statuary, pictures, and richly ornamented weapons. But Pascal,

already amazed by the conversation of the servants, did not think of examining these objects of virtu.

Through a partially open doorway, directly opposite the one he had entered by, came the sound of loud voices

in excited conversation. Baron Trigault, the baroness, and the famous Van Klopen were evidently in the

adjoining room. It was a woman, the baroness, who was speaking, and the quivering of her clear and

somewhat shrill voice betrayed a violent irritation, which was only restrained with the greatest difficulty. "It

is hard for the wife of one of the richest men in Paris to see a bill for absolute necessities disputed in this

A man's voice, with a strong Teutonic accent, the voice of Van Klopen, the Hollander, caught up the refrain.

"Yes, strict necessities, one can swear to that. And if, before flying into a passion, Monsieur le Baron had

"No more! You bore me to death. Besides I haven't time to listen to your nonsense; they are waiting for me to

This time it was the master of the house, Baron Trigault, who spoke, and Pascal recognized his voice

"If monsieur would only allow me to read the items. It will take but a moment," rejoined Van Klopen. And as

if he had construed the oath that answered him as an exclamation of assent, he began: "In June, a Hungarian

costume with jacket and sash, two train dresses with upper skirts and trimmings of lace, a Medicis polonaise,

a jockey costume, a walking costume, a ridinghabit, two morningdresses, a Velleda costume, an evening

"I was obliged to attend the races very frequently during the month of June," remarked the baroness.

But the illustrious adorner of female loveliness had already resumed his reading. "In July we have: two

morningjackets, one promenade costume, one sailor suit, one Watteau shepherdess costume, one ordinary

bathingsuit, with material for parasol and shoes to match, one Pompadour bathingsuit, one dressinggown,

"And I was certainly not the most elegantly attired of the ladies at Trouville, where I spent the month of

"There are but few entries in the month of August," continued Van Klopen. "We have: a morningdress, a

travellingdress, with trimmings" And he went on and on, gasping for breath, rattling off the ridiculous

names which he gave to his "creations," and interrupted every now and then by the blow of a clinched fist on

Pascal stood in the smokingroom, motionless with astonishment. He did not know what surprised him the

most, Van Klopen's impudence in daring to read such a bill, the foolishness of the woman who had ordered

all these things, or the patience of the husband who was undoubtedly going to pay for them. At last, after

what seemed an interminable enumeration, Van Klopen exclaimed: "And that's all!"

"That's all!" exclaimed the baron"that's all! That is to say, in four months, at least seven hundred yards of

"The dresses of the present day require a great deal of material. Monsieur le Baron will understand that

"Excuse me! Twentyseven thousand nine hundred and thirtythree francs, ninety centimes."

"Call it twentyeight thousand francs then. Ah, well, M. Van Klopen, if you are ever paid for this rubbish it

If Van Klopen was expecting this denouement, Pascal wasn't; in fact, he was so startled, that an exclamation

escaped him which would have betrayed his presence under almost any other circumstances. What amazed

him most was the baron's perfect calmness, following, as it did, such a fit of furious passion, violent enough

even to be heard in the vestibule. "Either he has extraordinary control over himself or this scene conceals

Meanwhile, the manmilliner continued to urge his claimsbut the baron, instead of replying, only

whistled; and wounded by this breach of good manners, Van Klopen at last exclaimed: "I have had dealings

with all the distinguished men in Europe, and never before did one of them refuse to pay me for his wife's

"Very wellI don't pay for themthere's the difference. Do you suppose that I, Baron Trigault, that I've

worked like a negro for twenty years merely for the purpose of aiding your charming and useful branch of

industry? Gather up your papers, Mr. Ladies' Tailor. There may be husbands who believe themselves

responsible for their wives' folliesit's quite possible there arebut I'm not made of that kind of stuff. I

allow Madame Trigault eight thousand francs a month for her toilettethat is sufficientand it is a matter

for you and her to arrange together. What did I tell you last year when I paid a bill of forty thousand francs?

That I would not be responsible for any more of my wife's debts. And I not only said it, I formally notified

"Then why do you come to me with your bill? It is with my wife that you have opened an account. Apply to

"It costs a great deal to retain one's position as a leader of fashion; and many of the most distinguished ladies

"That's their business. But my wife is not a fine lady. She is simply Madame Trigault, a baroness, thanks to

her husband's gold and the condescension of a worthy German prince, who was in want of money. SHE is not

The baroness must have attached immense importance to the satisfying of Van Klopen's demands, for

concealing the anger this humiliating scene undoubtedly caused her, she condescended to try and explain, and

even to entreat. "I have been a little extravagant, perhaps," she said; "but I will be more prudent in future.

By the baron's tone, Pascal realized that his wife would never shake his fixed determination. Such must also

have been the opinion of the illustrious ruler of fashion, for he returned to the charge with an argument he had

held in reserve. "If this is the case, I shall, to my great regret, be obliged to fail in the respect I owe to

"In that you are greatly mistaken. Nothing would please me better. It would at last give me an opportunity to

say what I think about your dealings. Do you think that wives are to turn their husbands into machines for

supplying money? You draw the bowstring too tightly, my dear fellowit will break. I'll proclaim on the

housetop what others dare not say, and we'll see if I don't succeed in organizing a little crusade against you."

And animated by the sound of his own words, his anger came back to him, and in a louder and ever louder

voice he continued: "Ah! you prate of the scandal that would be created by my resistance to your demands.

That's your system; but, with me, it won't succeed. You threaten me with a lawsuit; very good. I'll take it

upon myself to enlighten Paris, for I know your secrets, Mr. Dressmaker. I know the goings on in your

establishment. It isn't always to talk about dress that ladies stop at your place on returning from the Bois. You

sell silks and satins no doubt; but you sell Madeira, and excellent cigarettes as well, and there are some who

don't walk very straight on leaving your establishment, but smell suspiciously of tobacco and absinthe. Oh,

yes, let us go to law, by all means! I shall have an advocate who will know how to explain the parts your

customers pay, and who will reveal how, with your assistance, they obtain money from other sources than

When M. Van Klopen was addressed in this style, he was not at all pleased. "And I!" he exclaimed, "I will

tell people that Baron Trigault, after losing all his money at play, repays his creditors with curses."

The noise of an overturned chair told Pascal that the baron had sprung up in a furious passion "You may say

what you like, you rascally fool! but not in my house," he shouted. "Leaveleave, or I will ring"

"Leave, leave, I tell you, or I sha'n't have the patience to wait for a servant!"

He must have joined action to word, and have seized Van Klopen by the collar to thrust him into the hall, for

Pascal heard a sound of scuffling, a series of oaths worthy of a coalheaver, two or three frightened cries

from the baroness, and several guttural exclamations in German. Then a door closed with such violence that

the whole house shook, and a magnificent clock, fixed to the wall of the smokingroom, fell on to the floor.

If Pascal had not heard this scene, he would have deemed it incredible. How could one suppose that a creditor

would leave this princely mansion with his bill unpaid? But more and more clearly he understood that there

must be some greater cause of difference between husband and wife than this bill of twentyeight thousand

francs. For what was this amount to a confirmed gambler who, without as much as a frown, gained or lost a

fortune every evening of his life. Evidently there was some skeleton in this householdone of those terrible

secrets which make a man and his wife enemies, and all the more bitter enemies as they are bound together

by a chain which it is impossible to break. And undoubtedly, a good many of the insults which the baron had

heaped upon Van Klopen must have been intended for the baroness. These thoughts darted through Pascal's

mind with the rapidity of lightning, and showed him the horrible position in which he was placed. The baron,

who had been so favorably disposed toward him, and from whom he was expecting a great service, would

undoubtedly hate him, undoubtedly become his enemy, when he learned that he had been a listener, although

an involuntary one, to this conversation with Van Klopen. How did it happen that he had been placed in this

dangerous position? What had become of the footman who had taken his card? These were questions which

he was unable to answer. And what was he to do? If he could have retired noiselessly, if he could have

reached the courtyard and have made his escape without being observed he would not have hesitated. But

was this plan practicable? And would not his card betray him? Would it not be discovered sooner or later that

he had been in the smokingroom while M. Van Klopen was in the diningroom? In any case, delicacy of

feeling as well as his own interest forbade him to remain any longer a listener to the private conversation of

He therefore noisily moved a chair, and coughed in that affected style which means in every country: "Take

careI'm here!" But he did not succeed in attracting attention. And yet the silence was profound; he could

distinctly hear the creaking of the baron's boots, as he paced to and fro, and the sound of fingers nervously

beating a tattoo on the table. If he desired to avoid hearing the confidential conversation, which would no

doubt ensue between the baron and his wife, there was but one course for him to pursue, and that was to

reveal his presence at once. He was about to do so, when some one opened a door which must have led from

the hall into the diningroom. He listened attentively, but only heard a few confused words, to which the

Pascal breathed freely once more. "They have just given him my card," he thought. "I can remain now; he

The baron must really have started to leave the room, for his wife exclaimed: "One word more: have you

"Nonsense! You know very well that he won't bring any action against meunfortunately. And, besides,

pray tell me where the disgrace would be? I have a foolish wifeis that my fault? I oppose her absurd

extravagancehaven't I a right to do so? If all husbands were as courageous, we should soon close the

establishments of these artful men, who minister to your vanity, and use you ladies as puppets, or living

The baron took two or three more steps forward, as if about to leave the room, but his wife interposed: "The

Baroness Trigault, whose husband has an income of seven or eight hundred thousand francs a year, can't go

"Oh, I know. Only your ideas don't coincide with mine. I shall never consent to make myself ridiculous

This sneering remark certainly irritated the baroness, for it was with the greatest vehemence that she replied:

The baron no doubt shrugged his shoulders, for in a tone of crushing irony and scorn, he exclaimed: "Noble

ladies! whom do you call noble ladies, pray? The brainless fools who only think of displaying themselves and

making themselves notorious?the senseless idiots who pique themselves on surpassing lewd women in

audacity, extravagance, and effrontery, who fleece their husbands as cleverly as courtesans fleece their

lovers? Noble ladies! who drink, and smoke, and carouse, who attend masked balls, and talk slang! Noble

ladies! the idiots who long for the applause of the crowd, and consider notoriety to be desirable and flattering.

A woman is only noble by her virtuesand the chief of all virtues, modesty, is entirely wanting in your

"Monsieur," interrupted the baroness, in a voice husky with anger, "you forget yourselfyou"

But the baron was well under way. "If it is scandal that crowns one a great lady, you ARE oneand one of

the greatest; for you are notoriousalmost as notorious as Jenny Fancy. Can't I learn from the newspapers

all your sayings and gestures, your amusements, your occupations, and the toilettes you wear? It is

impossible to read of a first performance at a theatre, or of a horserace, without finding your name coupled

with that of Jenny Fancy, or Cora Pearl, or Ninette Simplon. I should be a very strange husband indeed, if I

wasn't proud and delighted. Ah! you are a treasure to the reporters. On the day before yesterday the Baroness

Trigault skated in the Bois. Yesterday she was driving in her ponycarriage. Today she distinguished

herself by her skill at pigeonshooting. Tomorrow she will display herself half nude in some tableaux

vivants. On the day after tomorrow she will inaugurate a new style of hairdressing, and take part in a

comedy. It is always the Baroness Trigault who is the observed of all observers at Vincennes. The Baroness

Trigault has lost five hundred louis in betting. The Baroness Trigault uses her lorgnette with charming

impertinence. It is she who has declared it proper form to take a 'drop' on returning from the Bois. No one is

so famed for 'form,' as the baronessand silk merchants have bestowed her name upon a color. People rave

of the Trigault bluewhat glory! There are also costumes Trigault, for the witty, elegant baroness has a host

of admirers who follow her everywhere, and loudly sing her praises. This is what I, a plain, honest man, read

every day in the newspapers. The whole world not only knows how my wife dresses, but how she looks en

dishabille, and how she is formed; folks are aware that she has an exquisite foot, a divinelyshaped leg, and a

perfect hand. No one is ignorant of the fact that my wife's shoulders are of dazzling whiteness, and that high

on the left shoulder there is a most enticing little mole. I had the satisfaction of reading this particular last

In the smokingroom, Pascal could hear the baroness angrily stamp her foot, as she exclaimed: "It is an

"They wouldn't trouble me if I had a husband who knew how to make them treat me with respect!"

The baron laughed a strident, nervous laugh, which it was not pleasant to hear, and which revealed the fact

that intense suffering was hidden beneath all this banter. "Would you like me to fight a duel then? After

twenty years has the idea of ridding yourself of me occurred to you again? I can scarcely believe it. You

know too well that you would receive none of my money, that I have guarded against that. Besides, you

would be inconsolable if the newspapers ceased talking about you for a single day. Respect yourself, and you

will be respected. The publicity you complain of is the last anchor which prevents society from drifting one

knows not where. Those who would not listen to the warning voice of honor and conscience are restrained by

the fear of a little paragraph which might disclose their shame. Now that a woman no longer has a

conscience, the newspapers act in place of it. And I think it quite right, for it is our only hope of salvation."

By the stir in the adjoining room, Pascal felt sure that the baroness had stationed herself before the door to

prevent her husband from leaving her. "Ah! well, monsieur," she exclaimed, "I declare to you that I must

have Van Klopen's twentyeight thousand francs before this evening. I will have them, too; I am resolved to

"Oh!" thundered the baron, "you WILL have themyou will" He paused, and then, after a moment's

reflection, he said: "Very well. So be it! I will give you this amount, but not just now. Still if, as you say, it is

absolutely necessary that you should have it today, there is a means of procuring it. Pawn your diamonds for

thirty thousand francsI authorize you to do so; and I give you my word of honor that I will redeem them

within a week. Say, will you do this?" And, as the baroness made no reply, he continued: "You don't answer!

shall I tell you why? It is because your diamonds were long since sold and replaced by imitation ones; it is

because you are head over heels in debt; it is because you have stooped so low as to borrow your maid's

savings; it is because you already owe three thousand francs to one of my coachmen; it is because our

The baron sneered. "You certainly must think me a much greater fool than I really am!" he replied. "I'm not

often at home, it's truethe sight of you exasperates me; but I know what's going on. You believe me your

dupe, but you are altogether mistaken. It is not twentyseven thousand francs you owe Van Klopen, but fifty

or sixty thousand. However, he is careful not to demand payment. If he brought me a bill this morning, it was

only because you had begged him to do so, and because it had been agreed he should give you the money

back if I paid him. In short, if you require twentyeight thousand francs before tonight, it is because M.

Fernand de Coralth has demanded that sum, and because you have promised to give it to him!"

Leaning against the wall of the smokingroom, speechless and motionless, holding his breath, with his hands

pressed upon his heart, as if to stop its throbbings, Pascal Ferailleur listened. He no longer thought of flying;

he no longer thought of reproaching himself for his enforced indiscretion. He had lost all consciousness of his

position. The name of the Viscount de Coralth, thus mentioned in the course of this frightful scene, came as a

revelation to him. He now understood the meaning of the baron's conduct. His visit to the Rue d'Ulm, and his

promises of help were all explained. "My mother was right," he thought; "the baron hates that miserable

Meanwhile, the baroness energetically denied her husband's charges. She swore that she did not know what

he meant. What had M. de Coralth to do with all this? She commanded her husband to speak more

He allowed her to speak for a moment, and then suddenly, in a harsh, sarcastic voice, he interrupted her by

saying: "Oh! enough! No more hypocrisy! Why do you try to defend yourself? What matters one crime

more? I know only too well that what I say is true; and if you desire proofs, they shall be in your hands in less

than half an hour. It is a long time since I was blindfull twenty years! Nothing concerning you has escaped

my knowledge and observation since the cursed day when I discovered the depths of your disgrace and

infamysince the terrible evening when I heard you plan to murder me in cold blood. You had grown

accustomed to freedom of action; while I, who had gone off with the first gold seekers, was braving a

thousand dangers in California, so as to win wealth and luxury for you more quickly. Fool that I was! No task

seemed too hard or too distasteful when I thought of youand I was always thinking of you. My mind was

at peaceI had perfect faith in you. We had a daughter; and if a fear or a doubt entered my mind, I told

myself that the sight of her cradle would drive all evil thoughts from your heart. The adultery of a childless

wife may be forgiven or explained; but that of a mother, never! Fool! idiot! that I was! With what joyous

pride, on my return after an absence of eighteen months, I showed you the treasures I had brought back with

me! I had two hundred thousand francs! I said to you as I embraced you: 'It is yours, my wellbeloved, the

source of all my happiness!' But you did not care for meI wearied you! You loved another! And while you

were deceiving me with your caresses, you were, with fiendish skill, preparing a conspiracy which, if it had

succeeded, would have resulted in my death! I should consider myself amply revenged if I could make you

suffer for a single day all the torments that I endured for long months. For this was not all! You had not even

the excuse, if excuse it be, of a powerful, allabsorbing passion. Convinced of your treachery, I resolved to

ascertain everything, and I discovered that in my absence you had become a mother. Why didn't I kill you?

How did I have the courage to remain silent and conceal what I knew? Ah! it was because, by watching you, I

hoped to discover the cursed bastard and your accomplice. It was because I dreamed of a vengeance as

terrible as the offence. I said to myself that the day would come when, at any risk, you would try to see your

child again, to embrace her, and provide for her future. Fool! fool that I was! You had already forgotten her!

When you received news of my intended return, she was sent to some foundling asylum, or left to die upon

some doorstep. Have you ever thought of her? Have you ever asked what has become of her? ever asked

yourself if she had needed bread while you have been living in almost regal luxury? ever asked yourself into

"You must know, however, that this story of a child is only a vile slander. I told you so when you spoke of it

The baron uttered a sigh that was very like a sob, and without paying any heed to his wife's words, he

continued: "If I consented to allow you to remain under my roof, it was only for the sake of our daughter. I

trembled lest the scandal of a separation should fall upon her. But it was useless suffering on my part. She

"Whom ought I to blame, then? Who took her to balls, and theatres and racesto every place where a young

girl ought NOT to be taken? Who initiated her into what you call high life? and who used her as a discreet

and easy chaperon? Who married her to a wretch who is a disgrace to the title he bears, and who has

completed the work of demoralization you began? And what is your daughter today? Her extravagance has

made her notorious even among the shameless women who pretend to be leaders of society. She is scarcely

twentytwo, and there is not a single prejudice left for her to brave! Her husband is the companion of

actresses and courtesans; her own companions are no betterand in less than two years the million of francs

which I bestowed on her as a dowry has been squandered, recklessly squanderedfor there isn't a penny of it

left. And, at this very hour, my daughter and my son inlaw are plotting to extort money from me. On the

day before yesterdaylisten carefully to thismy soninlaw came to ask me for a hundred thousand

francs, and when I refused them, he threatened if I did not give them to him that he would publish some

letters written by my daughterby his wifeto some low scoundrel. I was horrified and gave him what he

asked. But that same evening I learned that the husband and wife, my daughter and my soninlaw, had

concocted this vile conspiracy together. Yes, I have positive proofs of it. Leaving here, and not wishing to

return home that day, he telegraphed the good news to his wife. But in his delight he made a mistake in the

address, and the telegram was brought here. I opened it, and read: 'Papa has fallen into the trap, my darling. I

beat my drum, and he surrendered at once.' Yes, that is what he dared to write, and sign with his own name,

Pascal was absolutely terrified. He wondered if he were not the victim of some absurd nightmareif his

senses were not playing him false. He had little conception of the terrible dramas which are constantly

enacted in these superb mansions, so admired and envied by the passing crowd. He thought that the baroness

would be crushedthat she would fall on her knees before her husband. What a mistake! The tone of her

"Does your soninlaw do anything worse than you?" she exclaimed. "How dare you censure himyou who

"Wretch!" interrupted the baron, "wretch!" But quickly mastering himself, he remarked: "Yes, it's true that I

gamble. People say, 'That great Baron Trigault is never without cards in his hands!' But you know very well

that I really hold gambling in horrorthat I loathe it. But when I play, I sometimes forgetfor I must

forget. I tried drink, but it wouldn't drown thought, so I had recourse to cards; and when the stakes are large,

The baroness gave vent to a cold, sneering laugh, and, in a tone of mocking commiseration, she said: "Poor

baron! It is no doubt in the hope of forgetting your sorrows that you spend all your time when you are not

gamblingwith a woman named Lia d'Argeles. She's rather pretty. I have seen her several times in the

"Be silent!" exclaimed the baron, "be silent! Don't insult an unfortunate woman who is a thousand times

better than yourself." And, feeling that he could endure no morethat he could no longer restrain his

passion, he cried: "Out of my sight! Go! or I sha'n't be responsible for my acts!"

Pascal heard a chair move, the floor creak, and a moment afterward a lady passed quickly through the

smokingroom. How was it that she did not perceive him? No doubt, because she was greatly agitated, in

spite of her bravado. And, besides, he was standing a little back in the shade. But he saw her, and his brain

It was as if he had seen an apparition, and he was vainly striving to drive away a terrible, mysterious fear,

when a heavy footfall made the floor of the diningroom creak anew. The noise restored him to

consciousness of his position. "It is the baron!" he thought; "he is coming this way! If he finds me here I am

lost; he will never consent to help me. A man would never forgive another man for hearing what I have just

Why should he not try to make his escape? The card, bearing the name of Maumejan, would be no proof of

his visit. He could see the baron somewhere else some other dayelsewhere than at his own house, so that

he need not fear the recognition of the servants. These thoughts flashed through his mind, and he was about to

fly, when a harsh cry held him spellbound. Baron Trigault was standing on the threshold. His emotion, as is

almost always the case with corpulent people, was evinced by a frightful distortion of his features. His face

was transformed, his lips had become perfectly white, and his eyes seemed to be starting from their sockets.

"What! monsieur, don't you recognize me?" rejoined Pascal, who in his agitation forgot that the baron had

seen him only twice before. He forgot the absence of his beard, his almost ragged clothing, and all the

"Ah! monsieur, that's not my name. Have you forgotten the innocent man who was caught in that infamous

"Yes, yes," replied the baron, "I remember you now." And then recollecting the terrible scene that had just

Should Pascal tell a falsehood, or confess the truth? He hesitated, but his hesitation lasted scarcely the tenth

The baron's livid cheeks suddenly became purple, his eyes glittered, and it seemed by his threatening gesture

as if he were strongly tempted to murder this man, who had discovered the terrible, disgraceful secrets of his

domestic life. But it was a mere flash of energy. The terrible ordeal which he had just passed through had

exhausted him mentally and physically, and it was in a faltering voice that he resumed: "Then you have not

The baron sank on to the divan. "So the knowledge of my disgrace is no longer confined to myself!" he

exclaimed. "A stranger's eye has penetrated the depths of misery I have fallen into! The secret of my

"Oh, monsieur, monsieur!" interrupted Pascal. "Before I recross the threshold of your home, all shall have

He had raised his hand as if to take a solemn oath, when the baron caught hold of it, and, pressing it with

sorrowful gratitude, exclaimed: "I believe you! You are a man of honorI only needed to see your home to

be convinced of that. You will not laugh at my misfortunes or my misery!" He must have been suffering

frightfully, for big tears rolled slowly down his cheeks. "What have I done, my God! that I should be so

cruelly punished?" he continued. "I have always been generous and charitable, and ready to help all who

applied to me. I am utterly alone! I have a wife and a daughterbut they hate me. They long for my death,

which would give them possession of my wealth. What torture! For months together I dared not eat a morsel

of food, either in my own house, or in the house of my soninlaw. I feared poison; and I never partook of a

dish until I had seen my daughter or my wife do so. To prevent a crime, I was obliged to resort to the

strangest expedients. I made a will, and left my property in such a way that if I die, my family will not receive

one penny. So, they now have an interest in prolonging my life." As he spoke he sprang up with an almost

frenzied air, and, seizing Pascal by the arm, again continued. "Nor is this all! This womanmy wifeyou

knowyou have heard the extent of her shame and degradation. Ah, well! I love her!"

"This amazes you, eh?" rejoined the baron. "It is indeed incomprehensible, monstrousbut it is the truth. It

is to gratify her desire for luxury that I have toiled to amass millions. If I purchased a title, which is absurd

and ridiculous, it was only because I wished to satisfy her vanity. Do what she may, I can only see in her the

chaste and beautiful wife of our early married life. It is cowardly, absurd, ridiculousI realize it; but my

love is stronger than my reason or my will. I love her madly, passionately; I cannot tear her from my heart!"

So speaking, he sank sobbing on to the divan again. Was this, indeed, the frivolous and jovial Baron Trigault

whom Pascal had seen at Madame d'Argeles's housethe man of selfsatisfied mien and superb assurance,

the goodnatured cynic, the frequenter of gamblingdens? Alas, yes! But the baron whom the world knew

After a little while he succeeded in controlling his emotion, and in a comparatively calm voice he exclaimed:

"But it is useless to distract one's mind with an incurable evil. Let us speak of yourself, M. Ferailleur. To

"To your own kind offer, monsieur, and the hope that you will help me in refuting this slander, and wreaking

"Oh! yes, I will help you in that to the full extent of my power," exclaimed the baron. But experience

reminded him that confidential disclosures ought not to be made with the doors open, so he rose, shut them,

and returning to Pascal, said: "Explain in what way I can be of service to you, monsieur."

It was not without many misgivings that Pascal had presented himself at the baron's house, but after what he

had heard he felt no further hesitation; he could speak with perfect freedom. "It is quite unnecessary for me to

tell you, Monsieur le Baron," he began, "that the cards which made me win were inserted in the pack by M.

de Coralththat is proven beyond question, and whatever the consequences may be, I shall have my

revenge. But before striking him, I wish to reach the man whose instrument he was."

"I don't supposeI am sure that M. de Coralth acted in obedience to the instructions of some other scoundrel

"Perhaps so! I think he would shrink from nothing in the way of rascality. But who could have employed him

On hearing this name, the baron bounded to his feet. "Impossible!" he exclaimed; "absolutely impossible! M.

de Valorsay is incapable of the villainy you ascribe to him. What do I say? he is even above suspicion. I

have known him for years, and I have never met a more loyal, more honorable, or more courageous man. He

is one of my few trusted friends; we see each other almost every day. I am expecting a visit from him even

"To win a young girl whom I love. Sheloved me, and he saw that I was an obstacle. He put me out of the

way more surely than if he had murdered me. If I died, she might mourn for me dishonored, she would

It was evident that this explanation did not shake Baron Trigault's faith in his friend. "But the marquis has an

income of a hundred and fifty or two hundred thousand francs," said he; "that is an allsufficient justification.

With his fortune and his name, he is in a position to choose his wife from among all the heiresses of France.

Why should he address his attentions in particular to the woman you love? Ah! if he were poorif his

fortune were impairedif he felt the need of regilding his escutcheon, like my soninlaw"

He paused; there was a rap at the door. The baron called out: "Come in," and a valet appeared, and informed

It was the enemy! Pascal's features were distorted with rage; but he did not stirhe did not utter a word.

"Ask the marquis into the next room," said the baron. "I will join him there at once." Then as the servant

retired, the baron turned to Pascal and said: "Well, M. Ferailleur, do you divine my intentions?"

"I think so, monsieur. You probably intend me to hear the conversation you are going to have with M. de

This word, "listen," was uttered without bitterness, or even reproach; and yet Pascal could not help blushing

and hanging his head. "I wish to prove to you that your suspicions are without foundation," pursued the

baron. "Rest assured that I shall prove this conclusively. I will conduct the conversation in the form of a

crossexamination, and after the marquis's departure, you will be obliged to confess that you were wrong."

He was about to leave the room, when Pascal detained him. "I scarcely know how to testify my gratitude

even now, monsieur, and yetif I daredif I did not fear to abuse your kindness, I should ask one more

"It is this, I do not know the Marquis de Valorsay; and if, instead of leaving the door wide open, you would

"Agreed," replied the baron. And, opening the door, he passed into the diningroom, with his right hand

cordially extended, and saying, in his most genial tones: "Excuse me, my dear friend, for keeping you

waiting. I received your letter this morning, and I was expecting you, but some unexpected business required

As the baron entered the room, the marquis had stepped quickly forward to meet him. Either he was inspired

with fresh hope, or else he had wonderful powers of selfcontrol, for never had he looked more calmnever

had his face evinced haughtier indifference, more complete satisfaction with himself, and greater contempt

for others. He was dressed with even more than usual care, and in perfect taste as well; moreover, his valet

had surpassed himself in dressing his hairfor one would have sworn that his locks were still luxuriant. If he

experienced any secret anxiety, it only showed itself in a slightly increased stiffness of his right legthe

limb broken in hunting. "I ought rather to inquire concerning your own health," he remarked. "You seem

greatly disturbed; your cravat is untied." And, pointing to the broken china scattered about the floor, he

"The baroness was taken suddenly ill at the breakfast table. Her fainting fit startled me a little. But it was a

mere trifle. She has quite recovered already, and you may rely upon her applauding your victory at Vincennes

The marquis's countenance assumed an expression of cordial regret. "I am very sorry, upon my word!" he

exclaimed. "But I sha'n't take part in the races at Vincennes. I have withdrawn my horses. And, in future, I

"It is the truth, however. I have been led to this determination by the infamous slander which has been

This answer was a mere trifle, but it somewhat shook Baron Trigault's confidence. "You have been

"Abominably. Last Sunday the best horse in my stables, Domingo, came in third. He was the favorite in the

ring. You can understand the rest. I have been accused of manoeuvering to have my own horse beaten. People

have declared that it was my interest he should be beaten, and that I had an understanding with my jockey to

that effect. This is an everyday occurrence, I know very well; but, as regards myself, it is none the less an

"Oh, how can I tell? It is a fact, however, that the story has been circulated everywhere, but in such a cautious

manner that there is no way of calling the authors to account. They have even gone so far as to say that this

piece of knavery brought me in an enormous sum, and that I used Rochecotte's, Kervaulieu's, and Coralth's

The baron's agitation was so great that M. de Valorsay observed it, though he did not understand the cause.

Living in the same society with the Baroness Trigault, and knowing her story, he thought that Coralth's name

might, perhaps, have irritated the baron. "And so," he quickly continued, "don't be surprised if, during the

"All my horsesyes, baron. I have nineteen; and it will be very strange if I don't get eight or ten thousand

To talk of sellingof realizing something you possessrings ominously in people's ears. The person who

talks of selling proclaims his need of moneyand often his approaching ruin. "It will save you at least a

"Double it and you won't come up to the mark. Ah! my dear baron, you have yet to learn that there is nothing

so ruinous as a racing stable. It's worse than gambling; and women, in comparison, are a real economy.

Ninette costs me less than Domingo, with his jockey, his trainer, and his grooms. My manager declares that

the twentythree thousand francs I won last year, cost me at least fifty thousand."

Was he boasting, or was he speaking the truth? The baron was engaged in a rapid calculation. "What does

Valorsay spend a year?" he was saying to himself. "Let us say two hundred and fifty thousand francs for his

stable; forty thousand francs for Ninette Simplon; eighty thousand for his household expenses, and at least

thirty thousand for personal matters, travelling, and play. All this amounts to something like four hundred and

thirty thousand francs a year. Does his income equal that sum? Certainly not. Then he must have been living

Meanwhile the marquis gayly continued: "You see, I'm going to make a change in my mode of life. Ah! it

surprises you! But one must make an end of it, sooner or later. I begin to find a bachelor life not so very

pleasant after all; there is rheumatism in prospect, and my digestion is becoming impairedin short, I feel

"Yes, I. What, haven't you heard of it, yet? It has been talked of at the club for three days or more."

"No, this is the first intimation I have received of it. It is true, however, that I have not been to the club for

three days. I have made a wager with KamiBey, you knowthat rich Turkand as our sittings are eight or

ten hours long, we play in his apartments at the Grand Hotel. And so you are to be married," the baron

continued, after a slight pause. "Ah, well! I know one person who won't be pleased."

M. de Valorsay laughed heartily. "As if that would make any difference to me!" he exclaimed. And then in a

most confidential manner he resumed: "She will soon be consoled. Ninette Simplon is a shrewd girla girl

whom I have always suspected of having an account book in place of a heart. I know she has at least three

hundred thousand francs safely invested; her furniture and diamonds are worth as much more. Why should

she regret me? Add to this that I have promised her fifty thousand francs to dry her tears with on my

"I understand," replied the baron; "Ninette Simplon won't trouble you. But I can't understand why you should

talk of economy on the eve of a marriage which will no doubt double your fortune; for I'm sure you won't

"Well, I won't hesitate to confess to you, my dear baron, that the girl I am about to marry hasn't a penny of

her own. My future wife has no dowry save her black eyesbut they are certainly superb ones."

This assertion seemed to disprove Pascal's statements. "Can it really be you who are talking in this strain?"

cried the baron. "You, a practical, worldly man, give way to such a burst of sentiment?"

The baron opened his eyes in astonishment. "Ah! then you adore your future bride!"

Valorsay shrugged his shoulders with the air of a man who has made up his mind to accept the banter of his

friends; and in a tone of mingled sentimentality and irony, he said: "I know that it's absurd, and that I shall be

the laughingstock of my acquaintances. Still it doesn't matter; I have never been coward enough to hide my

feelings. I'm in love, my dear baron, as madly in love as a young collegiansufficiently in love to watch my

lady's house at night even when I have no possible hope of seeing her. I thought myself blase, I boasted of

being invulnerable. Well, one fine morning I woke up with the heart of a youth of twenty beating in my

breasta heart which trembled at the slightest glance from the girl I love, and sent purple flushes to my face.

Naturally I tried to reason with myself. I was ashamed of my weakness; but the more clearly I showed myself

my folly, the more obstinate my heart became. And perhaps my folly is not such a great one after all. Such

perfect beauty united with such modesty, grace, and nobility of soul, such passion, candor and talent, cannot

be met twice in a lifetime. I intend to leave Paris. We shall first of all go to Italy, my wife and I. After a while

we shall return and install ourselves at Valorsay, like two turtledoves. Upon my word, my imagination

paints a charming picture of the calm and happy life we shall lead there! I don't deserve such good fortune. I

Had he been less engrossed in his narrative, he would have heard the sound of a stifled oath in the adjoining

room; and had he been less absorbed in the part he was playing, he would have observed a cloud on his

companion's brow. The baron was a keen observer, and he had detected a false ring in this apparently

vehement outburst of passion. "I understand it now, my dear marquis," said he; "you have met the descendant

"You are wrong. My future bride has no other name than her Christian name of Marguerite."

"You are quite right; it is a romance. Were you acquainted with the Count de Chalusse, who died a few days

The baron started. "Excuse me," said he; "M. de Chalusse was immensely rich, and he was a bachelor. How

does it happen then that his daughter, even though she be his illegitimate child, should find herself

"A mere chancea fatality. M. de Chalusse died very suddenly; he had no time to make a will or to

"A formal recognition of his daughter was attended by too many difficulties, and even dangers. Mademoiselle

Marguerite had been abandoned by her mother when only five or six months old; it is only a few years since

M. de Chalusse, after a thousand vain attempts, at last succeeded in finding her."

It was no longer on Pascal's account, but on his own, that Baron Trigault listened with breathless attention.

"How very strange," he exclaimed, in default of something better to say. "How very strange!"

"To inquire? Certainly not. The count told me the whole story, without entering into particularsyou

understand. When he was quite young, M. de Chalusse became enamoured of a charming young lady, whose

husband had gone to tempt fortune in America. Being an honest woman, she resisted the count's advances for

awhilea very little while; but in less than a year after her husband's departure, she gave birth to a pretty

little daughter, Mademoiselle Marguerite. But then why had the husband gone to America?"

"Everything was progressing finely, when M. de Chalusse was in his turn obliged to start for Germany,

having been informed that a sister of his, who had fled from the paternal roof with nobody knows who, had

been seen there. He had been absent some four months or so, when one morning the post brought him a letter

from his pretty mistress, who wrote: 'We are lost! My husband is at Marseilles: he will be here tomorrow.

Never attempt to see me again. Fear everything from him. Farewell.' On receiving this letter, M. de Chalusse

flung himself into a postchaise, and returned to Paris. He was determined, absolutely determined, to have his

daughter. But he arrived too late. On hearing of her husband's return, the young wife had lost her head. She

had but one thoughtto conceal her fault, at any cost; and one night, being completely disguised, she left her

The marquis suddenly paused in his story to exclaim: "Why, what is the matter with you, my dear baron?

The baron was as pale as if the last drop of blood had been drawn from his veins, and there were dark purple

circles about his eyes. Still, on being questioned, he managed to answer in a choked voice, but not without a

terrible effort: "Nothing! It is nothing. A mere trifle! It will be over in a moment. It IS over!" Still his limbs

trembled so much that he could not stand, and he sank on to a chair, murmuring: "I entreat you,

M. de Valorsay resumed his narrative. "The husband was incontestably an artless fellow: but he was also, it

appears, a man of remarkable energy and determination. Having somehow ascertained that his wife had given

birth to a child in his absence, he moved heaven and earth not only to discover the child, but its father also.

He had sworn to kill them both; and he was a man to keep his vow unmoved by a thought of the guillotine.

And if you require a proof of his strength of character, here it is: He said nothing to his wife on the subject, he

did not utter a single reproach; he treated her exactly as he had done before his absence. But he watched her,

or employed others to watch her, both and night, convinced that she would finally commit some act of

imprudence which would give him the clue he wanted. Fortunately, she was very shrewd. She soon

discovered that her husband knew everything, and she warned M. de Chalusse, thus saving his life."

It is not at all remarkable that the Marquis de Valorsay should have failed to see any connection between his

narrative and the baron's agitation. What possible connection could there be between opulent Baron Trigault

and the poor devil who went to seek his fortune in America? What imaginable connection could there be

between the confirmed gambler, who was KamiBey's companion, Lia d'Argeles's friend, and the husband

who for ten long years had pursued the man who, by seducing his wife, had robbed him of all the happiness

of life? Another point that would have dispelled any suspicions on the marquis's part was that he had found

the baron greatly agitated on arriving, and that he now seemed to be gradually regaining his composure. So

he continued his story in his customary light, mocking tone. It is the perfection of good taste and high

breeding"proper form," indeed, not to be astonished or moved by anything, in fact to sneer at everything,

and hold one's self quite above the emotions which disturb the minds of plebeians.

Thus the marquis continued: "I am necessarily compelled to omit many particulars, my dear baron. The count

was not very explicit when he reached this part of his story; but, in spite of his reticence, I learned that he had

been tricked in his turn, that certain papers had been stolen from him, and that he had been defrauded in many

ways by his inamorata. I also know that M. de Chalusse's whole life was haunted by the thought of the

husband he had wronged. He felt a presentiment that he would die by this man's hand. He saw danger on

every side. If he went out alone in the evening, which was an exceedingly rare occurrence, he turned the

street corners with infinite caution; it seemed to him that he could always see the gleam of a poniard or a

pistol in the shade. I should never have believed in this constant terror on the part of a really brave man, if he

had not confessed it to me with his own lips. Ten or twelve years passed before he dared to make the slightest

attempt to find his daughter, so much did he fear to arouse his enemy's attention. It was not until he had

discovered that the husband had become discouraged and had discontinued his search, that the count began

his. It was a long and arduous one, but at last it succeeded, thanks to the assistance of a clever scoundrel

The baron with difficulty repressed a movement of eager curiosity, and remarked: "What a peculiar name!"

"And his first name is Isidore. Ah! he's a smoothtongued scoundrel, a rascal of the most dangerous kind,

who richly deserves to be in jail. How it is that he is allowed to prosecute his dishonorable calling I can't

understand; but it is none the less true that he does follow it, and without the slightest attempt at concealment,

This name and address were engraved upon the baron's memory, never to be effaced.

"However," resumed M. de Valorsay, "the poor count was fated to have no peace. The husband had scarcely

ceased to torment him, he had scarcely begun to breathe freely, when the wife attacked him in her turn. She

must have been one of those vile and despicable women who make a man hate the entire sex. Pretending that

the count had turned her from the path of duty, and destroyed her life and happiness, she lost no opportunity

of tormenting him. She would not allow M. de Chalusse to keep the child with him, nor would she consent to

his adopting the girl. She declared it an act of imprudence, which would surely set her husband upon the

track, sooner or later. And when the count announced his intention of legally adopting the child, in spite of

her protests, she declared that, rather than allow it, she would confess everything to her husband."

"Not so patient as you may suppose. His submission was due to some secret cause which he never confided to

me. There must have been some great crime under all this. In any case, the poor count found it impossible to

escape this terrible woman. He took refuge at Cannes; but she followed him. He travelled through Italy, for I

don't know how many months under an assumed name, but all in vain. He was at last compelled to conceal

his daughter in some provincial convent. During the last few months of his life he obtained peacethat is to

say, he bought it. This lady's husband must either be very poor or exceedingly stingy; and as she was

exceedingly fond of luxury, M. de Chalusse effected a compromise by giving her a large sum monthly, and

The baron sprang to his feet with a passionate exclamation. "The vile wretch!" he said.

But he quickly reseated himself, and the exclamation astonished M. de Valorsay so little that he quietly

concluded by saying: "And this is the reason, baron, why my beloved Marguerite, the future Marquise de

The baron cast a look of positive anguish at the door of the smokingroom. He had heard a slight movement

there; and he trembled with fear lest Pascal, maddened with anger and jealousy, should rush in and throw

himself upon the marquis. Plainly enough, this perilous situation could not last much longer. The baron's own

powers of selfcontrol and dissimulation were almost exhausted, and so postponing until another time the

many questions he still wished to ask M. de Valorsay, he made haste to check these confidential disclosures.

"Upon my word," he exclaimed, with a forced laugh, "I was expecting something quite different. This affair

begins like a genuine romance, and ends, as everything ends nowadays, in money!"

As a millionaire and a gambler, Baron Trigault enjoyed all sorts of privileges. He assumed the right to be

brutal, illbred, cynical and bold; to be one of those persons who declare that folks must take them as they

find them. But his rudeness now was so thoroughly offensive that under any other circumstances the marquis

would have resented it. However, he had special reasons for preserving his temper, so he decided to laugh.

"Yes, these stories always end in the same way, baron," said he. "You haven't touched a card this morning,

and I know your hands are itching. Excuse me for making you waste precious time, as you say; but what you

As Baron Trigault was supposed to enjoy an income of at least eight hundred thousand francs a year, he

received in the course of a twelvemonth at least a million applications for money or help, and for this reason

he had not an equal for detecting a coming appeal. "Good heavens!" he thought, "Valorsay is going to ask me

for money." In fact, he felt certain that the marquis's pretended carelessness concealed real embarrassment,

"So I am about to marry," M. de Valorsay resumed"I wish to break off my former life, to turn over a new

leaf. And now the wedding gifts, the two fetes that I propose giving, the repairs at Valorsay, and the

"Ah, well! as I'm not going to wed an heiress, I fear I shall run a trifle short. The matter was worrying me a

little, when I thought of you. I said to myself: 'The baron, who always has money at his disposal, will no

The baron's eyes were fixed upon his companion's face. "Zounds!" he exclaimed in a halfgrieved,

It was not disappointment that showed itself on the marquis's face; it was absolute despair, quickly concealed.

But the baron had detected it; and he realized his applicant's urgent need. He felt certain that M. de Valorsay

was financially ruinedand yet, as it did not suit his plans to refuse, he hastily added: "When I say I haven't

that amount, I mean that I haven't got it on hand just at this moment. But I shall have it within fortyeight

hours; and if you are at home at this time on the day after tomorrow, I will send you one of my agents, who

A moment before, the marquis had allowed his consternation to show itself; but this time he knew how to

conceal the joy that filled his soul. So it was in the most indifferent manner, as if the affair were one of trivial

importance, that he thanked the baron for being so obliging. Plainly enough, he now longed to make his

escape, and indeed, after rattling off a few commonplace remarks. he rose to his feet and took his leave,

The baron sank into an armchair, completely overcome. A martyr to a passion that was stronger than reason

itself, the victim of a fatal love which he had not been able to drive from his heart, Baron Trigault had passed

many terrible hours, but never had he been so completely crushed as at this moment when chance revealed

the secret which he had vainly pursued for years. The old wounds in his heart opened afresh, and his

sufferings were poignant beyond description. All his efforts to save this woman whom he at once loved and

hated from the depths of degradation, had proved unavailing. "And she has extorted money from the Count

de Chalusse," he thought; "she sold him the right to adopt their own daughter." And so strange are the

workings of the human heart, that this circumstance, trivial in comparison with many others, drove the

unfortunate baron almost frantic with rage. What did it avail him that he had become one of the richest men

in Paris? He allowed his wife eight thousand francs a month, almost one hundred thousand francs a year,

merely for her dresses and fancies. Not a quarterday passed, but what he paid her debts to a large amount,

and in spite of all this, she had sunk so low as to extort money from a man who had once loved her. "What

can she do with it all?" muttered the baron, overcome with sorrow and indignation. "How can she succeed in

A name, the name of Ferdinand de Coralth, rose to his lips; but he did not pronounce it. He saw Pascal

emerging from the smoking room; and though he had forgotten the young advocate's very existence, his

appearance now restored him to a consciousness of reality. "Ah, well! M. Ferailleur?" he said, like a man

suddenly aroused from some terrible nightmare. Pascal tried to make some reply, but he was unable to do

sosuch a flood of incoherent thoughts was seething and foaming in his brain. "Did you hear, M. de

Valorsay?" continued the baron. "Now we know, beyond the possibility of doubt, who Mademoiselle

"Wouldn't your first thought be of vengeance! It is mine. But upon whom can I wreak my vengeance? Upon

the Count de Chalusse? He is dead. Upon my wife? Yes, I might do so; but I lack the

The baron did not seem to hear this exclamation. "And to make Mademoiselle Marguerite's life one long

misery," said he, "I need only favor her marriage with the marquis. Ah, he would make her cruelly expiate the

"But you won't do so!" cried Pascal, in a transport, "it would be shameful; I won't allow it. Never, I swear

before high Heaven! never, while I live, shall Valorsay marry Marguerite. He may perhaps vanquish me in

the coming struggle; he may lead her to the threshold of the church, but there he will find mearmedand I

will have justicehuman justice in default of legal satisfaction. And, afterward, the law may take its

The baron looked at him with deep emotion. "Ah, you know what it is to love!" he exclaimed; and in a

The breakfasttable had not been cleared, and a large decanter of water was still standing on it. The baron

poured out two large glasses, which he drained with feverish avidity, and then he began to walk aimlessly

Pascal held his peace. It seemed to him that his own destiny was being decided in this man's mind, that his

whole future depended upon the determination he arrived at. A prisoner awaiting the verdict of the jury could

not have suffered more intense anxiety. At last, when a minute, which seemed a century, had elapsed, the

baron paused. "Now as before, M. Ferailleur," he said, roughly, "I'm for you and with you. Give me your

handthat's right. Honest people ought to protect and assist one another when scoundrels assail them. We

will reinstate you in public esteem, monsieur. We will unmask Coralth, and we will crush Valorsay if we find

The baron shook his head. "I've no doubt but what Valorsay is ruined financially," said he. "I am certain that

my hundred thousand francs will be lost forever if I lend them to him. I would be willing to swear that he bet

against his own horse and prevented the animal from winning, as he is accused of doing."

"Excuse meall this does NOT explain the great discrepancy between your allegations and his story. You

assure me that he cares nothing whatever for Mademoiselle Marguerite; he pretends that he adores her."

"Yes, monsieur, yesthe scoundrel dared to say so. Ah! if I had not been deterred by a fear of losing my

"I understand; but allow me to conclude. According to you, Mademoiselle Marguerite possesses several

millions. According to him, she hasn't a penny of her own. Which is right? I believe he is. His desire to

borrow a hundred thousand francs of me proves it; and, besides, he wouldn't have come this morning to tell

me a falsehood, which would be discovered tomorrow. Still, if he is telling the truth, it is impossible to

This objection had previously presented itself to Pascal's mind, and he had found an explanation which

seemed to him a plausible one. "M. de Chalusse was not dead," said he, "when M. de Coralth and M. de

Valorsay decided on this plan of ridding themselves of me. Consequently, Mademoiselle Marguerite was still

"That's true; but the very day after the commission of the crime, the accomplices must have discovered that it

"There must be some iniquitous mystery in this affair, which neither you nor I suspect," remarked the baron.

"Ah! that's Madame Ferailleur's opinion? Then it is a good one. Come, let us reason a little. Mademoiselle

"She wrote to me that the Count de Chalusse extorted from her a promise on his deathbed, that she would

The baron sprang to his feet. "Stop," he cried"stop! We now have a clue to the truth, perhaps. Ah! so

Mademoiselle Marguerite has written to you that M. de Chalusse commanded her to marry the marquis! Then

the count must have been fully restored to consciousness before he breathed his last. On the other hand,

Valorsay pretends that Mademoiselle Marguerite is left without resources, simply because the count died too

suddenly to be able to write or to sign a couple of lines. Can you reconcile these two versions of the affair, M.

Ferailleur? Certainly not. Then which version is false? We must ascertain that point. When shall you see

"Very well! She must be disobeyed. You must discover some way of seeing her without anyone's knowledge.

She is undoubtedly watched, so don't write on any account." He reflected for a moment, and then added: "We

shall, perhaps, become morally certain of Valorsay's and Coralth's guilt, but there's a wide difference between

this and the establishment of their guilt by material proofs. Two scoundrels who league to ruin an honest man

don't sign a contract to that effect before a notary. Proofs! Ah! where shall we find them? We must gain an

intimate knowledge of Valorsay's private life. The best plan would be to find some man devoted to our

Pascal interrupted the baron with an eager gesture. Hope glittered in his eyes. "Yes!" he exclaimed, "yes; it is

necessary that M. de Valorsay should be watched by a man of quick perceptiona man clever enough to

make himself useful to the marquis, and capable of rendering him an important service in case of need. I will

be the man, monsieur, if you will allow me. The thought occurred to me just now while I was listening to

you. You promised to send some one to Valorsay's house with money. I entreat you to allow me to take the

place of the man you intended to send. The marquis doesn't know me, and I am sufficiently sure of myself to

promise you that I will not betray my identity. I will present myself as your agent; he will give me his

confidence. I shall take him money or fair promises, I shall be well received, and I have a plan"

He was interrupted by a rap at the door. The next moment a footman entered, and informed his master that a

messenger wished to speak to him on urgent business. "Let him come in," said the baron.

It was Job, Madame Lia d'Argeles's confidential servant, who entered the room. He bowed respectfully, and,

with an air of profound mystery exclaimed: "I have been looking for the baron everywhere. I was ordered by

How was it that a clever man like M. Fortunat made such a blunder as to choose a Sunday, and a racing

Sunday too, to call on M. Wilkie. His anxiety might explain the mistake, but it did not justify it. He felt

certain, that under any other circumstances he would not have been dismissed so cavalierly. He would at least

have been allowed to develop his proposals, and then who knows what might have happened?

But the races had interfered with his plans. M. Wilkie had been compelled to attend to Pompier de Nanterre,

that famous steeplechaser, of which he owned onethird part, and he had, moreover, to give orders to the

jockey, whose lord and master he was to an equal extent. These were sacred duties, since Wilkie's share in a

racehorse constituted his only claim to a footing in fashionable society. But it was a strong claima claim

that justified the display of whips and spurs that decorated his apartments in the Rue du Helder, and allowed

him to aspire to the character of a sporting man. Wilkie really imagined that folks were waiting for him at

Still, when he presented himself inside the enclosure, a cigar in his mouth, and his racing card dangling from

his buttonhole, he was obliged to confess that his entrance did not create much of a sensation. An

astonishing bit of news had imparted unusual excitement to the ring. People were eagerly discussing the

Marquis de Valorsay's sudden determination to pay forfeit and withdraw his horses from the contest; and the

best informed declared that in the bettingrooms the evening before he had openly announced his intention of

selling his racing stable. If the marquis had hoped that by adopting this course he would silence the

suspicions which had been aroused, he was doomed to grievous disappointment. The rumor that he had

secretly bet against his own horse, Domingo, on the previous Sunday, and that he had given orders not to let

Large sums had been staked on Domingo's success. He had been the favorite in the betting ring and the losers

were by no means pleased. Some declared that they had seen the jockey hold Domingo back; and they

insisted that it was necessary to make an example, and disqualify both the marquis and his jockey. Still one

weighty circumstance pleaded in M. de Valorsay's favorhis fortune, or, at least, the fortune he was

supposed to possess. "Why should such a rich man stoop to cheat?" asked his defenders. "To put money into

one's pocket in this way is even worse than to cheat at cards! Besides, it's impossible! Valorsay is above such

"Perhaps so," replied the skeptical bystanders. "But people said exactly the same of Croisenois, of the Duc de

H., and Baron P., who were finally convicted of the same rascality that Valorsay is accused of."

"It's an infamous slander! If he had been inclined to cheat, he could have easily diverted suspicion. He would

"If he were not guilty, and afraid of detection, he wouldn't pay forfeit today nor sell his horses."

Like all gamblers, the frequenters of the turf are distrustful and inclined to be quarrelsome. No one is above

their suspicions when they lose nor above their wrath when they are duped. And this Domingo affair united

all the losers against Valorsay; they formed a little battalion of enemies who were no doubt powerless for the

time being, but who were ready to take a startling revenge whenever a good opportunity presented itself.

Naturally enough, M. Wilkie sided with the marquis, whom he had heard his friend, M. de Coralth, speak of

on several occasions. "Accuse the dear marquis!" he exclaimed. "It's contemptible, outrageous. Why, only

last evening he said to me, 'My good friend, Domingo's defeat cost me two thousand louis!'" M. de Valorsay

had said nothing of the kind, for the very good reason that he did not even know Wilkie by sight; still, no one

paid much heed to the assertion, whereat Wilkie felt vexed, and resolved to turn his attention to his jockey.

The latter was a lazy, worthless fellow, who had been dismissed from every stable he had previously served

in, and who swindled and robbed the young gentlemen who employed him without either limit or shame.

Although he made them pay him a very high salary something like eight thousand francs a yearon the

plea that it was most repugnant to his feelings to act as a groom, trainer, and jockey at the same time, he

regularly every month presented them with fabulous bills from the grain merchant, the veterinary surgeon,

and the harnessmaker. In addition, he regularly sold Pompier's oats in order to obtain liquor, and in fact the

poor animal was so nearly starved that he could scarcely stand on his legs. The jockey ascribed the horse's

extreme thinness to a system of rigorous training; and the owners did not question the statement in the least.

He had made them believe, and they in turn had made many others believe, that Pompier de Nanterre would

certainly win such and such a race; and, trusting in this fallacious promise, they risked their money on the

In point of fact, this jockey would have been the happiest mortal in the world if such things as steeplechases

had never existed. In the first place, he judged, with no little reason, that it was dangerous to leap hurdles on

such an animal as Pompier; and, secondly, nothing irritated him so much as to be obliged to promenade with

his three employers in turn. But how could he refuse, since he knew that if these young men hired him, it was

chiefly, or only in view of, displaying themselves in his company. It afforded them untold satisfaction to walk

to and fro along the course in front of the grand stand, with their jockey in his orange jacket with green

sleeves. They were firmly convinced that he reflected enormous credit upon them, and their hearts swelled

with joy at the thought of the envy they no doubt inspired. This conviction gave rise indeed to terrible

quarrels, in which each of the three owners was wont to accuse the others of monopolizing the jockey.

On this occasion, M. Wilkiebeing fortunate enough to arrive the firstimmediately repaired to Pompier

de Nanterre's stall. Never had circumstances been more favorable for a display of the animal's speed. The day

was magnificent; the stands were crowded, and thousands of eager spectators were pushing and jostling one

another beyond the ropes which limited the course. M. Wilkie seemed to be everywhere; he showed himself

in a dozen different places at once, always followed by his jockey, whom he ordered about in a loud voice,

with many excited gesticulations. And how great his delight was when, as he passed through the crowd, he

heard people exclaim: "That gentleman has a racing stable. His horses are going to compete!" What bliss

thrilled his heart when he overheard the admiring exclamation of some worthy shopkeeper who was greatly

But, unfortunately, this happiness could not last forever. His partners arrived, and claimed the jockey in their

turn. So M. Wilkie left the course and strolled about among the carriages, until at last he found an equipage

which was occupied by the young ladies who had accepted his invitation to supper the evening before, and

who were now making a profuse display of the very yellowest hair they possessed. This afforded him another

opportunity of attracting public attention, and to giving proofs of his "form," for he had not filled the box of

his carriage with champagne for nothing. At last the decisive moment came, and he made himself

conspicuous by shouting. "Now! Now! Here he is! Look! Bravo, Pompier! One hundred on Pompier!"

But, alas! poor Pompier de Nanterre fell exhausted before half the distance was accomplished; and that

evening Wilkie described his defeat, with a profusion of technical terms that inspired the uninitiated with the

deepest awe. "What a disaster, my friends," he exclaimed. "Pompier de Nanterre, an incomparable

steeplechaser, to break down in such a fashion! And beaten by whom? My Mustapha, an outsider, without

However, his defeat did not affect him very deeply. It was forgotten at thought of the inheritance which his

friend Coralth had spoken to him about. And tomorrow M. de Coralth would tell him the secret. He had

only twenty hours longer to wait!" To morrow! tomorrow!" he said to himself again and again, with a thrill

of mingled joy and impatience. And what bright visions of future glory haunted him! He saw himself the

possessor of a magnificent stud, of sufficient wealth to gratify every fancy; he would splash mud upon all the

passersby, and especially upon his former acquaintances, as he dashed past them in his superb equipage; the

best tailor should invent astonishing garments for him; he would make himself conspicuous at all the first

performances in a stagebox, with the most notorious women in Paris; his fetes would be described in the

papers; he would be the continual subject of comment; he would be credited with splendid, perfect "form."

It is true that M. de Coralth had promised him all this, without a word of explanation; but what did that

matter? Should he doubt his friend's word? Never! The viscount was not merely his model, but his oracle as

well. By the way in which he spoke of him, it might have been supposed that they had been friends from their

childhood, or, at least, that they had known each other for years. Such was not the case, however. Their

acquaintance dated only seven or eight months back, and their first meeting had apparently been the result of

chance; though it is needless to say, perhaps, that this chance had been carefully prepared by M. de Coralth.

Having discovered Madame Lia d'Argeles's secret, the viscount watched Wilkie, ascertained where he spent

his evenings, contrived a way of introducing himself into his society, and on their third meeting was skilful

enough to render him a servicein other words, to lend him some money. From that moment the conquest

was assured; for M. de Coralth possessed in an eminent degree all the attributes that were likely to dazzle and

charm the gifted owner of Pompier de Nanterre. First of all, there was his title, then his impudent assurance

and his apparent wealth, and last, but by no means least, his numerous and fashionable acquaintances. He was

not long in discovering his advantage, and in profiting by it. And without giving M. Wilkie an inkling of the

truth, he succeeded in obtaining from him as accurate a knowledge of his past career as the young fellow

M. Wilkie did not know much concerning his origin or his early life; and his history, so far as he was

acquainted with it, could be told in a few words. His earliest recollection was of the ocean. He was sure,

perfectly sure, that he had made a very long sea voyage when only a little child, and he looked upon America

as his birthplace. The French language was certainly not the first he had learned, for he still remembered a

limited number of English phrases. The English word "father" was among those that lingered in his memory;

and now, after a lapse of twenty years, he pronounced it without the least foreign accent. But while he

remembered the word perfectly well, no recollection remained to him of the person he had called by that

name. His first sensations were those of hunger, weariness, and cold. He recollected, and very distinctly too,

how on one long winter night, a woman had dragged him after her through the streets of Paris, in an icy rain.

He could still see himself as he wandered on, crying with weariness, and begging for something to eat. And

then the poor woman who held him by the hand lifted him in her arms and carried him onon, until her own

strength failed, and she was obliged to set him on the ground again. A vague portrait of this woman, who was

most probably his mother, still lingered in his memory. According to his description, she was extremely

handsome, tall, and very fair. He had been particularly impressed with the pale tint and profusion of her

Their poverty had not lasted long. He remembered being installed with his mother in a very handsome suite

of rooms. A man, who was still young, and whom he called "Monsieur Jacques," came every day, and

brought him sweetmeats and playthings. He thought he must have been about four years old at that time.

However, he had enjoyed this comfortable state of things scarcely a month, when one morning a stranger

presented himself. The visitor held a long conference with his mother, or, at least, with the person whom he

called by that name. He did not understand what they were talking about, but he was none the less very

uneasy. The result of the interview must have justified his instinctive fear, for his mother took him on her lap,

and embraced him with convulsive tenderness. She sobbed violently, and repeated again and again in a

faltering voice: "Poor child! my beloved Wilkie! I shall never kiss you againnever, never! 'Alas! It must be

Those were the exact words; Wilkie was sure on that point. It seemed to him he could still hear that

despairing farewell. For it was indeed a farewell. The stranger took him in his arms and carried him away, in

spite of his cries and struggles to escape. This person to whose care he was confined was the master of a

small boardingschool, and his wife was the kindest and most patient of women. However, this did not

prevent Wilkie from crying and begging for his mother at first; but gradually he forgot her. He was not

unhappy, for he was petted and indulged more than any of the other pupils, and he spent most of his time

playing on the terrace or wandering about the garden. But this charming life could not last for ever.

According to his calculation, he was just ten years old when, one Sunday, toward the end of October, a

gravelooking, redwhiskered gentleman, clad in solemn black with a white necktie, presented himself at the

school, and declared that he had been instructed by Wilkie's relatives to place him in a college to continue his

Young Wilkie's lamentations were long and loud; but they did not prevent M. Pattersonfor that was the

gentleman's namefrom taking him to the college of LouistheGreat, where he was entered as a boarder.

As he did not study, and as he was only endowed with a small amount of intelligence, he learned scarcely

anything during the years he remained there. Every Sunday and every fete day, M. Patterson made his

appearance at ten o'clock precisely, took Wilkie for a walk in Paris or the environs, gave him his breakfast

and dinner at some of the best restaurants, bought everything he expressed a desire to have, and at nine

o'clock precisely took him back to the college again. During the holidays M. Patterson kept the boy with him,

refusing him nothing in the way of pleasure, granting all his wishes, but never losing sight of him for a

moment. And if Wilkie complained of this constant watchfulness, M. Patterson always replied, "I must obey

So things went on until it became time for Wilkie to take his degree. He presented himself for examination;

and, of course, he failed. Fortunately, however, M. Patterson was not at a loss for an expedient. He placed his

charge in a private school; and the following year, at a cost of five thousand francs, he beguiled a poor devil

into running the risk of three years' imprisonment, by assuming M. Wilkie's name, and passing the

examination in his place. In possession of the precious diploma which opens the door of every career, M.

Wilkie now hoped that his pockets would be filled, and that he would then be set at liberty. But the hope was

vain! M. Patterson placed him in the hands of an old tutor who had been engaged to travel with him through

Europe; and as this tutor held the pursestrings, Wilkie was obliged to follow him through Germany,

When he returned to Paris he was just twenty years old, and the very next day M. Patterson conducted him to

the suite of rooms which he still occupied in the Rue du Helder. "You are now in your own home, M.

Wilkie," said M. Patterson in his most impressive manner. "You are now old enough to be responsible for

your own actions, and I hope you will conduct yourself like an honest man. From this moment you are your

own master. Those who gave you your education desire you to study law. If I were in your place, I should

obey them. If you wish to be somebody, and to acquire a fortune, work, for you have no property, nor

anything to expect from any one. The allowance which is granted you, a far too liberal one in my opinion,

may be cut off at any moment. I don't think it right to conceal this fact from you. But at all events until then. I

am instructed to pay you five thousand francs quarterly. Here is the amount for the first quarter, and in three

months' time I shall send you a similar amount. I say 'shall SEND,' because my business compels me to return

to England, and take up my abode there. Here is my London address; and if any serious trouble befalls you,

"Go to the devil, you old preacher!" growled Wilkie, as he saw the door close on the retreating figure of M.

Patterson, who had acted as his guardian for ten years. None of M. Patterson's wise advice lingered in the

young fellow's mind. To use a familiar expression, "It went in through one ear and came out through the

other." Only two facts had made an impression upon him: that he was to be his own master henceforth, and

that he had a fortune at his command. There it lay upon the table, five thousand francs in glittering gold.

If M. Wilkie had taken the trouble to attentively examine the rooms which had suddenly become his own, he

would perhaps have recognized the fact that a loving hand had prepared them for his reception. Countless

details revealed the delicate taste of a woman, and the thoughtful tenderness of a mother. None of those little

superfluities which delight a young man had been forgotten. There was a box of choice cigars upon the table,

and a jar of tobacco on the mantelshelf. But Wilkie did not take time to discover this. He hastily slipped five

hundred francs into his pocket, locked the rest of his money in a drawer, and went out with as lofty an air as if

He had resolved to give a fete in honor of his deliverance, and so he hurried off in search of some of his old

college chums. He found two of them; and, although it was very wounding to his self love, M. Wilkie was

obliged to confess to them that this was his first taste of liberty, and that he scarcely knew what to do with

himself. Of course his friends assured him that they could quickly make him acquainted with the only life

that it was worth while living; and, to prove it, they accepted the invitation to dinner which he immediately

offered them. It was a remarkable repast. Other acquaintances dropped in, the wine flowed in rivers; and after

dinner they danced. And at daybreak, having served his apprenticeship at baccarat, M. Wilkie found himself

without a penny in his pocket, and face to face with a bill of four hundred francs, for which amount he was

obliged to go to his rooms, under the escort of one of the waiters. This first experiment ought to have

disgusted him, or at least have made him reflect. But no. He felt quite in his element in the society of

dissipated young men and enamelled women. He swore that he would win a place in their midst, and an

influential place too. But it was easier to form this plan than to carry it into execution, as he discovered when,

at the end of the month, he counted his money to see what remained of the five thousand francs that had been

Twenty thousand francs a year is what one chooses to make it wealth or poverty. Twenty thousand francs a

year represents about sixty francs a day; but what are sixty francs to a high liver, who breakfasts and dines at

the best restaurants, whose clothes are designed by an illustrious tailor, who declines to make a pair of

trousers for less than a hundred francs? What are three louis a day to a man who hires a box for first

performances at the opera, to a man who gambles and gives expensive suppers, to a man who drives out with

yellowhaired demoiselles, and who owns a race horse? Measuring his purse and his ambition, M. Wilkie

discovered that he should never succeed in making both ends meet. "How do other people manage?" he

wondered. A puzzling question! Every evening a thousand gorgeously apparelled gentlemen, with a cigar in

their mouth and a flower in their buttonhole, may be seen promenading between the Chaussee d'Antin and

the Faubourg Montmartre. Everybody knows them, and they know everybody, but how they exist is a

problem which it is impossible to solve. How do they live, and what do they live on? Everybody knows that

they have no property; they do nothing, and yet they are reckless in their expenditures, and rail at work and

jeer at economy. What source do they derive their money from? What vile business are they engaged in?

However, M. Wilkie did not devote much time to solving this question. "My relatives must wish me to

starve," he said to himself. "Not II'm not that sort of a person, as I'll soon let them know." And thereupon

he wrote to M. Patterson. By return of post that gentleman sent him a cheque for one thousand francsa

mere drop in the bucket. M. Wilkie felt indignant and so he wrote again. This time he was obliged to wait for

a reply. Still at last it came. M. Patterson sent him two thousand francs, and an interminable epistle full of

reproaches. The interesting young man threw the letter into the fire, and went out to hire a carriage by the

From that day forward, his life was spent in demanding money and waiting for it. He employed in quick

succession every pretext that could soften the hearts of obdurate relatives, or find the way to the most closely

guarded cashbox. He was illhe had contracted a debt of honorhe had imprudently lent money to an

unscrupulous friendhe was about to be arrested for debt. And in accordance with the favorable or

unfavorable character of the replies his manner became humble or impertinent, so that his friends soon

learned to judge very accurately of the condition of his purse by the way he wore his mustaches. He became

wise with experience, however; and on adding all the sums he had received together, he decided that his

family must be very rich to allow him so much money. And this thought made him anxious to fathom the

mystery of his birth and his infancy. He finally persuaded himself that he was the son of a great English

noblemana member of the House of Lords, who was twenty times a millionaire. And he more than half

believed it when he told his creditors that his lordship, his father, would some day or other come to Paris and

pay all his debts. Unfortunately it was not M. Wilkie's noble father that arrived, but a letter from M.

"MY DEAR SIR, a considerable sum was placed in my hands to meet your unexpected requirements; and in

compliance with your repeated appeals, I have remitted the entire amount to you. Not a penny remains in my

possessionso that my instructions have been fulfilled. Spare yourself the trouble of making any fresh

demands; they will meet with no reply. In future you will not receive a penny above your allowance, which in

This letter proved a terrible blow to Wilkie. What should he do? He felt that M. Patterson would not revoke

his decision; and indeed he wrote him several imploring letters, in vain. Yet never had his need of money

been so urgent. His creditors were becoming uneasy; bills actually rained in upon his concierge; his next

quarterly allowance was not due for some time to come, and it was only through the pawnbroker that he

could obtain money for his more pressing requirements. He had begun to consider himself ruined. He saw

himself reduced to dismissing his carriage, to selling his third share of Pompier de Nanterre and losing the

He was in the depths of despair, when one morning his servant woke him up with the announcement that the

Viscount de Coralth was in the sittingroom and wished to speak with him on very important business. It was

not usually an easy task to entice M. Wilkie from his bed, but the name his servant mentioned seemed to have

a prodigious effect upon him. He bounded on to the floor, and as he hastily dressed himself, he muttered:

"The viscount here, at this hour! It's astonishing! What if he's going to fight a duel and wishes me to be his

second? That would be a piece of grand good luck and no mistake. It would assure my position at once.

This last remark was by no means a proof of any remarkable perspicuity on M. Wilkie's part. As M. de

Coralth never went to bed until two or three o'clock in the morning, he was by no means an early riser, and

only some very powerful reason could explain the presence of his bluelined brougham in the street before

nine o'clock A.M. And the influence that had made him rise betimes in the present case had indeed been

extremely powerful. Although the brilliant viscount had discovered Madame d'Argeles's secret, several

months previously, he had so far disclosed it to no one. It was certainly not from any delicacy of feeling that

he had held his peace; but only because it had not been for his interest to speak. Now, however, the sudden

death of the Count de Chalusse changed the situation. He heard of the catastrophe at his club on the evening

after the count's death, and his emotion was so great that he actually declined to take part in a game of

baccarat that was just beginning. "The devil!" he exclaimed. "Let me think a moment. Madame d'Argeles is

the heiress of all these millions will she come forward and claim them? From what I know of her, I am

inclined to think that she won't. Will she ever go to Wilkie and confess that she, Lia d'Argeles, is a Chalusse,

and that he is her illegitimate son? Never! She would rather relinquish her millions, both for herself and for

him, than take such a step. She is so ridiculously antiquated in her notions." And then he began to study what

M. de Coralth, like all persons whose present is more or less uncertain, had great misgivings concerning his

future. Just now he was cunning enough to find a means of procuring the thirty or forty thousand francs a

year that were indispensable to his comfort; but he had not a farthing laid by, and the vein of silver he was

now working might fail him at any moment. The slightest indiscretion, the least blunder, might hurl him from

his splendor into the mire. The perspiration started out on his forehead when he thought of his peril. He

passionately longed for a more assured positionfor a little capital that would insure him his bread until the

end of his days, and rid him of the grim phantom of poverty forever. And it was this desire which inspired

him with the same plan that M. Fortunat had formed. "Why shouldn't I inform Wilkie?" he said to himself. "If

I present him with a fortune, the simpleton ought certainly to give me some reward." But to carry this plan

into execution it would be necessary to brave Madame d'Argeles's anger; and that was attended by no little

danger. If he knew something about her, she on her side knew everything connected with his past life. She

had only to speak to ruin him forever. Still, after weighing all the advantages and all the dangers, he decided

to act, convinced that Madame d'Argeles might be kept ignorant of his treason, providing he only played his

cards skilfully. And his matutinal visit to M. Wilkie was caused by a fear that he might not be the only person

"You here, at sunrise, my friend!" exclaimed Wilkie, as he entered the room where the viscount was seated.

"To me?nothing," replied the viscount. "It was solely on your account that I deviated from my usual

"Oh! don't be alarmed. I have only some good news to communicate," and in a careless tone which cleverly

concealed his anxiety, the viscount added: "I have come, my dear Wilkie, to ask you what you would be

willing to give the man who put you in possession of a fortune of several millions?"

M. Wilkie's face turned from white to purple at least three times in ten seconds; and it was in a strangely

altered voice that he replied: "Ah! that's goodvery goodexcellent!" He tried his best to laugh, but he was

completely overcome; and, in fact, he had cherished so many extravagant hopes that nothing seemed

His companion at first made no reply. It was easy to divine the conflict that was raging in his mind, between

the hope that the news was true and the fear of being made the victim of a practical joke. "Come, my friend,"

he said at last, "do you want to poke fun at me? That wouldn't be polite. A debtor is always sacred, and I owe

you twentyfive louis. This is scarcely the time to talk of millions. My relatives have cut off my supplies; and

But M. de Coralth checked him, saying gravely: "Upon my honor, I am not jesting. What would you give a

He was in earnest, certainly. What wouldn't a man promise in all sincerity of soul to a fellow mortal who

gave him money when he had nonewhen he needed it urgently and must have it to save himself from ruin?

At such a moment no commission, however large, seems exorbitant. It is afterward, when the day of

"If I tell you that onehalf is too much, it is because such is really the case. And I am the best judge of the

matter, since I am the man who can put you in possession of this enormous fortune."

"This astonishes you!" said the viscount; "and why, pray? Is it because I ask for a commission?"

"It is not perhaps a very gentlemanly proceeding, but it is a sensible one. Business is business. In the

afternoon, when I am in a restaurant, at the club, or in a lady's boudoir, I am merely the viscount and the

grand seigneur. All money questions sicken me. I am careless, liberal, and obliging to a fault. But in the

morning I am simply Coralth, a man of the middle classes who doesn't pay his bills without examining them,

and who watches his money, because he doesn't wish to be ruined and end his brilliant career as a common

M. Wilkie did not allow him to continue. He believed, and his joy was wilddelirious. "Enough, enough!"

he interrupted. "A difficulty between us! Never! I am yours without reserve! Do you understand me? How

But the viscount was unmoved. "It is not fitting that I should fix upon the indemnity which is due to me. I

will consult a man of business; and I will decide upon this point on the day after tomorrow, when I shall

"On the day after tomorrow! You won't leave me in suspense for fortyeight hours?"

"It is unavoidable. I have still some important information to procure. I lost no time in coming to you, so that

I might put you on your guard. If any scoundrel comes to you with proposals, be extremely careful. Some

agents, when they obtain a hold on an estate, leave nothing for the rightful owner. So don't treat with any

Without a word, Wilkie darted to a table, and wrote a short contract by which he bound himself to give M.

Ferdinand de Coralth onehalf of the inheritance which the aforesaid Coralth might prove him to be entitled

to. The viscount read the document, placed it in his pocket, and then said, as he took up his hat:

But M. Wilkie's doubts were beginning to return. "Monday, so be it!" said he; "but swear that you are not

M. Wilkie reflected for a moment; and suddenly a brilliant inspiration darted through his brain. "If you are

speaking the truth, I shall soon be rich," said he. "But, in the meantime, life is hard. I haven't a penny, and it

isn't a pleasant situation. I have a horse entered for the race tomorrow, Pompier de Nanterre. You know the

animal very well. The chances are enormously in his favor. So, if it wouldn't inconvenience you to lend me

"Certainly," interrupted the viscount, cordially. "Certainly; with the greatest pleasure."

And drawing a beautiful little notebook from his pocket he took from it not one, but two banknotes of a

thousand francs, and handed them to M. Wilkie, saying: "Monsieur believes me now, does he not?"

As will be readily believed, it was not for his own pleasure that M. de Coralth postponed his confidential

disclosures for a couple of days. He knew Wilkie perfectly well, and felt that it was dangerous to let him

roam about Paris with half of an important secret. Postponement generally furnishes fate with weapons

against oneself. But it was impossible for the viscount to act otherwise. He had not seen the Marquis de

Valorsay since the Count de Chalusse's death and he dared not conclude the contract with Wilkie before he

had conferred with him, for he was completely in the marquis's power. At the least suspicion of treason, M.

de Valorsay would close his hand, and he, Coralth, would be crushed like an eggshell. It was to the house of

his formidable associate that he repaired on leaving M. Wilkie; and in a single breath he told the marquis all

M. de Valorsay's astonishment must have been intense when he heard that Lia d'Argeles was a Chalusse, but

he knew how to maintain his composure. He listened quietly, and when the viscount had completed his story,

The marquis looked at him keenly, and then calmly said: "In other words, you were waiting to see whether it

"I don't think, I'm sure of it. As long as I was strong support for you, you were devoted to me. But now I am

"What, haven't you taken it already?" interrupted the marquis, quickly. And shrugging his shoulders, he

added: "Observe that I don't reproach you in the least. Only remember this: we survive or we perish

By the angry gleam in M. de Coralth's eyes, the marquis must have realized that his companion was disposed

to rebel; still this knowledge did not seem to disquiet him, for it was in the same icy tone that he continued:

"Besides, your plans, far from conflicting with mine, will be of service to me. Yes, Madame d'Argeles must

lay claim to the count's estate. If she hesitates, her son will compel her to urge her claims, will he not?"

"Very good. Marguerite was escaping me, but I shall soon have her in my power. I have a plan. The Fondeges

think they can outwit me, but we shall soon see about that." The viscount was watching his companion

stealthily; as the latter perceived, and so in a tone of brusque cordiality, he resumed: "Excuse me for not

keeping you to breakfast, but I must go out immediatelyBaron Trigault is waiting for me at his house. Let

us part friendsau revoirand, above all, keep me well posted about matters in general."

M. de Coralth's temper was already somewhat ruffled when he entered Valorsay's house; and he was in a

furious passion when he left it. "So we are to survive or perish together," he growled. "Thanks for the

preference you display for my society. Is it my fault that the fool has squandered his fortune? I fancy I've had

Still his wrath was not so violent as to make him forget his own interests. He at once went to inquire if the

agreement which M. Wilkie had just signed would be binding. The lawyer whom he consulted replied that, at

all events, a reasonable compensation would most probably be granted by the courts, in case of any difficulty;

and he suggested a little plan which was a chef d'oeuvre in its way, at the same time advising his client to

It was not yet noon, and the viscount determined to act upon the suggestion at once; he now bitterly regretted

the delay he had specified. "I must find Wilkie at once," he said to himself. But he did not succeed in meeting

him until the evening, when he found him at the Cafe Richeand in what a condition too! The two bottles of

wine which the young fool had drank at dinner had gone to his head, and he was enumerating, in a loud

voice, the desires he meant to gratify as soon as he came into possession of his millions. "What a brute!"

thought the enraged viscount. "If I leave him to himself, no one knows what foolish thing he may do or say. I

So he followed him to the theatre, and thence to Brebant's, where he was sitting feeling terribly bored, when

M. Wilkie conceived the unfortunate idea of inviting Victor Chupin to come up and take some refreshment.

The scene which followed greatly alarmed the viscount. Who could this young man be? He did not remember

having ever seen him before, and yet the young scamp was evidently well acquainted with his past life, for he

had cast the name of Paul in his face, as a deadly insult. Surely this was enough to make the viscount

shudder! How did it happen that this young man had been just on the spot ready to pick up Wilkie's hat? Was

it mere chance? Certainly not. He could not believe it. Then why was the fellow there? Evidently to watch

In going through life as he had done, a man makes enemies at every step; and he had an imposing number of

foes, whom he only held in check by his unbounded impudence and his renown as a duellist. Thus it was not

strange if some one had set a snare for him; it was rather a miracle that he had not fallen into one before. The

dangers that threatened him were so formidable that he was almost tempted to relinquish his attack on

Madame d'Argeles. Was it prudent to incur the risk of making this woman an enemy? All Sunday he

hesitated. It would be very easy to get out of the scrape. He could concoct some story for Wilkie's benefit,

and that would be the end of it. But on the other hand, there was the prospect of netting at least five hundred

thousand francsa fortunea competency, and the idea was too tempting to be relinquished.

So on Monday morning, at about ten o'clock, he presented himself at Wilkie's house, looking pale with

anxiety, and far more solemn in manner than usual. "Let us say but little, and that to the point," he remarked

on entering. "The secret I am about to reveal to you will make you rich; but it might ruin me if it were known

that you obtained this information through me. You will therefore swear, upon your honor as a gentleman,

"Very well, then. Now my mind is at rest. It is scarcely necessary for me to add that if you break your faith

you are a dead man. You know me. You know how I handle a sword; and don't forget it." His manner was so

threatening that Wilkie shuddered. "You will certainly be questioned," continued M. de Coralth; "but you

must reply that you received the information through one of Mr. Patterson's friends. Now let us sign our

It is needless to say that Wilkie signed it eagerly. Not so the viscount; he read the document through

carefully, before appending his signature, and then exclaimed: "The estate that belongs to you is that of the

Count de Chalusse, your uncle. He leaves, I am informed, at least eight or ten millions of property."

By M. Wilkie's excited gestures, by the glitter in his eyes, it might have been supposed that this wonderful

good fortune was too much for him, and that he was going mad. "I knew that I belonged to a noble family,"

he began. "The Count de Chalusse my uncle! I shall have a coronet on the corner of my visiting cards."

But with a gesture M. de Coralth silenced him. "Wait a little before you rejoice," said he. "Yes, your mother

is the sister of the Count de Chalusse, and it is through her that you are an heir to the estate. Butdon't

grieve too muchthere are similar misfortunes in many of our most distinguished families

circumstancesthe obstinacy of parentsa love more powerful than reason" The viscount paused,

certainly he had no prejudices; but at the moment of telling this interesting young man who his mother really

"Wellwhen your mother was a young girl, about twenty, she fled from her paternal home with a man she

loved. Forsaken afterward, she found herself in the depths of poverty. She was obliged to live. You were

M. Wilkie sprang to his feet. "Lia d'Argeles!" he exclaimed. Then, with a burst of laughter, he added:

"This man carries away your secret; you are lost." A sinister voice whispered these words in Madame Lia

d'Argeles's heart when M. Isidore Fortunat, after being rudely dismissed, closed the door of her

drawingroom behind him. This man had addressed her by the ancient and illustrious name of Chalusse

which she had not heard for twenty years, and which she had forbidden her own lips to pronounce. This man

This frightful certainty overwhelmed her. It is true this man Fortunat had declared that his visit was entirely

disinterested. He had pretended that his regard for the Chalusse family, and the compassion aroused in his

heart by the unfortunate plight of Mademoiselle Marguerite, were the only motives that has influenced him in

taking this step. However, Madame d'Argeles's experience in life had left her but limited faith in apparent or

pretended disinterestedness. This is a practical age; chivalrous sentiments are expensiveas she had learned

conclusively. "If the man came here," she murmured, "it was only because he thought he might derive some

benefit from the prosecution of my claim to my poor brother's estate. In refusing to listen to his entreaties, I

have deprived him of this expected profit and so I have made him my enemy. Ah! I was foolish to send him

away like that! I ought to have pretended to listenI ought to have bound him by all sorts of promises."

She suddenly paused. It occurred to her that M. Fortunat could not have gone very far; so that, if she sent for

him to come back, she might perhaps be able to repair her blunder. Without losing a second, she rushed

downstairs, and ordered her concierge and a servant to run after the gentleman who had just left the house,

and ask him to return; to tell him that she had reflected, and wished to speak to him again. They rushed out in

pursuit, and she remained in the courtyard, her heart heavy with anxiety. Too late! About a quarter of an hour

afterward her emissaries returned. They had made all possible haste in contrary directions, but they had seen

no one in the street who at all resembled the person they were looking for. They had questioned the

shopkeepers, but no one had seen him pass. "It doesn't matter," faltered Madame d'Argeles, in a tone that

belied her words. And, anxious to escape the evident curiosity of her servants, she hastened back to the little

M. Fortunat had left his cardthat is to say, his addressand it would have been an easy matter to send a

servant to his house. She was strongly tempted to do so; but she ultimately decided that it would be better to

waitthat an hour more or less would make but little difference. She had sent her trusty servant, Job, for

Baron Trigault; he would probably return with the baron at any moment; and the baron would advise her. He

would know at once what was the best course for her to pursue. And so she waited for his coming in

breathless anxiety; and the more she reflected, the more imminent her peril seemed, for she realized that M.

Fortunat must be a very dangerous and cunning man. He had set a trap for her, and she had allowed herself to

be caught. Perhaps he had only suspected the truth when he presented himself at the house. He had suddenly

announced the death of the Count de Chalusse; she had betrayed herself; and any doubts he might have

entertained were dispelled. "If I had only had sufficient presence of mind to deny it," she murmured. "If I had

only been courageous enough to reply that I knew absolutely nothing about the person he spoke of. Ah! then

But would the smoothspoken visitor have declared that he knew everything, if he had not really penetrated

the mystery of her life? It was scarcely probable. He had implored her to accept the property, if not for her

own sake at least for the sake of another. And when she asked him whom he meant he had answered,

"Mademoiselle Marguerite," but he was undoubtedly thinking of Wilkie. So this man, this Isidore Fortunat,

knew that she had a son. Perhaps he was even acquainted with him personally. In his anger he would very

likely hasten to Wilkie's rooms and tell him everything. This thought filled the wretched woman's heart with

For the first time a terrible doubt came over her. What she had formerly regarded as a most sublime effort of

maternal love, was, perhaps, even a greater crime than the first she had committed. She had given her honor

as the price of her son's happiness and prosperity. Had she a right to do so? Did not the money she had

lavished upon him contain every germ of corruption, misfortune, and shame? How terrible Wilkie's grief and

Alas! he would certainly pay no heed to the extenuating circumstances; he would close his ears to all attempts

at justification. He would be pitiless. He would have naught but hatred and scorn to bestow upon a mother

who had fallen from the highest rank in society down to everlasting infamy. She fancied she heard him saying

in an indignant voice, "It would have been better to have allowed me to die of starvation than to have given

me bread purchased at such a price! Why have you dishonored me by your illgotten wealth? Fallen, you

might have raised yourself by honest toil. You ought to have made me a laborer, and not a spoiled idler,

incapable of earning an honest livelihood. As the son of a poor, betrayed, and deserted woman, with whom I

could have shared my scanty earnings, I might have looked the world proudly in the face. But where can the

son of Lia d'Argeles hide his disgrace after playing the gentleman for twenty years with Lia d'Argeles's

money?" Yes, Wilkie would certainly say this if he ever learned the truth; and he would learn itshe felt

sure of it. How could she hope to keep a secret which was known to Baron Trigault, M. Patterson, the

Viscount de Coralth, and M. Fortunat four persons! She had confidence in the first two; she believed she

The hours went by; and still Job did not return. What was the meaning of this delay? Had he failed to find the

baron? At last the sound of carriagewheels in the courtyard made her start. "That's Job!" she said to herself.

Alas! no. Job returned alone. And yet the honest fellow had spared neither pains nor horseflesh. He had

visited every place where there was the least probability of finding the baron, and he was everywhere told

that Baron Trigault had not been seen for several days. "In that case, you ought to have gone to his house.

"Madame knows that the baron is never at home. I did go there, however, but in vain."

This chanced to be one of three consecutive days which Baron Trigault had spent with KamiBey, the

Turkish ambassador. It had been agreed between them that they should play until one or the other had lost

five hundred thousand francs; and, in order to prevent any waste of "precious time," as the baron was wont to

remark, they neither of them stirred from the Grand Hotel, where KamiBey had a suite of rooms. They ate

and slept there. By some strange chance, Madame d'Argeles had not heard of this duel with banknotes,

although nothing else was talked of at the clubs; indeed, the Figaro had already published a minute

description of the apartment where the contest was going on; and every evening it gave the results. According

to the latest accounts, the baron had the advantage; he had won about two hundred and eighty thousand

"I only returned to inform madame that I had so far been unsuccessful," said Job. "But I will recommence the

"That is unnecessary," replied Madame d'Argeles. "The baron will undoubtedly drop in this evening, after

She said this, and tried her best to believe it; but in her secret heart she felt that she could no longer depend

upon the baron's assistance. "I wounded him this morning," she thought. "He went away more angry than I

had ever seen him before. He is incensed with me; and who knows how long it will be before he comes

Still she waited, with feverish anxiety, listening breathlessly to every sound in the street, and trembling each

time she heard or fancied she heard a carriage stop at the door. However, at two o'clock in the morning the

But now her sufferings were less intolerable, for excess of wretchedness had deadened her sensibility. Utter

prostration paralyzed her energies and benumbed her mind. Ruin seemed so inevitable that she no longer

thought of avoiding it; she awaited it with that blind resignation displayed by Spanish women, who, when

they hear the roll of thunder, fall upon their knees, convinced that lightning is about to strike their defenceless

heads. She tottered to her room, flung herself on the bed, and instantly fell asleep. Yes, she slept the heavy,

leaden slumber which always follows a great mental crisis, and which falls like God's blessing upon a

tortured mind. On waking up, her first act was to ring for her maid, in order to send a message to Job, to go

out again in search of the baron. But the faithful servant had divined his mistress's wishes, and had already

started off of his own accord. It was past midday when he returned, but his face was radiant; and it was in a

Madame d'Argeles sprang up, and greeted the baron with a joyful exclamation. "Ah! how kind of you to

come!" she exclaimed. "You are most welcome. If you knew how anxiously I have been waiting for you!" He

But she paused, for in spite of her own agitation, she was suddenly struck by the peculiar expression on her

visitor's face. He was standing silent and motionless in the centre of the room, and his eyes were fixed upon

her with a strange, persistent stare in which she could read all the contradictory feelings which were battling

for mastery in his mindanger, hatred, pity, and forgiveness. Madame d'Argeles shuddered. So her cup of

sorrow was not yet full. A new misfortune was about to fall upon her. She had hoped that the baron would be

able to alleviate her wretchedness, but it seemed as if he were fated to increase it. "Why do you look at me

"What is it? Well, I am going to tell you," he said, as he stepped forward and took her hand in his own. "You

know that I have been infamously duped and deceived, that the happiness of my life has been destroyed by a

scoundrel who tempted the wife I so fondly loved to forget her duty, and trample her honor under foot. You

have heard my vows of vengeance if I ever succeeded in discovering him. Ah, well, Lia, I have discovered

him. The man who stole my share of earthly happiness was the Count de Chalusse, your brother."

With a sudden gesture Madame d'Argeles freed her hand from the baron's grasp, and recoiled as terrified as if

she had seen a spectre rise up before her. Then with her hands extended as if to ward off the horrible

A bitter smile curved the baron's lips. "What do you fear?" he asked. "Isn't your brother dead? He has

If her son's life had depended on a single word, Madame d'Argeles could not have uttered it. She knew what

mental agony had urged the baron to a sort of moral suicide, and led him to contract the vice in which he

"Nor is this all," he continued. "Listen. As I have often told you, I was sure that my wife became a mother in

my absence. I sought the child for years, hoping that through the offspring I might discover the father. Ah,

well! I've found what I sought, at last. The child is now a beautiful young girl. She lives at the Hotel de

Madame d'Argeles listened, leaning against the wall for support, and trembling like a leaf. Her reason was

shaken by so many repeated blows, and her son, her brother, Marguerite, Pascal Ferailleur, Coralth,

Valorsayall those whom she loved or feared, or hatedrose like spectres before her troubled brain. The

horror of the truth exceeded her most frightful apprehensions. The strangeness of the reality surpassed every

flight of fancy. And, moreover, the baron's calmness increased her stupor. She so often had heard him give

vent to his rage and despair in terrible threats, that she could not believe he would be thus resigned. But was

However, he continued, "It is thus that destiny makes us its sportit is thus that it laughs at our plans. Do

you remember, Lia, the day when I met you wandering through the streets of Pariswith your child in your

armspale and half dead with fatigue, faint for want of food, homeless and penniless? You saw no refuge

but in death, as you have since told me. How could I imagine when I rescued you that I was saving my

greatest enemy's sister from suicidethe sister of the man whom I was vainly pursuing? And yet this might

not be the end, if I chose to have it otherwise. The count is dead, but I can still return him disgrace for

disgrace. He dishonored me. What prevents me from casting ineffaceable opprobrium upon the great name of

Chalusse, of which he was so proud? He seduced my wife. Today I can tell all Paris what his sister has been

Ah! it was thisyes, it was this that Madame d'Argeles had dreaded. She fell upon her knees, and, with

clasped hands she entreated: "Pity!oh! have pityforgive me! Have mercy! Have I not always been a

faithful and devoted friend to you? Think of the past you have just invoked! Who helped you then to bear

your intolerable sufferings? Don't you remember the day when you, yourself, had determined to die by your

own hand? There was a woman who persuaded you to abandon the thought of suicide. It was I!"

He looked at her for a moment with a softer expression, tears came to his eyes, and rolled down his cheeks.

Then suddenly he raised her, and placed her in an armchair, exclaiming: "Ah! you know very well that I

shall not do what I said. Don't you know me better than that? Are you not sure of my affection, are you not

aware that you are sacred in my eyes?" He was evidently striving hard to master his emotion. "Besides," he

added, "I had already pardoned before coming here. It was foolish on my part, perhaps, and for nothing in the

world would I confess it to my acquaintances, but it is none the less true. I shall have my revenge in a certain

fashion, however. I need only hold my peace, and the daughter of M. de Chalusse and Madame Trigault

would become a lost woman. Is this not so? Very well, I shall offer her my assistance. It may, or may not, be

another absurd and ridiculous fancy added to the many I have been guilty of. But no matter. I have promised.

And why, indeed, should this poor girl be held responsible for the sins of her parents? II declare myself on

Madame d'Argeles rose, her face radiant with joy and hope. "Then perhaps we are saved!" she exclaimed.

"Ah! I knew when I sent for you that I should not appeal to your heart in vain!"

She took hold of his hand as if to raise it to her lips; but he gently withdrew it, and inquired, with an air of

"That I have been cruelly punished for not wishing you to assist that unfortunate man who was dishonored

"Yes, he is innocent. The Viscount de Coralth is a scoundrel. It was he who slipped the cards which made M.

Ferailleur win, into the pack, and he did it at the Marquis de Valorsay's instigation."

The baron looked at Madame d'Argeles with profound amazement. "What!" said he; "you knew this and you

allowed it? You were cruel enough to remain silent when that innocent man entreated you to testify on his

behalf! You allowed this atrocious crime to be executed under your own roof, and under your very eyes?"

"I was then ignorant of Mademoiselle Marguerite's existence. I did not know that the young man was beloved

The baron interrupted her, and exclaimed, indignantly: "Ah! what does that matter? It was none the less an

She hung her head, and in a scarcely audible voice replied: "I was not free. I submitted to a will that was

stronger than my own. If you had heard M. de Coralth's threats you would not censure me so severely. He has

discovered my secret; he knows WilkieI am in his power. Don't frownI make no attempt to excuse

myselfI am only explaining the position in which I was placed. My peril is imminent; I have only

Thereupon she hastily explained M. de Coralth's position respecting herself, what she had been able to

ascertain concerning the Marquis de Valorsay's plans, the alarming visit she had received from M. Fortunat,

his advice and insinuations, the dangers she apprehended, and her firm determination to deliver

Mademoiselle Marguerite from the machinations of her enemies. Madame d'Argeles's disclosures formed, as

it were, a sequel to the confidential revelations of Pascal Ferailleur, and the involuntary confession of the

Marquis de Valorsay; and the baron could no longer doubt the existence of the shameful intrigue which had

been planned in view of obtaining possession of the count's millions. And if he did not, at first, understand

the motives, he at least began to discern what means had been employed. He now understood why Valorsay

persisted in his plan of marrying Mademoiselle Marguerite, even without a fortune. "The wretch knows

through Coralth that Madame d'Argeles is a Chalusse," he said to himself; "and when Mademoiselle

Marguerite has become his wife, he intends to oblige Madame d'Argeles to accept her brother's estate and

At that same moment Madame d'Argeles finished her narrative. "And now, what shall I do?" she added.

The baron was stroking his chin, as was his usual habit when his mind was deeply exercised. "The first thing

to be done," he replied, "is to show Coralth in his real colors, and prove M. Ferailleur's innocence. It will

probably cost me a hundred thousand francs to do so, but I shall not grudge the money. I should probably

spend as much or even more in play next summer; and the amount had better be spent in a good cause than in

"But M. de Coralth will speak out as soon as he finds that I have revealed his shameful past."

Madame d'Argeles shuddered. "Then the name of Chalusse will be disgraced," said she; "and Wilkie will

"Ah! allow me to finish, my dear friend. I have my plan, and it is as plain as daylight. This evening you will

write to your London correspondent. Request M. Patterson to summon your son to England, under any

pretext whatever; let him pretend that he wishes to give him some money, for instance. He will go there, of

course, and then we will keep him there. Coralth certainly won't run after him, and we shall have nothing

"Great heavens!" murmured Madame d'Argeles, "why did this idea never occur to me?"

The baron had now completely recovered his composure. "As regards yourself," said he, "the plan you ought

to adopt is still more simple. What is your furniture worth? About a hundred thousand francs, isn't it? Very

well, then. You will sign me notes, dated some time back, to the amount of a hundred thousand francs. On the

day these notes fall due, on Monday, for instance, they will be presented for payment. You will refuse to pay

them. A writ will be served, and an attachment placed upon your furniture; but you will offer no resistance. I

"So your property is seized. You make no opposition, and next week we shall have flaming posters on all the

walls, telling Paris that the furniture, wardrobe, cashmeres, laces, and diamonds of Madame Lia d'Argeles

will be sold without reserve, at public auction, in the Rue Drouot, with the view of satisfying the claims of

her creditors. You can imagine the sensation this announcement will create. I can see your friends and the

frequenters of your drawingroom meeting one another in the street, and saying: 'Ah, well! what's this about

poor d'Argeles?' 'Pshaw!no doubt it's a voluntary sale.' 'Not at all; she's really ruined. Everything is

mortgaged above its value.' 'Indeed, I'm very sorry to hear it. She was a good creature.' 'Oh, excellent; a deal

of amusement could be found at her house,only between you and me' 'Well?' 'Well, she was no

longer young.' 'That's true. However, I shall attend the sale, and I think I shall bid.' And, in fact, your

acquaintances won't fail to repair to the Hotel Drouot, and maybe your most intimate friends will yield to

their generous impulses sufficiently to offer twenty sous for one of the dainty trifles on your etageres."

Overcome with shame, Madame d'Argeles hung her head. She had never before so keenly felt the disgrace of

her situation. She had never so clearly realized what a deep abyss she had fallen into. And this crushing

humiliation came from whom? From the only friend she possessedfrom the man who was her only hope,

And what made it all the more frightful was, that he did not seem to be in the least degree conscious of the

cruelty of his words. Indeed, he continued, in a tone of bitter irony: "Of course, you will have an exhibition

before the sale, and you will see all the dolls that hairdressers, milliners and fools call great ladies, come

running to the show. They will come to see how a notorious woman lives, and to ascertain if there are any

good bargains to be had. This is the right form. These great ladies would be delighted to display diamonds

purchased at the sale of a woman of the demi monde. Oh! don't fearyour exhibition will be visited by my

wife and daughter, by the Viscountess de Bois d'Ardon, by Madame de Rochecote, her five daughters, and a

great many more. Then the papers will take up the refrain; they will give an account of your financial

It was with a sort of terrorstricken curiosity that Madame d'Argeles watched the baron. It had been many

years since she had seen him in such a frame of mindsince she had heard him talk in such a cynical

"What, don't you understand the object I have in view? Afterward you will disappear. I know five or six

journalists; and it would be very strange if I could not convince one of them that you had died upon an

hospital pallet. It will furnish the subject of a touching, and what is better, a moral article. The papers will

say, 'Another star has disappeared. This is the miserable end of all the poor wretches whose passing luxury

"A respected woman, Lia. You will go to England, install yourself in some pretty cottage near London, and

create a new identity for yourself. The proceeds of your sale will supply your wants and Wilkie's for more

than a year. Before that time has elapsed you will have succeeded in accumulating the necessary proofs of

your identity, and then you can assert your claims and take possession of your brother's estate."

The baron evidently thought he must have misunderstood her. "What!" he stammered; "you will relinquish

"No, it isn't in my power to do that; but Wilkie will do so, later, on, I'm sure of it."

A feverish agitation had now succeeded Madame d'Argeles's torpor; there was an expression of scorn and

anger on her rigid features, and her eyes, usually so dull and lifeless, fairly blazed. "It is not folly," she

exclaimed, "but vengeance!" And as the astonished baron opened his lips to question her: "Let me finish," she

said imperiously, "and then you shall judge me. I have told you with perfect frankness everything concerning

my past life, save this thisthat I am married, Monsieur le Baron, legally married. I am bound by a chain

that nothing can break, and my husband is a scoundrel. You would be frightened if you knew half the extent

of his villainy. Oh! do not shake your head. I ought not to be suspected of exaggeration when I speak in this

style of a man whom I once loved so devotedly. For I loved him, alas!even to madnessloved him so

much that I forgot self, family, honor, and all the most sacred duties. I loved him so madly that I was willing

to follow him, while his hands were still wet with my brother's blood. Ah! chastisement could not fail to

come, and it was terrible, like the sin. This man for whom I had abandoned everythingwhom I had made

my idoldo you know what he said to me the third day after my flight from home? 'You must be more

stupid than an owl to have forgotten to take your jewels.' Yes, those were the very words he said to me, with

a furious air. And then I could measure the depths of the abyss into which I had plunged. This man, with

whom I had been so infatuated, did not love me at all, he had never loved me. It had only been cold

calculation on his part. He had devoted months to the task of winning my heart, just as he would have

devoted them to some business transaction. He only saw in me the fortune that I was to inherit. Oh! he didn't

conceal it from me. 'If your parents are not monsters,' he was always saying, 'they will finally become

reconciled to our marriage. They will give you a handsome fortune and we will divide it. I will give you back

your liberty, and then we can each of us be happy in our own way.' It was for this reason that he wished to

marry me. I consented on account of my unborn child. My father and mother had died, and he hoped to

prevail upon me to claim my share of the paternal fortune. As for claiming it himself, he dared not. He was a

coward, and he was afraid of my brother. But I took a solemn oath that he should never have a farthing of the

wealth he coveted, and neither threats nor BLOWS could compel me to assert my claim. God only knows

how much I had suffered from his brutality when I at last succeeded in making my escape with Wilkie. He

has sought us everywhere for fifteen years, but he has not yet succeeded in finding a trace of us. Still he has

not ceased to watch my brother. I am sure of that, my presentiments never deceive me. So, if I followed your

adviceif I claimed possession of my brother's fortunemy husband would instantly appear with our

marriage contract in his hands, and demand everything. Shall I enrich him? No, never, never! I would rather

Madame d'Argeles spoke in that tone of concentrated rage which betrays years of repressed passion and

unflinching resolution. One could scarcely hope to modify her views even by the wisest and most practical

advice. The baron did not even think of attempting to do so. He had known Madame d'Argeles for years; he

had seen so many proofs of her invincible energy and determination. She possessed the distinguishing

characteristic of her family in a remarkable degreethat proverbial Chalusse obstinacy which Madame

She was silent for a moment, and then, in a firm tone she said: "Still, I will follow your advice in part, baron.

This evening I will write to M. Patterson and request him to send for Wilkie. In less than a fortnight I shall

have sold my furniture and disappeared. I shall remain poor. My fortune is not so large as people suppose. No

"Thanks, my friend, thanks a thousand times; but it will not be necessary for me to accept your kind offer.

When Wilkie was a child I did not refuse. But now I would dig the ground with my own hands, rather than

give him a louis that came from you. You think me full of contradictions! Perhaps I am. It is certain that I am

no longer what I was yesterday. This trouble has torn away the bandage that covered my eyes. I can see my

conduct clearly now, and I condemn it. I sinned for my son's sake, more than for my own. But I might have

rehabilitated myself through him, and now he will perhaps be dishonored through me." Her breathing came

short and hard, and it was in a choked voice that she continued: "Wilkie shall work for me and for himself. If

he is strong, he will save us. If he is weakah, well! we shall perish. But there has been cowardice and

shame enough! It shall never be said that I sacrificed the honor of a noble name and the happiness of my

The baron nodded approvingly. "That's no doubt right," said he. "Only allow me to tell you that all is not lost

yet. The code has a weapon for every just cause. Perhaps there will be a way for you to obtain and hold your

"Alas! I made inquiries on the subject years ago, and I was told that it would be impossible. Still, you might

investigate the matter. I have confidence in you. I know that you would not advise me rashly;but don't

"I will lose no time. M. Ferailleur is a very clever lawyer, I am told. I will consult him."

The baron reflected for a moment. "The safest thing would be to take no action whatever at present," he

replied. "If he has any evil designs, a visit or a letter from you would only hasten them."

By the way Madame d'Argeles shook her head, it was easy to see that she had very little hope. "All this will

The baron shared her opinion, but he did not think it wise or kind to discourage her. "Nonsense!" he said

Then as he heard the clock strike, he sprang from his armchair in dismay. "Two o'clock," he exclaimed,

"and KamiBey is waiting for me. I certainly haven't been wasting time here, but I ought to have been at the

Grand Hotel at noon. Kami is quite capable of suspecting a man of any knavery. These Turks are strange

creatures. It's true that I am now a winner to the tune of two hundred and eighty thousand francs." He settled

his hat firmly on his head, and opening the door, he added: "Goodby, my dear madame, I will soon see you

again, and in the meantime don't deviate in the least from your usual habits. Our success depends, in a great

Madame d'Argeles considered this advice so sensible that half an hour later she went out for her daily drive in

the Bois, little suspecting that M. Fortunat's spy, Victor Chupin, was dogging her carriage. It was most

imprudent on her part to have gone to Wilkie's house on her return. She incurred such a risk of awakening

suspicion by wandering about near her son's home that she seldom allowed herself that pleasure, but

sometimes her anxiety overpowered her reason. So, on this occasion, she ordered the coachman to stop near

the Rue du Helder, and she reached the street just in time to betray her secret to Victor Chupin, and receive a

foul insult from M. Wilkie. The latter's cruel words stabbed her to the heart, and yet she tried to construe

them as mere proofs of her son's honesty of feelingas proof of his scorn for the depraved creatures who

haunt the boulevards each evening. But though her energy was indomitable, her physical strength was not

equal to her will. On returning home, she felt so ill that she was obliged to go to bed. She shivered with cold,

and yet the blood that flowed in her veins seemed to her like molten lead. The physician who was summoned

declared that her illness was a mere trifle, but prescribed rest and quiet. And as he was a very discerning man,

he added, not without a malicious smile, that any excess is injuriousexcess of pleasure as well as any other.

As it was Sunday, Madame d'Argeles was able to obey the physician, and so she closed her doors against

every one, the baron excepted. Still, fearing that this seclusion might seem a little strange, she ordered her

concierge to tell any visitors that she had gone into the country, and would not return until her usual

reception day. She would then be compelled to open her doors as usual. For what would the habitues of the

house, who had played there every Monday for years, say if they found the doors closed? She was less her

So, at about seven o'clock on Monday evening, although still grievously suffering both in mind and body, she

arranged herself to receive her guests. From among all her dresses, she chose the same dark robe she had

worn on the night when Pascal Ferailleur was ruined at her house; and as she was even paler than usual, she

tried to conceal the fact by a prodigal use of rouge. At ten o'clock, when the first arrivals entered the

brilliantly lighted rooms, they found her seated as usual on the sofa, near the fire, with the same eternal,

unchangeable smile upon her lips. There were at least forty persons in the room, and the gambling had

become quite animated when the baron entered. Madame d'Argeles read in his eyes that he was the bearer of

good news. "Everything is going on well," he whispered, as he shook hands with her. "I have seen M.

This intelligence revived Madame d'Argeles's drooping spirits, and she received M. de Coralth with perfect

composure when he came to pay his respects to her soon afterward. For he had the impudence to come, in

order to dispel any suspicions that might have been aroused anent his complicity in the cardcheating affair.

The hostess's calmness amazed him. Was she still ignorant of her brother's death and the complications

arising from it, or was she only acting a part? He was so anxious and undecided, that instead of mingling with

the groups of talkers, he at once took a seat at the cardtable, whence he could watch the poor woman's every

Both rooms were full, and almost everybody was engaged in play, when, shortly after midnight, a servant

entered the room, whispered a few words in his mistress's ear, and handed her a card. She took it, glanced at

it, and uttered so harsh, so terrible, so heartbroken a cry, that several of the guests sprang to their feet.

"What is it? What is it?" they asked. She tried to reply, but could not. Her lips parted, she opened her mouth,

but no sound came forth. She turned ghastly white under her rouge, and a wild, unnatural light gleamed in her

eyes. One curious guest, without a thought of harm, tried to take the card, which she still held in her clinched

hand; but she repulsed him with such an imperious gesture that he recoiled in terror. "What is it? What is the

At last, with a terrible effort, she managed to reply, "Nothing." And then, after clinging for a moment to the

It was not enough to tell M. Wilkie the secret of his birth. He must be taught how to utilize the knowledge.

The Viscount de Coralth devoted himself to this task, and burdened Wilkie with such a host of injunctions,

that it was quite evident he had but a poor opinion of his pupil's sagacity. "That woman d'Argeles," he

thought, "is as sharp as steel. She will deceive this young idiot completely, if I don't warn him."

So he did warn him; and Wilkie was instructed exactly what to do and say, how to answer any questions, and

what position to take up according to circumstances. Moreover, he was especially enjoined to distrust tears,

and not to let himself be put out of countenance by haughty airs. The Viscount spent at least an hour in giving

explanations and advice, to the great disgust of M. Wilkie, who, feeling that he was being treated like a child,

somewhat testily declared that he was no fool, and that he knew how to take care of himself as well as any

one else. Still, this did not prevent M. de Coralth from persisting in his instructions until he was persuaded

that he had prepared his pupil for all possible emergencies. He then rose to depart. "That's all, I think," he

remarked, with a shade of uneasiness. "I've traced the planyou must execute it, and keep cool, or the

His companion rose proudly. "If it fails, it won't be from any fault of mine," he answered with unmistakable

Wilkie gave a sigh of relief as he saw his visitor depart. He wished to be alone, so as to brood over the

delights that the future had in store for him. He was no longer to be limited to a paltry allowance of twenty

thousand francs! No more debts, no more ungratified longings. He would have millions at his disposal! He

seemed to see them, to hold them, to feel them gliding in golden waves between his fingers! What horses he

would have! what carriages! what mistresses! And a gleam of envy that he had detected in M. de Coralth's

eyes put the finishing touch to his bliss. To be envied by this brilliant viscount, his model and his ideal, what

The reputation that Madame d'Argeles bore had at first cast a shadow over his joy; but this shadow had soon

vanished. He was troubled by no foolish prejudices, and personally he cared little or nothing for his mother's

reputation. The prejudices of society must, of course, be considered. But nonsense! society has no prejudices

nowadays when millionaires are concerned, and asks no questions respecting their parents. Society only

requires passports of the indigent. Besides, no matter what Madame d'Argeles might have done, she was none

the less a Chalusse, the descendant of one of the most aristocratic families in France.

Such were Wilkie's meditations while he was engaged in dressing himself with more than usual care. He had

been quite shocked by the suggestion that Madame d'Argeles might try to deny him, and he wished to appear

before her in the most advantageous light. His toilette was consequently a lengthy operation. However,

shortly after twelve o'clock he was ready. He cast a last admiring glance at himself in the mirror, twirled his

mustaches, and departed on his mission. He even went on foot, which was a concession to what he considered

M. de Coralth's absurd ideas. The aspect of the Hotel d'Argeles, in the Rue de Berry, impressed him

favorably, but, at the same time, it somewhat disturbed his superb assurance. "Everything is very stylish

A couple of servantsthe concierge and Jobwere standing at the door engaged in conversation. M. Wilkie

approached them, and in his most imposing manner, but not without a slight tremble in his voice, requested to

see Madame d'Argeles. "Madame is in the country," replied the concierge; "she will not return before this

This, too, was in obedience to the instructions of M. de Coralth, who had advised him not to send in his

name, but to gain admission into Madame d'Argeles's presence as speedily as possible, without giving her

time to prepare herself for the interview; and Wilkie had ultimately decided that these precautions might not

prove as superfluous as he had at first supposed. But this first mishap annoyed him extremely. What should

he do? how should he kill time till the evening? A cab was passing. He hired it for a drive to the Bois, whence

he returned to the boulevards, played a game of billiards with one of the coproprietors of Pompier de

Nanterre, and finally dined at the Cafe Riche, devoting as much time as possible to the operation. He was

finishing his coffee when the clock struck eight. He caught up his hat, drew on his gloves, and hastened to the

"Madame has not yet returned," said the concierge, who knew that his mistress had only just risen from her

"No," replied M. Wilkie brusquely, and he was going off in a furious passion, when, on crossing the street, he

chanced to turn his head and notice that the reception rooms were brilliantly lighted up. "Ah! I think that a

very shabby trick!" grumbled the intelligent youth. "They won't succeed in playing that game on me again.

It occurred to him that Madame d'Argeles had perhaps described him to her servants, and had given them

strict orders not to admit him. "I'll find out if that is the case, even if I have to wait here until tomorrow

morning," he thought, angrily. However, he had not been on guard very long, when he saw a brougham stop

in front of the mansion, whereupon the gate opened, as if by enchantment. The vehicle entered the courtyard,

deposited its occupants, and drove away. A second carriage soon appeared, then a third, and then five or six

in quick succession. "And does she think I'll wear out my shoeleather here, while everybody else is allowed

to enter?" he grumbled. "Never!I've an idea." And, without giving himself time for further deliberation, he

returned to his rooms, arrayed himself in eveningdress, and sent for his carriage. "You will drive to No.in

the Rue de Berry," he said. "There is a soiree there, and you can drive directly into the courtyard." The

coachman obeyed, and M. Wilkie realized that his idea was really an excellent one.

As soon as he alighted, the doors were thrown open, and he ascended a handsome staircase, heavily carpeted,

and adorned with flowers. Two liveried footmen were standing at the door of the drawingroom, and one of

them advanced to relieve Wilkie of his overcoat, but his services were declined. "I don't wish to go in," said

the young man roughly. "I wish to speak with Madame d'Argeles in private. She is expecting meinform

The servant was hesitating, when Job, suspecting some mystery perhaps, approached. "Take in the

gentleman's card," he said, with an air of authority; and, opening the door of a small room on the lefthand

side of the staircase, he invited Wilkie to enter, saying, "If monsieur will be kind enough to take a seat, I will

M. Wilkie sank into an armchair, considerably overcome. The air of luxury that pervaded the entire

establishment, the liveried servants, the lights and flowers, all impressed him much more deeply than he

would have been willing to confess. And in spite of his affected arrogance, he felt that the superb assurance

which was the dominant trait in his character was deserting him. In his breast, moreover, in the place where

physiologists locate the heart, he felt certain extraordinary movements which strongly resembled palpitations.

For the first time it occurred to him that this woman, whose peace he had come to destroy, was not only the

heiress of the Count de Chalusse's millions, but also his mother, that is to say, the good fairy whose

protection had followed him everywhere since he entered the world. The thought that he was about to commit

an atrocious act entered his mind, but he drove it away. It was too late now to draw back, or even to reflect.

Suddenly a door opposite the one by which he had entered opened, and Madame d'Argeles appeared on the

threshold. She was no longer the woman whose anguish and terror had alarmed her guests. During the brief

moment of respite which fate had granted her, she had summoned all her energy and courage, and had

mastered her despair. She felt that her salvation depended upon her calmness, and she had succeeded in

appearing calm, haughty, and disdainfulas impassive as if she had been a statue. "Was it you, sir, who sent

Greatly disconcerted, M. Wilkie could only bow and stammer out an almost unintelligible answer. "Excuse

"You are Monsieur Wilkie!" interrupted Madame d'Argeles, in a tone of mingled irony and disdain.

"Very well. I will listen to you, although your visit is most inopportune, for I have eighty guests or more in

It was very easy to say "speak," but unfortunately for M. Wilkie he could not articulate a syllable. His tongue

was as stiff, and as dry, as if it had been paralyzed. He nervously passed and repassed his fingers between his

neck and his collar, but although this gave full play to his cravat, his words did not leave his throat any more

readily. For he had imagined that Madame d'Argeles would be like other women he had known, but not at all.

He found her to be an extremely proud and aweinspiring creature, who, to use his own vocabulary,

SQUELCHED him completely. "I wished to say to you," he repeated, "I wished to say to you" But the

words he was seeking would not come; and, so at last, angry with himself, he exclaimed: "Ah! you know as

She looked at him with admirably feigned astonishment, glanced despairingly at the ceiling, shrugged her

shoulders, and replied: "Most certainly I don't knowunless indeed it be a wager."

"A wager!" M. Wilkie wondered if he were not the victim of some practical joke, and if there were not a

crowd of listeners hidden somewhere, who, after enjoying his discomfiture, would suddenly make their

appearance, holding their sides. This fear restored his presence of mind. "Well, then," he replied, huskily,

"this is my reason. I know nothing respecting my parents. This morning, a man with whom you are well

acquainted, assured me that I wasyour son. I was completely stunned at first, but after a while I recovered

He was interrupted by a nervous laugh from Madame d'Argeles. For she was heroic enough to laugh,

although death was in her heart, and although the nails of her clinched hands were embedded deep in her

quivering flesh. "And you believed him, monsieur?" she exclaimed. "Really, this is too absurd! Iyour

He was doing nothing else, he was watching her with all the powers of penetration he possessed. Madame

d'Argeles's laugh had an unnatural ring that awakened his suspicions. All Coralth's recommendations buzzed

confusedly in his ears, and he judged that the moment had come "to do the sentimental," as he would have

expressed it. So he lowered his head, and in an aggrieved tone, exclaimed: "Ah! you think it very amusing, I

don't. Do you realize how wretched it makes one to live as utterly alone as a leper, without a soul to love or

care for you? Other young men have a mother, sisters, relatives. I have no one! Ah! if But I only have

friends while my money lasts." He wiped his eyes, dry as they were, with his handkerchief, and in a still more

pathetic tone, resumed: "Not that I want for anything; I receive a very handsome allowance. But when my

relatives have given me the wherewithal to keep me from starving, they imagine their duty is fulfilled. I think

this very hard. I didn't come into the world at my own request, did I? I didn't ask to be born. If I was such an

annoyance to them when I came into existence, why didn't they throw me into the river? Then they would

He stopped short, struck dumb with amazement, for Madame d'Argeles had thrown herself on her knees at his

feet. "Have mercy!" she faltered; "Wilkie; my son, forgive me!" Alas! the unfortunate woman had failed in

playing a part which was too difficult for a mother's heart. "You have suffered cruelly, my son," she

continued; "but IIAh! you can't conceive the frightful agony it costs a mother to separate from her child!

But you were not deserted, Wilkie; don't say that. Have you not felt my love in the air around you? YOU

forgotten? Know, then, that for years and years I have seen you every day, and that all my thoughts and all

She dragged herself toward him with her hands clasped in an agony of supplication, while he recoiled,

frightened by this outburst of passion, and utterly amazed by his easily won victory. The poor woman

misunderstood this movement. "Great God!" she exclaimed, "he spurns me; he loathes me. Ah! I knew it

would be so. Oh! why did you come? What infamous wretch sent you here? Name him, Wilkie! Do you

understand, now, why I concealed myself from you? I dreaded the day when I should blush before you,

before my own son. And yet it was for your sake. Death would have been a rest, a welcome release for me.

But your breath was ebbing away, your poor little arms no longer had strength to clasp me round the neck.

And then I cried: 'Perish my soul and body, if only my child can be saved!' I believed such a sacrifice

permissible in a mother. I am punished for it as if it were a crime. I thought you would be happy, my Wilkie.

I said to myself that you, my pride and joy, would move freely and proudly far above me and my shame. I

accepted ignominy, so that your honor might be preserved intact. I knew the horrors of abject poverty, and I

wished to save my son from it. I would have licked up the very mire in your pathway to save you from a

stain. I renounced all hope for myself, and I consecrated all that was noble and generous in my nature to you.

Oh! I will discover the vile coward who sent you here, who betrayed my secret. I will discover him and I will

have my revenge! You were never to know this, Wilkie. In parting from you, I took a solemn oath never to

see you again, and to die without the supreme consolation of feeling your lips upon my forehead."

She could not continue; sobs choked her utterance. And for more than a minute the silence was so profound

that one could hear the sound of low conversation in the hall outside, the exclamations of the players as they

greeted each unexpected turn of luck, and occasionally a cry of "Banco!" or "I stake one hundred louis!"

Standing silent and motionless near the window, Wilkie gazed with consternation at Madame d'Argeles, his

mother, who was crouching in the middle of the room with her face hidden in her hands, and sobbing as if her

heart would break. He would willingly have given his third share in Pompier de Nanterre to have made his

escape. The strangeness of the scene appalled him. It was not emotion that he felt, but an instinctive fear

mingled with commiseration. And he was not only ill at ease, but he was angry with himself for what he

secretly styled his weakness. "Women are incomprehensible," he thought. "It would be so easy to explain

things quietly and properly, but they must always cry and have a sort of melodrama."

Suddenly the sound of footsteps near the door roused him from his stupor. He shuddered at the thought that

some one might come in. He hated the very idea of ridicule. So summoning all his courage he went toward

Madame d'Argeles, and, raising her from the floor, he exclaimed: "Don't cry so. You grieve me, upon my

word! Pray get up. Some one is coming. Do you hear me? Some one is coming." Thereupon, as she offered

no resistance, he half led, half carried her to an armchair, into which she sank heavily. "Now she is going to

faint!" thought Wilkie, in despair. What should he do? Call for help? He dared not. However, necessity

inspired him. He knelt at Madame d'Argeles's feet, and gently said: "Come, come, be reasonable! Why do

Slowly, with an air of humility which was indescribably touching, she took her hands from her face, and for

the first time raised her tearstained eyes to her son's. "Wilkie," she murmured.

"Yes, of coursecertainly. Butonly you know it will take me some time to acquire the habit. I shall do so,

"True, very true!but tell me it is not mere pity that leads you to make this promise? If you should hate

meif you should curse mehow should I bear it! Ah! when a woman reaches the years of understanding

one should never cease repeating to her: 'Take care! Your son will be twenty some day, and you will have to

meet his searching gaze. You will have to render an account of your honor to him!' My God! If women

thought of this, they would never sin. To be reduced to such a state of abject misery that one dares not lift

one's head before one's own son! Alas! Wilkie, I know only too well that you cannot help despising me."

Poor woman, her face brightened. She so longed to believe him! And her son was beside her, so near that she

felt his breath upon her cheek. It was he indeed. Had they ever been separated? She almost doubted it, she

had lived so near him in thought. It was with a sort of ecstasy that she looked at him. There was a world of

entreaty in her eyes; they seemed to be begging a caress; she raised her quivering lips to his, but he did not

observe it. For a long time she hesitated, fearing he might spurn her; but at last, yielding to a supreme

impulse, she threw her arms around his neck, drew him toward her, and pressed him to her heart in a close

embrace. "My son! my son!" she repeated; "to have you with me again, after all these years!"

Unfortunately, no whirlwind of passion was capable of carrying M. Wilkie beyond himself. His emotion was

now spent and his mind had regained its usual indifference. He flattered himself that he was a man of

mettleand he remained as cold as ice beneath his mother's kisses. Indeed, he barely tolerated them; and if

he did allow her to embrace him, it was only because he did not know how to refuse. "Will she never have

done?" he thought. "This is a pretty state of things! I must be very attractive. How Costard and Serpillon

would laugh if they saw me now." Costard and Serpillon were his intimate friends, the coproprietors of the

In her rapture, however, Madame d'Argeles did not observe the peculiar expression on her son's face. She had

compelled him to take a chair opposite her, and, with nervous volubility, she continued: "If I don't deny

myself the happiness of embracing you again, it is because I have not broken the vow I took never to make

myself known to you. When I entered this room, I was firmly resolved to convince you, no matter how, that

you had been deceived. God knows that it was not my fault if I did not succeed. There are some sacrifices

M. Wilkie deigned to smile. "Oh! yes, I saw your little game," he said, with a knowing air. "But I had been

Madame d'Argeles did not even hear him. "Perhaps destiny is weary of afflicting us," she continued; "perhaps

a new life is about to begin. Through you, Wilkie. I can again be happy. I, who for years have lived without

She hung her head, and in an almost inaudible voice replied, "The past, Wilkie."

But with an air of the greatest indifference, he snapped his fingers, and exclaimed: "Nonsense! What is past is

past. Such things are soon forgotten. Paris has known many such cases. You are my mother; I care very little

for public opinion. I begin by pleasing myself, and I consult other people afterward; and when they are

The poor woman listened to these words with a joy bordering on rapture. One might have supposed that the

strangeness of her son's expressions would have surprised herhave enlightened her in regard to his true

characterbut no. She only saw and understood one thingthat he had no intention of casting her off, but

was indeed ready to devote himself to her. "My God!" she faltered, "is this really true? Will you allow me to

remain with you? Oh, don't reply rashly! Consider well, before you promise to make such a sacrifice. Think

She sprang up, wild with hope and enthusiasm. "Then we are saved!" she cried. "Blessed be he who betrayed

my secret! And I doubted your courage, my Wilkie! At last I can escape from this hell! This very night we

will fly from this house, without one backward glance. I will never set foot in these rooms againthe

detested gamblers who are sitting here shall never see me again. From this moment Lia d'Argeles is dead."

M. Wilkie positively felt like a man who had just fallen from the clouds. "What, fly?" he stammered. "Where

"To a country where we are unknown, Wilkieto a land where you will not have to blush for your mother."

"Trust yourself to me, my son. I know a pleasant village near London where we can find a refuge. My

connections in England are such that you need not fear the obstacles one generally meets with among

foreigners. M. Patterson, who manages a large manufacturing establishment, will, I know, be happy to be of

service to usbut we shall not be indebted to any one for long, now that you have resolved to work."

On hearing these words, M. Wilkie sprang up in dismay. "Excuse me," he said, "I don't understand you. You

propose to set me to work in M. Patterson's factory? Well, to tell the truth, that doesn't suit me at all."

It was impossible to mistake M. Wilkie's manner, his tone, or gesture. They revealed him in his true

character. Madame d'Argeles saw her terrible mistake at once. The bandage fell from her eyes. She had taken

her dreams for realities, and the desires of her own heart for those of her son. She rose, trembling with sorrow

and with indignation. "Wilkie!" she exclaimed, "Wilkie, wretched boy! what did you dare to hope?"

And, without giving him time to reply, she continued: "Then it was only idle curiosity that brought you here.

You wished to know the source of the money which you spend like water. Very well, you may see for

yourself. This is a gambling house; one of those establishments frequented by distinguished personages,

which the police ignore, or which they cannot suppress. The hubbub you hear is made by the players. Men

are ruined here. Some poor wretches have blown their brains out on leaving the house; others have parted

with the last vestige of honor here. And the business pays me well. One louis out of every hundred that

This anger, which succeeded such deep griefthis outburst of disdain, following such abject

But he was not allowed a hearing. "Fool!" continued Madame d'Argeles, "did nothing warn you that in

coming here you would deprive yourself forever of the income you received? Did no inward voice tell you

that all would be changed when you compelled me, Lia d'Argeles, to say, 'Well, yes, it is true; you are my

son? ' So long as you did not know who and what I was, I had a mother's right to watch over you. I could help

you without disgracing you, without despising you. But now that you know me, and know what I am, I can

do nothing more for younothing! I would rather let you starve than succor you, for I would rather see you

"What! would you still consent to receive the allowance I have made you, even if I consented to continue it?"

Had a viper raised its head in M. Wilkie's path he would not have recoiled more quickly. "Never!" he

This repugnance was sincere; there could be no doubt of that, and it seemed to give Madame d'Argeles a ray

of hope. "I have misjudged him," she thought. "Poor Wilkie! Evil advice has led him astray; but he is not bad

at heart. In that case, my poor child," she said aloud, "you must see that a new life is about to commence for

you. What do you intend to do? How will you gain a livelihood? People must have food, and clothes, and a

roof to shelter them. These things cost money. And where will you obtain ityou who rebel at the very word

work? Ah! if I had only listened to M. Patterson. He was not blind like myself. He was always telling me that

I was spoiling you, and ruining your future by giving you so much money. Do you know that you have spent

more than fifty thousand francs during the past two years? How have you squandered them? Have you been

to the lawschool a dozen times? No. But you can be seen at the races, at the opera, in the fashionable

restaurants, and at every place of amusement where a young man can squander money. And who are your

associates? Dissipated and heartless idlers, grooms, gamblers, and abandoned women."

A sneer from M. Wilkie interrupted her. To think that any one should dare to attack his friends, his tastes, and

his pleasures. Such a thing was not to be tolerated. "This is astonishing astonishing, upon my word!" said

he. "You moralizing! that's really too good! I should like a few minutes to laugh; it is too ridiculous!"

Was he really conscious of the cruelty of his ironical words? The blow was so terrible that Madame d'Argeles

staggered beneath it. She was prepared for anything and everything except this insult from her son. Still, she

accepted it without rebellion, although it was in a tone of heartbroken anguish that she replied: "Perhaps I

have no right to tell you the truth. I hope the future will prove that I am wrong. However, you are without

resources, and you have no profession. Pray Heaven that you may never know what it is to be hungry and to

For some time already the ingenious young man had shown unmistakable signs of impatience. This gloomy

"All this is empty talk," he interrupted. "I don't mean to work, for it's not at all in my line. Still, I don't expect

Madame d'Argeles did not wince. "What do you mean to do then?" she asked, coldly. "I don't understand

He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "Are we to keep up this farce for ever?" he petulantly exclaimed. "It

doesn't take with me. You know what I mean as well as I do. Why do you talk to me about dying of

Now M. Wilkie's visit, manner, assurance, wheedling, and contradictions were all explained. That maternal

confidence which is so strong in the hearts of mothers vanished from Madame d'Argeles's for ever. The

depths of selfishness and cunning she discerned in Wilkie's mind appalled her. She now understood why he

had declared himself ready to brave public opinionwhy he had proved willing to accept his share of the

past ignominy. It was not his mother's, but the Count de Chalusse's estate that he claimed. "Ah! so you've

heard of that," she said, in a tone of bitter irony. And then, remembering M. Isidore Fortunat, she asked:

"Some one has sold you this valuable secret. How much have you promised to pay him in case of success?"

Although Wilkie prided himself on being very clever, he did not pretend to be a diplomatist, and, indeed, he

was greatly disconcerted by this question; still, recovering himself, he replied: "It doesn't matter how I

obtained the information whether I paid for it, or whether it cost me nothingbut I know that you are a

Chalusse, and that you are the heiress of the count's property, which is valued at eight or ten millions of

Madame d'Argeles sadly shook her head. "I deny nothing," she replied, "but I am about to tell you something

which will destroy all your plans and extinguish your hopes. I am resolved, understand, and my resolution is

irrevocable, never to assert my rights. To receive this fortune, I should be obliged to confess that Lia

d'Argeles is a Chalusseand that is a confession which no consideration whatever will wring from me."

She imagined that this declaration would silence and discomfit Wilkie, but she was mistaken. If he had been

obliged to depend upon himself he would perhaps have been conquered by it; but he was armed with

weapons which had been furnished by the cunning viscount. So he shrugged his shoulders, and coolly

replied: "In that case we should remain poor, and the government would take possession of our millions. One

moment. I have something to say in this matter. You may renounce your claim, but I shall not renounce mine.

Madame d'Argeles's eyes flashed. "Very well. I will show you that this estate can never be yours. By what

right will you lay claim to it? Because you are my son? But I will deny that you are. I will declare upon oath

But even this did not daunt Wilkie. He drew from his pocket a scrap of paper, and flourishing it triumphantly,

he exclaimed: "It would be extremely cruel on your part to deny me, but I foresaw such a contingency, and

here is my answer, copied from the civil code: 'Article 341. Inquiry as to maternity allowed, etc., etc.'"

What the exact bearing of Wilkie's threat might be Madame d'Argeles did not know. But she felt that this

Article 341 would no doubt destroy her last hope; for the person who had chosen this weapon from the code

to place it in Wilkie's hand must have chosen it carefully. She understood the situation perfectly. With her

experience of life, she could not fail to understand the despicable part Wilkie was playing. And though it was

not her son who had conceived this odious plot, it was more than enough to know that he had consented to

carry it into execution. Should she try to persuade Wilkie to abandon this shameful scheme? She might have

done so if she had not been so horrified by the utter want of principle which she had discovered in his

character. But, under the circumstances, she realized that any effort in this direction would prove unavailing.

So it was purely from a sense of duty and to prevent her conscience from reproaching her that she exclaimed:

"So you will apply to the courts in order to constrain me to acknowledge you as my son?"

"That is to say, you care nothing for the scandal that will be created by such a course. In order to prove

yourself a member of the Chalusse family you will begin by disgracing the name and dragging it through the

Wilkie had no wish to prolong this discussion. So much talk about an affair, which, in his opinion, at least,

was an extremely simple one, seemed to him utterly ridiculous, and irritated him beyond endurance. "It

strikes me this is much ado about nothing," he remarked. "One would suppose, to hear you talk, that you were

the greatest criminal in the world. Goodness is all very well in its way, but there is such a thing as having too

much of it! Break loose from this life tomorrow, assume your rightful name, install yourself at the Hotel de

Chalusse, and in a week from now no one will remember that you were once known as Lia d'Argeles. I wager

one hundred louis on it. Why, if people attempted to rake up the past life of their acquaintances, they should

have far too much to do. Folks do not trouble themselves as to whether a person has done this or that; the

essential thing is to have plenty of money. And if any fool speaks slightingly of you, you can reply: 'I have an

Madame d'Argeles listened, speechless with horror and disgust. Was it really her son who was speaking in

this style, and to her of all people in the world? M. Wilkie misunderstood her silence. He had an excellent

opinion of himself, but he was rather surprised at the effect of his eloquence. "Besides, I'm tired of

vegetating, and having only one name," he continued. "I want to be on the move. Even with the small

allowance I've had, I have gained a very good position in society; and if I had plenty of money I should be the

most stylish man in Paris. The count's estate belongs to me, and so I must have itin fact, I will have it. So

believe me when I tell you that it will be much better for you if you acknowledge me without any fuss! Now,

will you do so? No? Once, twice, three times? Is it still no? Very well then; to morrow, then, you may

He bowed; he was really going, for his hand was already on the doorknob. But Madame d'Argeles detained

He scarcely deigned to come back, and he made no attempt to conceal his impatience. "Well, what is it?" he

"I wish to give you a bit of parting advice. The court will undoubtedly decide in your favor; I shall be placed

in possession of my brother's estate; but neither you nor I will have the disposal of these millions."

"Because, though this fortune belongs to me, the control of it belongs to your father."

"It is so, however; and you would not have been ignorant of the fact, if your greed for money had not made

you forget to question me. You believe yourself an illegitimate child. Wilkie, you are mistaken. You are my

"And my husbandyour fatheris not dead. If he is not here now, threatening our safety, it is because I

have succeeded in eluding him. He lost all trace of us eighteen years ago. Since then he has been constantly

striving to discover us, but in vain. He is still watching, you may be sure of that; and as soon as there is any

talk of a lawsuit respecting the Chalusse property, you will see him appear, armed with his rights. He is the

head of the familyyour master and mine. Ah! this seems to disturb you. You will find him full of insatiable

greed for wealth, a greed which has been whetted by twenty years' waiting. You may yet see the day when

you will regret the paltry twenty thousand francs a year formerly given you by your poor mother."

"Everything that a man can do when he has a taste for luxury and a horror for work."

This reply was so explicit in its brevity, and implied so many terrible accusations, that Wilkie was dismayed.

"He lives at Baden or Homburg in the summer; in Paris or at Monaco in the winter."

"Oh! oh! oh!" ejaculated Wilkie, in three different tones. He knew what he had to expect from such a father

as that. Anger now followed stuporone of those terrible, white rages which stir the bile and not the blood.

He saw his hopes and his cherished visions fade. Luxury and notoriety, highstepping horses, yellow haired

mistresses, all vanished. He pictured himself reduced to a mere pittance, and held in check and domineered

over by a brutal father. "Ah! I understand your game," he hissed through his set teeth. "If you would only

quietly assert your rights, everything could be arranged privately, and I should have time to put the property

out of my father's reach before he could claim it. Instead of doing thatas you hate meyou compel me to

make the affair public, so that my father will hear of it and defraud me of everything. But you won't play this

trick on me. You are going to write at once, and make known your claim to your brother's estate."

"Ah! you won't? You refuse" He approached threateningly, and caught hold of her arm. "Take care!" he

As cold and rigid as marble, Madame d'Argeles faced him with the undaunted glance of a martyr whose spirit

no violence can subdue. "You will obtain nothing from me," she said, firmly; "nothing, nothing, nothing!"

Maddened with rage and disappointment, M. Wilkie dared to lift his hand as if about to strike her. But at this

moment the door was flung open, and a man sprang upon him. It was Baron Trigault.

Like the other guests, the baron had seen the terrible effect produced upon Madame d'Argeles by a simple

visiting card. But he had this advantage over the others: he thought he could divine and explain the reason of

this sudden, seemingly incomprehensible terror. "The poor woman has been betrayed," he thought; "her son

is here!" Still, while the other players crowded around their hostess, he did not leave the cardtable. He was

sitting opposite M. de Coralth, and he had seen the dashing viscount start and change color. His suspicions

were instantly aroused, and he wished to verify them. He therefore pretended to be more than ever absorbed

in the cards, and swore lustily at the deserters who had broken up the game. "Come back, gentleman, come

back," he cried, angrily. "We are wasting precious time. While you have been trifling there, I might have

He was nevertheless greatly alarmed, and the prolonged absence of Madame d'Argeles increased his fears

each moment. At the end of an hour he could restrain himself no longer. So taking advantage of a heavy loss,

he rose from the table, swearing that the beastly turmoil of a few moments before had changed the luck. Then

passing into the adjoining drawingroom, he managed to make his escape unobserved. "Where is madame?"

The baron no longer doubted the correctness of his conjectures, and his disquietude increased. Quickly, and

as if he had been in his own house, he hastened to the door of the little sittingroom and listened. At that

moment rage was imparting a truly frightful intonation to M. Wilkie's voice. The baron really felt alarmed.

He stooped, applied his eye to the keyhole, and seeing M. Wilkie with his hand uplifted, he burst open the

door and went in. He arrived only just in time to fell Wilkie to the floor, and save Madame d'Argeles from

that most terrible of humiliations: the degradation of being struck by her own son. "Ah, you rascal!" cried the

worthy baron, transported with indignation, "you beggarly rascal! you brigand! Is this the way you treat an

unfortunate woman who has sacrificed herself for youyour mother? You try to strike your mother, when

As livid as if his blood had been suddenly turned to gallwith quivering lips and eyes starting from their

socketsM. Wilkie rose, with difficulty, to his feet, at the same time rubbing his left elbow which had struck

against the corner of a piece of furniture, in his fall. "Scoundrel! You brutal scoundrel!" he growled,

ferociously. And then, retreating a step: "Who gave you permission to come in here?" he added. "Who are

M. Wilkie shook his fist at the baron. "You are a coward yourself," he retorted. "You had better learn who

The word he uttered was so vile that no man could fail to resent it, much less the baron, who was already

frantic with passion. His faced turned as purple as if he were stricken with apoplexy, and such furious rage

gleamed in his eyes that Madame d'Argeles was frightened. She feared she should see her son butchered

before her very eyes, and she extended her arms as if to protect him. "Jacques," she said beseechingly,

This was the name which was indelibly impressed upon Wilkie's memorythe name he had heard when he

was but a child. Jacques that was the name of the man who had brought him cakes and toys in the

comfortable rooms where he had remained only a few days. He understood, or at least he thought he

understood, everything. "Ah, ha!" he exclaimed, with a laugh that was at once both ferocious and idiotic.

He did not have time to finish his sentence, for quick as thought the baron caught him by the collar, lifted him

from the ground with irresistible strength, and flung him on his knees at Madame d'Argeles's feet,

exclaiming: "Ask her pardon, you vile wretch! Ask her pardon, or" "Or" meant the baron's clinched fist

The worthy youth was frightenedso terribly frightened that his teeth chattered. "Pardon!" he faltered.

Alas! the poor woman could no longer hear. She had endured so much during the past hour that her strength

was exhausted, and she had fallen back in her armchair in a deep swoon. The baron waited for a moment,

and seeing that her eyes remained obstinately closed, he exclaimed: "This is your work, wretch!"

And lifting him again, as easily as if he had been a child, he set him on his feet, saying in a calmer tone, but

This advice was not unnecessary. Baron Trigault had a powerful hand; and M. Wilkie's attire was decidedly

the worse for the encounter. He had lost his cravat, his shirtfront was crumpled and torn, and his

waistcoatone of those that open to the waist and are fastened by a single buttonhung down in the most

dejected manner. He obeyed the baron's order without a word, but not without considerable difficulty, for his

hands trembled like a leaf. When he had finished, the baron exclaimed: "Now be off; and never set foot here

M. Wilkie made no reply until he reached the door leading into the hall. But when he had opened it, he

suddenly regained his powers of speech. "I'm not afraid of you," he cried, with frantic violence. "You have

taken advantage of your superior strength you are a coward. But this shall not end here. No!you shall

answer for it. I shall find your address, and tomorrow you will receive a visit from my friends M. Costard

A frightful oath from the baron somewhat hastened M. Wilkie's exit. He went out into the hall, and holding

the door open, in a way that would enable him to close it at the shortest notice, he shouted back, so as to be

heard by all the servants: "Yes; I will have satisfaction. I will not stand such treatment. Is it any fault of mine

that Madame d'Argeles is a Chalusse, and that she wishes to defraud me of my fortune. Tomorrow, I call

you all to witness, there will be a lawyer here. You don't frighten me. Here is my card!" And actually, before

The baron did not trouble himself to pick it up; his attention was devoted to Madame d'Argeles. She was

lying back in her armchair, white, motionless and rigid, to all appearance dead. What should the baron do?

He did not wish to call the servants; they had heard too much alreadybut he had almost decided to do so,

when his eyes fell upon a tiny aquarium, in a corner of the room. He dipped his handkerchief in it; and

alternately bathed Madame d'Argeles's temples and chafed her hands. It was not long before the cold water

revived her. She trembled, a convulsive shudder shook her from head to foot, and at last she opened her eyes,

Poor woman! with returning life came the consciousness of the terrible reality. "He is my son!" she moaned,

"my son, my Wilkie!" Then with a despairing gesture she pressed her hands to her forehead as if to calm its

throbbings. "And I believed that my sin was expiated," she pursued. "I thought I had been sufficiently

punished. Fool that I was! This is my chastisement, Jacques. Ah! women like me have no right to be

A burning tear coursed down the baron's cheek; but he concealed his emotion as well as he could, and said, in

a tone of assumed gayety: "Nonsense! Wilkie is younghe will mend his ways! We were all ridiculous

when we were twenty. We have all caused our mothers many anxious nights. Time will set everything to

rights, and put some ballast in this young madcap's brains. Besides, your friend Patterson doesn't seem to me

quite free from blame. In knowledge of books, he may have been unequalled; but as a guardian for youth, he

must have been the worst of fools. After keeping your son on a short allowance for years, he suddenly gorges

him with oatsor I should say, moneylets him loose; and then seems surprised because the boy is guilty

of acts of folly. It would be a miracle if he were not. So take courage, and hope for the best, my dear Lia."

She shook her head despondingly. "Do you suppose that my heart hasn't pleaded for him?" she said. "I am his

mother; I can never cease to love him, whatever he may do. Even now I am ready to give a drop of blood for

each tear I can save him. But I am not blind; I have read his nature. Wilkie has no heart."

"Ah! my dear friend, how do you know what shameful advice he may have received before coming to you?"

Madame d'Argeles half rose, and said, in an agitated voice: "What! you try to make me believe that? 'Advice!'

Then he must have found a man who said to him: 'Go to the house of this unfortunate woman who gave you

birth, and order her to publish her dishonor and yours. If she refuses, insult and beat her! 'You know, even

better than I, baron, that this is impossible. In the vilest natures, and when every other honorable feeling has

been lost, love for one's mother survives. Even convicts deprive themselves of their wine, and sell their

She paused, not because she shrunk from what she was about to say, but because she was exhausted and out

of breath. She rested for a moment, and then resumed in a calmer tone: "Besides, the person who sent him

here had counselled coolness and prudence. I discovered this at once. It was only toward the close of the

interview, and after an unexpected revelation from me, that he lost all control over himself. The thought that

he would lose my brother's millions crazed him. Oh! that fatal and accursed money! Wilkie's adviser wished

him to employ legal means to obtain an acknowledgment of his parentage; and he had copied from the Code a

clause which is applicable to this case. By this one circumstance I am convinced that his adviser is a man of

"The person who called here the other day, M. Isidore Fortunat. Ah! why didn't I not bribe him to hold his

The baron had entirely forgotten the existence of Victor Chupin's honorable employer. "You are mistaken,

"Why, your former ally, the rascal for whose sake you allowed Pascal Ferailleur to be sacrificedthe

The bare supposition of such treachery on the viscount's part brought a flush of indignant anger to Madame

d'Argeles's cheek. "Ah! if I thought that!" she exclaimed. And then, remembering what reasons the baron had

for hating M. de Coralth, she murmured: "No! Your animosity misleads youhe wouldn't dare!"

The baron read her thoughts. "So you are persuaded that it is personal vengeance that I am pursuing?" said

he. "You think that fear of ridicule and public odium prevents me from striking M. de Coralth in my own

name, and that I am endeavoring to find some other excuse to crush him. This might have been so once; but it

is not the case now. When I promised M. Ferailleur to do all in my power to save the young girl he loves,

Mademoiselle Marguerite, my wife's daughter, I renounced all thought of self, all my former plans. And why

should you doubt Coralth's treachery? You, yourself, promised me to unmask HIM. If he has betrayed YOU,

"Besides," continued the baron, "you ought to know that when I make such a statement I have some better

foundation for it than mere conjecture. It was to some purpose that I watched M. de Coralth during your

absence. When the servant handed you that card he turned extremely pale. Why? Because he knew whose

card it was. After you left the room his hands trembled like leaves, and his mind was no longer occupied with

the game. Hewho is usually such a cautious playerrisked his money recklessly. When the cards came to

him he did still worse; and though luck favored him, he made the strangest blunders, and lost. His agitation

and preoccupation were so marked as to attract attention; and one acquaintance laughingly inquired if he

were ill, while another jestingly remarked that he had dined and wined a little too much. The traitor was

evidently on coals of fire. I could see the perspiration on his forehead, and each time the door opened or shut,

he changed color, as if he expected to see you and Wilkie enter. A dozen times I surprised him listening

eagerly, as if by dint of attention, or by the magnetic force of his will, he hoped to hear what you and your

This explanation was so plausible that Madame d'Argeles felt half convinced. "Ah! if you had only spoken

that word!" she murmured. The baron smiled a crafty and malicious smile, which would have chilled M. de

Coralth's very blood if he had chanced to see it. "I am not so stupid!" he replied. "We mustn't frighten the fish

till we are quite ready. Our net is the Chalusse estate, and Coralth and Valorsay will enter it of their own

accord. It is not my plan, but M. Ferailleur's. There's a man for you! and if Mademoiselle Marguerite is

worthy of him they will make a noble pair. Without suspecting it, your son has perhaps rendered us an

"Alas!" faltered Madame d'Argeles, "I am none the less ruinedthe name of Chalusse is none the less

She wanted to return to the drawingroom; but she was compelled to relinquish this idea. The expression of

her face betrayed too plainly the terrible ordeal she had passed through. The servants had heard M. Wilkie's

parting words; and news of this sort flies about with the rapidity of lightning. That very night, indeed, it was

currently reported at the clubs that there would be no more cardplaying at the d'Argeles establishment, as

that lady was a Chalusse, and consequently the aunt of the beautiful young girl whom M. and Madame de

Unusual strength of character, unbounded confidence in one's own energy, with thorough contempt of

danger, and an invincible determination to triumph or perish, are all required of the person who, like

Mademoiselle Marguerite, intrusts herself to the care of strangersworse yet, to the care of actual enemies.

It is no small matter to place yourself in the power of smoothtongued hypocrites and impostors, who are

anxious for your ruin, and whom you know to be capable of anything. And the task is a mighty one to

brave unknown dangers, perilous seductions, perfidious counsels, and perhaps even violence, at the same

time retaining a calm eye and smiling lips. Yet such was the heroism that Marguerite, although scarcely

twenty, displayed when she left the Hotel de Chalusse to accept the hospitality of the Fondege family. And,

to crown all, she took Madame Leon with herMadame Leon, whom she knew to be the Marquis de

But, brave as she was, when the moment of departure came her heart almost failed her. There was despair in

the parting glance she cast upon the princely mansion and the familiar faces of the servants. And there was no

one to encourage or sustain her. Ah, yes! standing at a window on the second floor, with his forehead pressed

close against the pane of glass, she saw the only friend she had in the worldthe old magistrate who had

defended, encouraged, and sustained herthe man who had promised her his assistance and advice, and

"Shall I be a coward?" she thought; "shall I be unworthy of Pascal?" And she resolutely entered the carriage,

The General insisted that she should take a place beside Madame de Fondege on the back seat; while he

found a place next to Madame Leon on the seat facing them. The drive was a silent and tedious one. The

night was coming on; it was a time when all Paris was on the move, and the carriage was delayed at each

street corner by a crowd of passing vehicles. The conversation was solely kept alive by the exertions of

Madame de Fondege, whose shrill voice rose above the rumble of the wheels, as she chronicled the virtues of

the late Count de Chalusse, and congratulated Mademoiselle Marguerite on the wisdom of her decision. Her

remarks were of a commonplace description, and yet each word she uttered evinced intense satisfaction,

almost delight, as if she had won some unexpected victory. Occasionally, the General leaned from the

carriage window to see if the vehicle laden with Mademoiselle Marguerite's trunks was following them, but

At last they reached his residence in the Rue Pigalle. He alighted first, offered his hand successively to his

wife, Mademoiselle Marguerite, and Madame Leon, and motioned the coachman to drive away.

But the man did not stir. "Pardonexcuse me, monsieur," he said, "but my employers baderequested

"To ask youyou know, for the farethirtyfive francsnot counting the little gratuity."

"Excuse me, monsieur; but if it is all the same to you, would you do so this evening? My employer said that

But Madame de Fondege, who was on the point of entering the house, suddenly stepped back, and drawing

The man went to his carriage lamp to count the money, and seeing that he had the exact amount"And my

"You should take a cab if you haven't money enough to pay for coaches," replied the driver with an oath. "I'll

Marguerite heard no more, for Madame de Fondege caught her by the arm and hurried her up the staircase,

saying: "Quick! we must make haste. Your baggage is here already, and we must see if the rooms I intended

When Marguerite reached the second floor, Madame de Fondege hunted in her pocket for her latchkey. Not

finding it, she rang. A tall manservant of impudent appearance and arrayed in a glaring livery opened the

door, carrying an old battered iron candlestick, in which a tiny scrap of candle was glaring and flickering.

"What!" exclaimed Madame de Fondege, "the receptionroom not lighted yet? This is scandalous! What

have you been doing in my absence? Come, make haste. Light the lamp. Tell the cook that I have some

guests to dine with me. Call my maid. See that M. Gustave's room is in order. Go down and see if the General

Finding it difficult to choose between so many contradictory orders, the servant did not choose at all. He

placed his rusty candlestick on one of the sidetables in the receptionroom, and gravely, without saying a

single word, went out into the passage leading to the kitchen. "Evariste!" cried Madame de Fondege, crimson

As he deigned no reply, she rushed out in pursuit of him. And soon the sound of a violent altercation arose;

the servant lavishing insults upon his mistress, and she unable to find any response, save, "I dismiss you; you

Madame Leon, who was standing near Mademoiselle Marguerite in the receptionroom, seemed greatly

amused. "This is a strange household," said she. "A fine beginning, upon my word."

But the worthy housekeeper was the last person on earth to whom Mademoiselle Marguerite wished to reveal

her thoughts. "Hush, Leon," she replied. "We are the cause of all this disturbance, and I am very sorry for it."

The retort that rose to the housekeeper's lips was checked by the return of Madame de Fondege, followed by

a servantgirl with a turnup nose, a pert manner, and who carried a lighted candle in her hand.

"How can I apologize, madame," began Mademoiselle Marguerite, "for all the trouble I am giving you?"

"Ah! my dear child, I've never been so happy. Come, come, and see your room." And while they crossed

several scantilyfurnished apartments, Madame de Fondege continued: "It is I who ought to apologize to you.

I fear you will pine for the splendors of the Hotel de Chalusse. We are not millionaires like your poor father.

The maid had opened a door, and Mademoiselle Marguerite entered a goodsized room lighted by two

windows, hung with soiled wall paper, and adorned with chintz curtains, from which the sun had extracted

most of the coloring. Everything was in disorder here, and in fact, the whole room was extremely dirty. The

bed was not made, the washstand was dirty, some woollen stockings were hanging over the side of the

rumpled bed, and on the mantelshelf stood an ancient clock, an empty beer bottle, and some glasses. On the

floor, on the furniture, in the corners, everywhere in fact, stumps of cigars were scattered in profusion, as if

"What!" gasped Madame de Fondege, "you haven't put this room in order, Justine?"

"I know it; but madame must remember that I have been very much hurried this last month, having to do all

"That's sufficient," interrupted Madame de Fondege. And turning to Marguerite, she said: "You will, I am

sure, excuse this disorder, my dear child. By this time tomorrow the room shall be transformed into one of

Connected with this apartment, which was known to the household as the lieutenant's room, there was a much

smaller chamber lighted only by a single window, and originally intended for a dressing room. It had two

doors, one of them communicating with Marguerite's room, and the other with the passage; and it was now

offered to Madame Leon, who on comparing these quarters with the spacious suite of rooms she had

occupied at the Hotel de Chalusse, had considerable difficulty in repressing a grimace. Still she did not

hesitate nor even murmur. M. de Valorsay's orders bound her to Marguerite, and she deemed it fortunate that

she was allowed to follow her. And whether the marquis succeeded or not, he had promised her a sufficiently

liberal reward to compensate for all personal discomfort. So, in the sweetest of voices, and with a feigned

humility of manner, she declared this little room to be even much too good for a poor widow whose

The attentions which M. and Madame de Fondege showed her contributed not a little to her resignation.

Without knowing exactly what the General and his wife expected from Mademoiselle Marguerite, she was

shrewd enough to divine that they hoped to gain some important advantage. Now her "dear child" had

declared her to be a trusted friend, who was indispensable to her existence and comfort. "So these people will

pay assiduous court to me," she thought. And being quite ready to play a double part as the spy of the

Marquis de Valorsay, and the Fondege family, and quite willing to espouse the latter's cause should that

prove to be the more remunerative course, she saw a long series of polite attentions and gifts before her.

That very evening her prophecies were realized; and she received a proof of consideration which positively

delighted her. It was decided that she should take her meals at the family table, a thing which had never

happened at the Hotel de Chalusse. Mademoiselle Marguerite raised a few objections, which Madame Leon

answered with a venomous look, but Madame de Fondege insisted upon the arrangement, not understanding,

she said, graciously, why they need deprive themselves of the society of such an agreeable and distinguished

person. Madame Leon in no wise doubted but this favor was due to her merit alone, but Mademoiselle

Marguerite, who was more discerning, saw that their hostess was really furious at the idea, but was compelled

to submit to it by the imperious necessity of preventing Madame Leon from coming in contact with the

servants, who might make some decidedly compromising disclosures. For there were evidently many little

mysteries and makeshifts to be concealed in this household. For instance, while the servants were carrying

the luggage upstairs, Marguerite discovered Madame de Fondege and her maid in close consultation,

whispering with that volubility which betrays an unexpected and pressing perplexity. What were they talking

about? She listened without any compunctions of conscience, and the words "a pair of sheets," repeated again

and again, furnished her with abundant food for reflection. "Is it possible," she thought, "that they have no

It did not take her long to discover the maid's opinion of the establishment in which she served; for while she

brandished her broom and duster, this girl, exasperated undoubtedly by the increase of work she saw in store

for her, growled and cursed the old barrack where one was worked to death, where one never had enough to

eat, and where the wages were always in arrears. Mademoiselle Marguerite was doing her best to aid the

maid, who was greatly surprised to find this handsome, queenly young lady so obliging, when Evariste, the

same who had received warning an hour before, made his appearance, and announced in an insolent tone that

For Madame de Fondege exacted this title. She had improvised it, as her husband had improvised his title of

General, and without much more difficulty. By a search in the family archives she had discoveredso she

declared to her intimate friendsthat she was the descendant of a noble family, and that one of her ancestors

had held a most important position at the court of Francis I. or of Louis XII. Indeed, she sometimes

confounded them. However, people who had not known her father, the wood merchant, saw nothing

Evariste was dressed as a butler should be dressed when he announces dinner to a person of rank. In the

daytime when he discharged the duties of footman, he was gorgeous in gold lace; but in the evening, he

arrayed himself in severe black, such as is appropriate to the butler of an aristocratic household. Immediately

after his announcement everybody repaired to the sumptuous diningroom which, with its huge sideboards,

loaded with silver and rare china, looked not unlike a museum. Such was the display, indeed, that when

Mademoiselle Marguerite took a seat at the table, between the General and his wife, and opposite Madame

Leon, she asked herself if she had not been the victim of that dangerous optical delusion known as prejudice.

She noticed that the supply of knives and forks was rather scanty; but many economical housewives keep

most of their silver under lock and key; besides the china was very handsome and marked with the General's

However, the dinner was badly cooked and poorly served. One might have supposed it to be a scullery maid's

first attempt. Still the General devoured it with delight. He partook ravenously of every dish, a flush rose to

his cheeks, and an expression of profound satisfaction was visible upon his countenance. "From this," thought

Mademoiselle Marguerite, "I must infer that he usually goes hungry, and that this seems a positive feast to

him." In fact, he seemed bubbling over with contentment. He twirled his mustaches a la Victor Emmanuel,

and rolled his "r," as he said, "Sacrrrrre bleu!" even more ferociously than usual. It was only by a

powerful effort that he restrained himself from indulging in various witticisms which would have been most

unseemly in the presence of a poor girl who had just lost her father and all her hopes of fortune. But he did

forget himself so much as to say that the drive to the cemetery had whetted his appetite, and to address his

wife as Madame Rangeabord, a title which had been bestowed upon her by a sailor brother.

Crimson with anger to the very roots of her coarse, sandy hair amazed to see her husband deport himself in

this style, and almost suffocated by the necessity of restraining her wrath, Madame de Fondege was heroic

enough to smile, though her eyes flashed ominously. But the General was not at all dismayed. On the

contrary, he cared so little for his wife's displeasure that, when the dessert was served, he turned to the

servant, and, with a wink that Mademoiselle Marguerite noticed, "Evariste," he ordered, "go to the

The valet, who had just received a week's notice, was only too glad of an opportunity for revenge. So with a

malicious smile, and in a drawling tone, he replied: "Then monsieur must give me the money. Monsieur

knows very well that neither the grocer nor the winemerchant will trust him any longer."

M. de Fondege rose from the table, looking very pale; but before he had time to utter a word, his wife came to

the rescue. "You know, my dear, that I don't trust the key of my cellar to this lad. Evariste, call Justine."

The pertlooking chambermaid appeared, and her mistress told her where she would find the key of the

famous cellar. About a quarter of an hour afterward, one of those bottles which grocers and winemerchants

prepare for the benefit of credulous customers was brought ina bottle duly covered with dust and mould to

give it a venerable appearance, and festooned with cobwebs, such as the urchins of Paris collect and sell at

from fifteen sous to two francs a pound, according to quality. But the Bordeaux did not restore the General's

equanimity. He was silent and subdued; and his relief was evident when, after the coffee had been served, his

wife exclaimed: "We won't keep you from your club, my dear. I want a chat with our dear child."

Since she dismissed the General so unceremoniously, Madame de Fondege evidently wished for a teteatete

with Mademoiselle Marguerite. At least Madame Leon thought so, or feigned to think so, and addressing the

young girl, she said: "I shall be obliged to leave you for a couple of hours, my dear young lady. My relatives

This was the first time since she had been engaged by the Count de Chalusse, that the estimable "companion"

had ever made any direct allusion to her relatives, and what is more, to relatives residing in Paris. She had

previously only spoken of them in general terms, giving people to understand that her relatives had not been

unfortunate like herselfthat they still retained their exalted rank, though she had fallen, and that she found

However, Mademoiselle Marguerite evinced no surprise. "Go at once and inform your relatives, my dear

Leon," she said, without a shade of sarcasm in her manner. "I hope they won't be offended by your devotion

to me." But in her secret heart, she thought: "This hypocrite is going to report to the Marquis de Valorsay,

and these relatives of hers will furnish her with excuses for future visits to him."

The General went off, the servants began to clear the table, and Mademoiselle Marguerite followed her

hostess to the drawingroom. It was a lofty and spacious apartment, lighted by three windows, and even more

sumptuous in its appointments than the diningroom. Furniture, carpets, and hangings, were all in rather poor

taste, perhaps, but costly, very costly. As the evening was a cold one, Madame de Fondege ordered the fire to

be lighted. She seated herself on a sofa near the mantelpiece, and when Mademoiselle Marguerite had taken a

Mademoiselle Marguerite expected some important communication, so that she was not a little surprised

"Yes. I mean, have you decided what dresses you will purchase? It is an important matter, my dearmore

important than you suppose. They are making costumes entirely of crepe now, puffed and plaited, and

extremely stylish. I saw one that would suit you well. You may think that a costume for deep mourning made

with puffs would be a trifle LOUD, but that depends upon tastes. The Duchess de Veljo wore one only eleven

days after her husband's death; and she allowed some of her hair, which is superb, to fall over her shoulders, a

la pleureuse, and the effect was extremely touching." Was Madame de Fondege speaking sincerely? There

could be no doubt of it. Her features, which had been distorted with anger when the General took it into his

head to order the bottle of Bordeaux, had regained their usual placidity of expression, and had even

brightened a little. "I am entirely at your service, my dear, if you wish any shopping done," she continued.

"And if you are not quite pleased with your dressmaker, I will take you to mine, who works like an angel. But

how absurd I am. You will of course employ Van Klopen. I go to him occasionally myself, but only on great

Mademoiselle Marguerite could scarcely repress a smile. "I must confess, madame, that from my infancy I

The General's wife raised her eyes to Heaven in real or feigned astonishment. "Yourself!" she repeated four

or five times, as if to make sure that she had heard aright. "Yourself! That is incomprehensible! You, the

daughter of a man who possessed an income of five or six hundred thousand francs a year! Still I know that

poor M. de Chalusse, though unquestionably a very worthy and excellent man, was peculiar in some of his

But this assertion exceeded Madame de Fondege's powers of comprehension. "Impossible!" she murmured,

The immense importance she attached to the matter was so manifest that Marguerite could not refrain from

smiling. "I was probably not a very close follower of the fashions," she replied. "The dress that I am wearing

"Is very pretty, my child, and it becomes you extremely; that's the truth. Only, to be frank, I must confess that

this style is no longer wornnonot at all. You must have your new dresses made in quite a different way."

Evidently her hostess had never heard anything like this before. "Oh! all right," said she, "these dresses will

doubtless do very well for your first months of mourningbut afterward? Do you suppose, my poor dear,

that I'm going to allow you to shut yourself up as you did at the Hotel de Chalusse? Good heavens! how dull

it must have been for you, alone in that big house, without society or friends."

A tear fell from Marguerite's long lashes. "I was very happy there, madame," she murmured.

"You think so; but you will change your mind. When one has never tasted real pleasure, one cannot realize

how gloomy one's life really is. No doubt, you were very unhappy alone with M. de Chalusse."

"Tut! tut! my dear, I know what I am talking about. Wait until you have been introduced into society before

you boast of the charms of solitude. Poor dear! I doubt if you have ever attended a ball in your whole life.

No! I was sure of it, and you are twenty! Fortunately, I am here. I will take your mother's place, and we will

make up for lost time! Beautiful as you are, my child for you are divinely beautifulyou will reign as a

queen wherever you appear. Doesn't that thought make that cold little heart of yours throb more quickly? Ah!

fetes and music, wonderful toilettes and the flashing of diamonds, the admiration of gentlemen, the envy of

rivals, the consciousness of one's own beauty, are these delights not enough to fill any woman's life? It is

Was she sincere, or did she hope to dazzle this lonely girl, and then rule her through the tastes she might

succeed in giving her? As is not unfrequently the case with callous natures, Madame de Fondege was a

compound of frankness and cunning. What she was saying now she really meant; and as it was to her interest

to say it, she urged her opinions boldly and even eloquently. Twenty four hours earlier, proud and truthful

Marguerite would have silenced her at once. She would have told her that such pleasures could never have

any charm for her, and that she felt only scorn and disgust for such worthless aims and sordid desires. But

having resolved to appear a dupe, she concealed her real feelings under an air of surprise, and was astonished

"Besides," continued Madame de Fondege, "a marriageable young girl should never shut herself up like a

nun. She will never find a husband if she remains at homeand she must marry. Indeed, marriage is a

Was Madame de Fondege going to plead her son's cause? Mademoiselle Marguerite almost believed itbut

the lady was too shrewd for that. She took good care not to mention as much as Lieutenant Gustave's name.

"The season will certainly be unusually brilliant," she said, "and it will begin very early. On the fifth of

November, the Countess de Commarin will give a superb fete; all Paris will be there. On the seventh, there

will be a ball at the house of the Viscountess de Bois d'Ardon. On the eleventh, there will be a concert,

followed by a ball, at the superb mansion of the Baroness Trigaultyou knowthe wife of that strange man

"Really! and you have been living in Paris for years. It seems incomprehensible. You must know then, my

dear little ignoramus, that the Baroness Trigault is one of the most distinguished ladies in Paris, and certainly

the best dressed. I am sure her bill at Van Klopen's is not less than a hundred thousand francs a year and

that is saying enough, is it not?" And with genuine pride, she added: "The baroness is my friend. I will

Having once started on this theme, Madame de Fondege was not easily silenced. It was evidently her

ambition to be considered a woman of the world, and to be acquainted with all the leaders of fashionable

society; and, in fact, if one listened to her conversation for an hour one could learn all the gossip of the day.

Though she was unable to interest herself in this tittle tattle, Marguerite was pretending to listen to it with

profound attention when the drawingroom door suddenly opened and Evariste appeared with an impudent

smile on his face. "Madame Landoire, the milliner, is here, and desires to speak with Madame la Comtesse,"

On hearing this name, Madame de Fondege started as if she had been stung by a viper. "Let her wait," she

The order was useless, for the visitor was already on the threshold. She was a tall, darkhaired, illmannered

woman. "Ah! I've found you at last," she said, rudely, "and I'm not sorry. This is the fourth time I've come

Madame de Fondege pointed to Mademoiselle Marguerite, and exclaimed: "Wait, at least, until I am alone

Madame Landoire shrugged her shoulders. "As if you were ever alone," she growled. "I wish to put an end to

This opportunity to escape from Madame de Fondege must not be allowed to pass; so Marguerite asked

permission to withdraw, declaring, what was really the truth, that she felt completely tired out. After

receiving a maternal kiss from her hostess, accompanied by a "sleep well, my dear child," she retired to her

own room. Thanks to Madame Leon's absence, she found herself alone, and, drawing a blottingpad from

one of her trunks, she hastily wrote a note to M. Isidore Fortunat, telling him that she would call upon him on

the following Tuesday. "I must be very awkward," she thought, "if tomorrow, on going to mass, I can't find

It was fortunate that she had lost no time, for her writingcase was scarcely in its place again before Madame

Leon entered, evidently out of sorts. "Well," asked Marguerite, "did you see your friends?"

"Don't speak of it, my dear young lady; they were all of them away from homethey had gone to the play."

"So I shall go again early tomorrow morning; you must realize how important it is."

But Madame Leon, who was usually so loquacious, did not seem to be in a talkative mood that evening, and,

"She did not succeed in finding the Marquis de Valorsay," thought Marguerite, "and being in doubt as to the

The young girl tried to sum up the impressions of the evening, and to decide upon a plan of conduct, but she

felt sad and very weary. She said to herself that rest would be more beneficial than anything else, and that her

mind would be clearer on the morrow; so after a fervent prayer in which Pascal Ferailleur's name was

mentioned several times, she prepared for bed. But before she fell asleep she was able to collect another bit of

If Marguerite had been born in the Hotel de Chalusse, if she had known a father's and a mother's tender care

from her infancy, if she had always been protected by a large fortune from the stern realities of life, there

would have been no hope for her now that she was left poor and alonefor how can a girl avoid dangers she

is ignorant of? But from her earliest childhood Marguerite had studied the difficult science of real life under

the best of teachersmisfortune. Cast upon her own resources at the age of thirteen, she had learned to look

upon everybody and everything with distrust; and by relying only on herself, she had become strangely

cautious and clearsighted. She knew how to watch and how to listen, how to deliberate and how to act. Two

men, the Marquis de Valorsay and M. de Fondege's son, coveted her hand; and one of the two, the marquis,

so she believed, was capable of any crime. Still she felt no fears. She had been in danger once before when

she was little more than a child, when the brother of her employer insulted her with his attentions, but she had

Deceit was certainly most repugnant to her truthloving nature; but it was the only weapon of defence she

possessed. And so on the following day she carefully studied the abode of her entertainers. And certainly the

study was instructive. The General's household was truly Parisian in character; or, at least, it was what a

Parisian household inevitably becomes when its inmates fall a prey to the constantly increasing passion for

luxury and display, to the furore for aping the habits and expenditure of millionaires, and to the noble and

elevated desire of humiliating and outshining their neighbors. Ease, health, and comfort had been

unscrupulously sacrificed to show. The dining room was magnificent, the drawingroom superb; but these

were the only comfortably furnished apartments in the establishment. The other rooms were bare and

desolate. It is true that Madame de Fondege had a handsome wardrobe with glass doors in her own room, but

this was an article which the friend of the fashionable Baroness Trigault could not possibly dispense with. On

The aspect of the place fittingly explained the habits and manners of the inmates. What sinister fears must

have haunted them! for how could this extreme destitution in one part of the establishment be reconciled with

the luxury noticeable in the other, except by the fact that a desperate struggle to keep up appearances was

constantly going on? And this constant anxiety made outdoor noise, excitement, and gayety a necessity of

their existence, and caused them to welcome anything that took them from the home where they had barely

sufficient to deceive society, and not enough to impose upon their creditors. "And they keep three servants,"

thought Mademoiselle Marguerite"three enemies who spend their time in ridiculing them, and torturing

Thus, on the very first day after her arrival, she realized the real situation of the General and his wife. They

were certainly on the verge of ruin when Mademoiselle Marguerite accepted their hospitality. Everything

went to prove this: the coachman's insolent demand, the servants' impudence, the grocer's refusal to furnish a

single bottle of wine on credit, the milliner's persistence, and, lastly, the new sheets on the visitors' beds.

"Yes," thought Mademoiselle Marguerite to herself, "the Fondeges were ruined when I came here. They

would never have sunk so low if they had not been utterly destitute of resources. So, if they rise again, if

money and credit come back again, then the old magistrate is rightthey have obtained possession of the

On this side, at least, Mademoiselle Marguerite had no very wide field of investigation to explore. Her

common sense told her that her task would merely consist in carefully watching the behavior of the General

and his wife, in noting their expenditure, and so on. It was a matter of close attention, and of infinitesimal

trifles. Nor was she much encouraged by her first success. It was, perhaps, important; and yet it might be

nothing. For she felt that the real difficulties would not begin until she became morally certain that the

General had stolen the millions that were missing from the count's escritoire. Even then it would remain for

her to discover how he had obtained possession of this money. And when she had succeeded in doing this,

would her task be ended? Certainly not. She must obtain sufficient evidence to give her the right of accusing

the General openly, and in the face of every one. She must have material and indisputable proofs before she

could say: "A robbery has been committed. I was accused of it. I was innocent. Here is the culprit!"

What a long journey must be made before this goal was reached! No matter! Now that she had a positive and

fixed point of departure, she felt that she possessed enough energy to sustain her in her endeavors for years, if

need be. What troubled her most was that she could not logically explain the conduct of her enemies from the

time M. de Fondege had asked her hand for his son up to the present moment. And first, why had they been

so audacious or so imprudent as to bring her to their own home if they had really stolen one of those immense

amounts that are sure to betray their possessors?" They are mad," she thought, "or else they must deem me

blind, deaf, and more stupid than mortal ever was!" Secondly, why should they be so anxious to marry her to

their son, Lieutenant Gustave? This also was a puzzling question. However, she was fully decided on one

point: the suspicions of the Fondege family must not be aroused. If they were on their guard, it would be the

easiest thing in the world for them to pay their debts quietly, and increase their expenditure so imperceptibly

But the events of the next few days dispelled these apprehensions. That very afternoon, although it was

Sunday, it became evident that a shower of gold had fallen on the General's abode. The doorbell rang

incessantly for several hours, and an interminable procession of tradesmen entered. It looked very much as if

M. de Fondege had called a meeting of his creditors. They came in haughty and arrogant, with their hats upon

their heads, and surly of speech, like people who have made up their minds to accept their loss, but who

intend to pay themselves in rudeness. They were ushered into the drawingroom where the General was

holding his levee; they remained there from five to ten minutes, and then, bowing low with hat in hand, they

retired with radiant countenances, and an obsequious smile on their lips. So they had been paid. And as if to

prove to Mademoiselle Marguerite that her suspicions were correct, she chanced to be present when the livery

Madame de Fondege received him very haughtily. "Ah! here you are!" she exclaimed, rudely, as soon as he

appeared. "So you are the man who teaches his drivers to insult his customers? That is an excellent way to

gain patronage. What! I hire a onehorse carriage from you by the month, and because I happen to wish for a

twohorse vehicle for a single day, you make me pay the difference. You should demand payment in advance

The stablekeeper, who had a bill for nearly four thousand francs in his pocket, stood listening with the air of

a man who is meditating some crushing reply; but she did not give him time to deliver it. "When I have cause

to complain of the people I employ, I dismiss them and replace them by others. Insolence is one of those

The man, in whose face doubt, fear, and hope had succeeded each other in swift succession, thereupon drew

an interminable bill from his pocket. And when he saw the banknotes, when he saw the bill paid without

dispute or even examination, he was seized with a wondering respect, and his voice became sweeter than

honey. They say the payment of a bad debt delights a merchant a thousand times more than the settlement of

fifty good ones. The truth of this assertion became apparent in the present case. Mademoiselle Marguerite

thought the man was going to beg "Madame la Comtesse to do him the favor to withhold a portion of the

small amount." For the Parisian tradesman is so constituted that very frequently it is not necessary to pay him

However, this creditor's abnegation did not extend so far; still he did entreat Madame la Comtesse not to

leave him on account of a blunderfor it was a blunderhe swore it on his children's heads. His coachman

was only a fool and a drunkard, who had misunderstood him entirely, and whom he should ignominiously

dismiss on returning to his establishment. But "Madame la Comtesse" was inflexible. She sent the man about

his business, saying, "I never place myself in a position to be treated with disrespect a second time."

This probably accounted for the fact that Evariste, the footman, who had been so wanting in respect the

previous evening, had been sent away that very morning. Mademoiselle Marguerite did not see him again.

Dinner was served by a new servant, who had been sent by an Employment Office, and engaged without a

question, no doubt because Evariste's livery fitted him like a glove. Had the cook also been replaced?

Mademoiselle Marguerite thought so, though she had no means of convincing herself on this point. It was

certain, however, that the Sunday dinner was utterly unlike that of the evening before. Quality had replaced

quantity, and care, profusion. It was not necessary to send to the cellar for a bottle of ChateauLaroze; it

made its appearance at the proper moment, warmed to the precise degree of temperature, and seemed quite to

In twentyfour hours the Fondege family had been raised to such affluence that they must have asked

themselves if it were possible they had ever known the agonies of that life of false appearances and sham

luxury which is a thousand times worse than an existence of abject poverty. "Is it possible that I am

deceived?" Marguerite said to herself, on retiring to her room that evening. For it surprised her that a

keensighted person like Madame Leon should not have remarked this revolution; but the worthy companion

merely declared the General and his wife to be charming people, and did not cease to congratulate her dear

young lady upon having accepted their hospitality. "I feel quite at home here," said she; "and though my

room is a trifle small, I shall have nothing to wish for when it has been refurnished."

Mademoiselle Marguerite spent a restless and uncomfortable night. In spite of her reason, in spite of the

convincing proofs she had seen, the most disturbing doubts returned. Might she not have judged the situation

with a prejudiced mind? Had the Fondeges really been as reduced in circumstances as she supposed? Like

every one who has been unfortunate, she feared illusions, and was extremely distrustful of everything that

seemed to favor her hopes and wishes. The only thing that really encouraged her was the thought that she

could consult the old magistrate, and that M. de Chalusse's former agent might succeed in finding Pascal

Ferailleur. M. Fortunat must have received her letter by this time: he would undoubtedly expect her on

Tuesday, and it only remained for her to invent some excuse which would give her a couple of hours' liberty

She rose early the next morning, and had almost completed her toilette, when she heard some one in the

passage outside rapping at the door of Madame Leon's room. "Who's there?" inquired that worthy lady.

It was Justine, Madame de Fondege's maid, who answered in a pert voice, "Here is a letter, madame, which

has just been sent up by the concierge. It is addressed to Madame Leon. That is your name, is it not?"

Marguerite staggered as if she had received a heavy blow. "My God! a letter from the Marquis de Valorsay!"

It was evident that the estimable lady was expecting this missive by the eagerness with which she sprang out

of bed and opened the door. And Marguerite heard her say to the servant in her sweetest voice: "A thousand

thanks, my child! Ah! this is a great relief, I have heard from my brotherinlaw at last. I recognize his

Standing silent and motionless in the middle of her room, Marguerite listened with that feverish anxiety that

excites the perceptive faculties to the utmost degree. An inward voice, stronger than reason, told her that this

letter threatened her happiness, her future, perhaps her life! But how could she convince herself of the truth of

this presentiment? If she had followed her first impulse, she would have rushed into Madame Leon's room

and have snatched the letter from her hands. But if she did this, she would betray herself, and prove that she

was not the dupe they supposed her to be, and this supposition on the part of her enemies constituted her only

If she could only watch Madame Leon as she read the letter, and gain some information from the expression

of her face; but this seemed impossible, for the keyhole was blocked up by the key, which had been left in the

lock on the other side. Suddenly a crack in the partition attracted her attention, and finding that it extended

through the wall, she realized she might watch what was passing in the adjoining room. So she approached

In her impatience to learn the contents of her letter, Madame Leon had not gone back to bed. She had broken

the seal, and was reading the missive, standing barefooted in her nightdress, directly opposite the little

crevice. She read line after line, and word after word, and her knitted brows and compressed lips suggested

deep concentration of thought mingled with discontent. At last she shrugged her shoulders, muttered a few

inaudible words, and laid the open letter upon the rickety chest of drawers, which, with two chairs and a bed,

"My God!" exclaimed Marguerite, with bated breath, "if she would only forget it!"

But she did not forget it. She began to dress, and when she had finished she read the letter again, and then

placed it carefully in one of the drawers, which she locked, putting the key in her pocket.

"I shall never know, then," thought Marguerite; "no, I shall never know. But I must knowand I will!" she

From that moment a firm determination to obtain that letter took possession of her mind; and so deeply was

she occupied in seeking for some means to surmount the difficulties which stood in her way that she did not

say a dozen words during breakfast. "I must be a fool if I can't find some way of gaining possession of that

letter," she said to herself again and again. "I'm sure I could find in it the explanation of the abominable

Happily, her preoccupation was not remarked. Each person present was too deeply engrossed in his or her

own concerns to notice the behavior of the others. Madame Leon's mind was occupied with the news she had

just received; and, besides, her attention was considerably attracted by some partridges garnished with

truffles, and a bottle of ChateauLaroze. For she was rather fond of good living, the dear lady, as she

confessed herself, adding that no one is perfect. The General talked of nothing but a certain pair of horses

which he was to look at that afternoon, and which he thought of buyingbeing quite disgusted with

jobmasters, so he declared. Besides, he expected to get the animals at a bargain, as they were the property of

a young gentleman who had been led to commit certain misdemeanors by his love of gambling and his

passion for a notorious woman who was addicted with an insatiable desire for jewelry.

As for Madame de Fondege, her head seemed to have been completely turned by the prospect of the

approaching fete at the Countess de Commarin's. She had only a fortnight left to make her preparations. All

the evening before, through part of the night, and ever since she had been awake that morning, she had been

racking her brain to arrive at an effective combination of colors and materials. And at the cost of a terrible

headache, she had at last conceived one of those toilettes which are sure to make a sensation, and which the

newspaper reporters will mention as noticeable for its "chic." "Picture to yourself," she said, all ablaze with

enthusiasm, "picture to yourself a robe of teaflower silk, trimmed with bands of heavy hollandtinted satin,

thickly embroidered with flowers. A wide flounce of Valenciennes at the bottom of the skirt. Over this, I shall

wear a tunic of pearl gray crepe, edged with a fringe of the various shades in the dress, and forming a panier

But how much trouble, time and labor must be expended before such an elaborate chefd'oeuvre could be

completed! How many conferences with the dressmaker, with the florist, and the embroiderer! How many

doubts, how many inevitable mistakes! Ah! there was not a moment to lose! Madame de Fondege, who was

dressed to go out, and who had already sent for a carriage, insisted that Mademoiselle Marguerite should

accompany her. And certainly, the General's wife deemed the proposal a seductive one. It is a very

fashionable amusement to run from one shop to another, even when one cannot, or will not, buy. It is a

custom, which some noble ladies have imported from America, to the despair of the poor shopkeepers. And

thus every fine afternoon, the swell shops are filled to overflowing with richlyattired dames and damsels,

who ask to see all the new goods. It is far more amusing than remaining at home. And when they return to

dinner in the evening, after inspecting hundreds of yards of silk and satin, they are very well pleased with

themselves, for they have not lost the day. Nor do the shrewdest always return from these expeditions empty

handed. A dozen gloves or a piece of lace can be hidden so easily in the folds of a mantle!

And yet, to Madame de Fondege's great surprise, Marguerite declined the invitation. "I have so many things

But Madame Leon, who had not the same reasons as her dear child for wishing to remain at home, kindly

offered her services. She was acquainted with several of the best shops, she declared, particularly with the

establishment of a dealer in laces, in the Rue de Mulhouse, and thanks to an introduction from her, Madame

de Fondege could not fail to conclude a very advantageous bargain there. "Very well," replied Madame de

Fondege, "I will take you with me, then; but make haste and dress while I put on my bonnet."

They left the breakfastroom at the same time, closely followed by Mademoiselle Marguerite, who was

disturbed by a hope which she scarcely dared confess to herself. With her forehead resting against the wall,

and her eye peering through the tiny crack, she watched her governess change her dress, throw a shawl over

her shoulders, put on her best bonnet, and, after a glance at the lookingglass, rush from the room,

As the outer door closed after them, Marguerite's brain whirled. If she were not deceived, Madame Leon had

left the key of the drawers in the pocket of the dress she had just taken off. So it was with a wildly throbbing

heart that she opened the communicating door and entered her "companion's" room. She hastily approached

the bed on which the dress was lying, and, with a trembling hand, she began to search for the pocket. Fortune

favored her! The key was there. The letter was within her reach. But she was about to do a deed against

which her whole nature revolted. To steal a key, to force an article of furniture open, and violate the secret of

a private correspondence, these were actions so repugnant to her sense of honor, and her pride, that for some

time she stood irresolute. At last the instinct of self preservation overpowered her scruples. Was not her

honor, and Pascal's honor also, at stakeas well as their mutual love and happiness?" It would be folly to

The latter was out of order and the drawer was only opened with difficulty. But there, on some clothes which

Madame Leon had not yet found time to arrange, Marguerite saw the letter. She eagerly snatched it up,

unfolded it, and read: "Dear Madame Leon" "Dear me," she muttered, "here is the name in full. This is an

indiscretion which will render denial difficult." And she resumed her perusal: "Your letter, which I have just

received, confirms what my servants had already told me: that twice during my absenceon Saturday

evening and Sunday morningyou called at my house to see me." So Mademoiselle Marguerite's penetration

had served her well. All this talk about anxious relatives had only been an excuse invented by Madame Leon

to enable her to absent herself whenever occasion required. "I regret," continued the letter, "that you did not

find me at home, for I have instructions of the greatest importance to give you. We are approaching the

decisive moment. I have formed a plan which will completely, and forever, efface all remembrance of that

cursed P. F., in case any one condescended to think of him after the disgrace we fastened upon him the other

evening at the house of Madame d'Argeles." P. F.these initials of course meant Pascal Ferailleur. Then he

was innocent, and she held an undeniable, irrefutable proof of his innocence in her hands. How coolly and

impudently Valorsay confessed his atrocious crime!" A bold stroke is in contemplation which, if no

unfortunate and wellnigh impossible accident occur, will throw the girl into my arms." Marguerite

shuddered. "The girl" referred to her, of course. "Thanks to the assistance of one of my friends," added the

letter "I can place this proud damsel in a perilous, terribly perilous position, from which she cannot possibly

extricate herself unaided. But, just as she gives herself up for lost, I shall interpose. I shall save her; and it

will be strange if gratitude does not work the necessary miracle in my favor. The plan is certain to succeed.

Still, it will be all the better if the physician who attended M. de C in his last moments, and whom you

spoke to me about (Dr. Jodon, if I remember rightly), will consent to lend us a helping hand. What kind of a

man is he? If he is accessible to the seductive influence of a few thousand francs, I shall consider the business

as good as concluded. Your conduct up to the present time has been a chefd'oeuvre, for which you shall be

amply compensated. You have cause to know that I am not ungrateful. Let the F's continue their intrigues,

and even pretend to favor them. I am not afraid of these people. I understand their game perfectly, and know

why they wish my little one to marry their son. But when they become troublesome, I shall crush them like

glass. In spite of these explanations, which I have just given you for your guidance, it is very necessary that I

should see you. I shall look for you on Tuesday afternoon, between three and four o'clock. Above all, don't

fail to bring me the desired information respecting Dr. Jodon. I am, my dear madame, devotedly yoursV."

Below ran a postscript which read as follows: "When you come on Tuesday bring this letter with you. We

will burn it together. Don't imagine that I distrust youbut there is nothing so dangerous as letters."

For some time Marguerite stood, stunned and appalled by the Marquis de Valorsay's audacity, and by the

language of this letter, which was at once so obscure and so clear, every line of it threatening her future. The

reality surpassed her worst apprehensions, but realizing the gravity of the situation, she shook off the torpor

stealing over her. She felt that every second was precious, and that she must act, and act at once. But what

should she do? Simply return the letter to its place, and continue to act the role of a dupe, as if nothing had

happened? No; that must not be. It would be madness not to seize this flagrant proof of the Marquis de

Valorsay's infamy. But on the other hand, if she kept the letter, Madame Leon would immediately discover its

loss, and an explanation would be unavoidable. M. de Valorsay would be worsted, but not annihilated, and

the plans which made the physician's intervention a necessity would never be revealed. She thought of

hastening to her friend the old magistrate; but he lived a long way off, and time was pressing. Besides she

might not find him at home. Then she thought of going to a notary, to a judge. She would show them the

letter, and they could take a copy of it. But nothis would do no goodthe marquis could still deny it. She

was becoming desperate, and was accusing herself of stupidity, when a sudden inspiration illumined her

mind, turning night into day, as it were. "Oh, Pascal, we are saved!" she exclaimed. And without pausing to

deliberate any longer, she threw a mantle over her shoulders, hastily tied on her bonnet, and hurried from the

Unfortunately she was not acquainted with this part of Paris, and on reaching the Rue Pigalle she was at a

loss for her way. Unwilling to waste any more time, she hastily entered a grocer's shop at the corner of the

Rue Pigalle and the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette, and anxiously inquired: "Do you know any photographer in

Her agitation made this question seem so singular that the grocer looked at her closely for a moment, as if to

make sure that she was not jesting. "You have only to go down the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette," he replied,

"and on the lefthand side, at the foot of the hill, you will find the photographer Carjat."

The grocer stepped to the door to watch her. "That girl's certainly lightheaded," he thought.

Her demeanor was really so extraordinary that it attracted the attention of the passersby. She saw this, and

slackening her pace, tried to become more composed. At the spot the grocer had indicated, she perceived

several show frames filled with photographs hanging on either side of a broad, open gateway, above which

ran the name, "E. Carjat." She went in, and seeing a man standing at the door of an elegant pavilion on the

righthand side of a large courtyard, she approached him, and asked for his employer.

"Then will madame be so kind as to pass in. She will not be obliged to wait long. There are only four or five

Four or five persons! How long would she be obliged to wait?half an hourtwo hours? She had not the

slightest idea. But she DID know that she had not a second to lose, that Madame Leon might return at any

moment, and find the letter missing; and, to crown all, she remembered now that she had not even locked the

drawer again. "I cannot wait," she said, imperiously. "I must speak to M. Carjat at once."

Her tone was so commanding, and there was so much authority in her glance, that the servant hesitated no

longer. He ushered her into a little sittingroom, and said, "If madame will take a seat, I will call monsieur."

She sank on to a chair, for her limbs were failing her. She was beginning to realize the strangeness of the step

she had takento fear the result it might lead toand to be astonished at her own boldness. But she had no

time to prepare what she wished to say, for a man of fiveandthirty, wearing a mustache and imperial, and

clad in a velvet coat, entered the room, and bowing with an air of surprise, exclaimed: "You desire to speak

She drew M. de Valorsay's letter from her pocket, and, showing it to the photographer, she said, "I have come

to you, monsieur, to ask you to photograph this letterbut at oncebefore meand quicklyvery

Mademoiselle Marguerite's embarrassment was extreme. Her cheeks were crimson, and she trembled like a

leaf. Still her attitude was proud, generous enthusiasm glowed in her dark eyes, and her tone of voice

revealed the serenity of a lofty soul ready to dare anything for a just and noble cause. This striking

contrastthis struggle between girlish timidity and a lover's virgil energy, endowed her with a strange and

powerful charm, which the photographer made no attempt to resist. Unusual as was the request, he did not

He did not stop to listen to her thanks. Not wishing to return to the receptionroom, where five or six clients

were impatiently awaiting their turn, he called one of his subordinates, and ordered him to bring the necessary

apparatus at once. While he was speaking, Mademoiselle Marguerite paused; but, as soon as his instructions

were concluded, she remarked: "Perhaps you are too hasty, sir. You have not allowed me to explain; and

perhaps what I desire is impossible. I came on the impulse of the moment, without any knowledge on the

subject. Before you set to work, I must know if what you can do will answer my purpose."

"So like, that if one of your photographs should be presented to the person who wrote this letter"

"He could no more deny his handwriting than he could if some one handed him the letter itself."

A smile of triumph played upon Mademoiselle Marguerite's lips. It was as she had thought; the defensive

plan which she had suddenly conceived was a good one. "One more question, sir," she resumed. "I am only a

poor, ignorant girl: excuse me, and give me the benefit of your knowledge. This letter will be returned to its

author tomorrow, and he will burn it. But afterward, in case of any difficultyin case of a lawsuitor in

case it should be necessary for me to prove certain things which one might establish by means of this letter,

The photographer did not answer for a moment. Now he understood Mademoiselle Marguerite's motive, and

the importance she attached to a facsimile. But this imparted an unexpected gravity to the service he was

called upon to perform. He therefore wished some time for reflection, and he scrutinized Mademoiselle

Marguerite as if he were trying to read her very soul. Was it possible that this young girl, with such a pure

and noble brow, and with such frank, honest eyes, could be meditating any cowardly, dishonorable act? No,

he could not believe it. In whom, or in what, could he trust if such a countenance deceived him?" My

facsimile would certainly be admitted as evidence," he replied at last; "and this would not be the first time

that the decision of a court has depended on proofs which have been photographed by me."

Meanwhile, his assistant had returned, bringing the necessary apparatus with him. When all was ready, the

She hesitated for a secondonly for a second. The man's honest, kindly face told her that he would not

betray her, that he would rather give her assistance. So she handed him the Marquis de Valorsay's letter,

saying, with melancholy dignity, "It is my happiness and my future that I place in your handsand I have no

He read her thoughts, and understood that she either dared not ask for a pledge of secrecy, or else that she

thought it unnecessary. He took pity on her, and his last doubt fled. "I shall read this letter, madame," said he,

"but I am the only person who will read it. I give you my word on that! No one but myself will see the

Greatly moved, she offered him her hand, and simply said, "Thanks; I am more than repaid."

To obtain an absolutely perfect facsimile of a letter is a delicate and sometimes lengthy operation. However,

at the end of about twenty minutes, the photographer possessed two negatives that promised him perfect

proofs. He looked at them with a satisfied air; and then returning the letter to Mademoiselle Marguerite, he

said, "In less than three days the facsimiles will be ready, madame; and if you will tell me to what address I

She trembled on hearing these words, and quickly answered, "Don't send them, sirkeep them carefully.

Great heavens! all would be lost if it came to the knowledge of any one. I will send for them, or come

myself." And, feeling the extent of her obligation, she added, "But I will not go without introducing

myselfI am Mademoiselle Marguerite de Chalusse." And, thereupon, she went off, leaving the

photographer surprised at the adventure and dazzled by his strange visitor's beauty.

Rather more than an hour had elapsed since Marguerite left M. de Fondege's house. "How time flies!" she

murmured, quickening her pace as much as she could without exciting remark"how time flies!" But,

hurried as she was, she stopped and spent five minutes at a shop in the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette where she

purchased some black ribbon and a few other trifles. How else could she explain and justify her absence, if

the servants, who had probably discovered she had gone out, chanced to speak of it?

But her heart throbbed as if it would burst as she ascended the General's staircase, and anxiety checked her

breathing as she rang the bell. "What if Madame de Fondege and Madame Leon had returned, and the

abstraction of the letter been discovered!" Fortunately, Madame de Fondege required more than an hour to

purchase the materials for the elaborate toilette she had dreamt of. The ladies were still out, and

Mademoiselle Marguerite found everything in the same condition as she had left it. She carefully placed the

letter in the drawer again, locked it, and put the key in the pocket of Madame Leon's dress. Then she breathed

freely once more; and, for the first time in six days, she felt something very like joy in her heart. Now she had

no fear of the Marquis de Valorsay. She had him in her power. He would destroy his letter the next day, and

think that he was annihilating all proofs of his infamy. Not so. At the decisive moment, at the very moment of

his triumph, she would produce the photograph of this letter, and crush him. And sheonly a young

girlhad outwitted this consummate scoundrel!" I have not been unworthy of Pascal," she said to herself,

However, her nature was not one of those weak ones which are become intoxicated by the first symptom of

success, and then relax in their efforts. When her excitement had abated a little, she was inclined to disparage

rather than to exaggerate the advantage she had gained. What she desired was a complete, startling,

incontestable victory. It was not enough to prove Valorsay's GUILTshe was resolved to penetrate his

designs, to discover why he pursued her so desperately. And, though she felt that she possessed a formidable

weapon of defence, she could not drive away her gloomy forebodings when she thought of the threats

contained in the marquis's letter. "Thanks to the assistance of one of my friends," he wrote, "I can place this

proud girl in a perilous, terribly perilous, position, from which she cannot possibly extricate herself unaided."

These words persistently lingered in Mademoiselle Marguerite's mind. What was the danger hanging over

her? whence would it come? and in what form? What abominable machination might she not expect from the

villain who had deliberately dishonored Pascal? How would he attack her? Would he strive to ruin her

reputation, or did he intend to forcibly abduct her? Would he attempt to decoy her into a trap where she

would be subjected to the insults of the vilest wretches? A thousand frightful memories of the time when she

was an apprentice drove her nearly frantic. "I will never go out unarmed," she thought, "and woe to the man

The vagueness of the threat increased her fears. No one is courageous enough to confront an unknown,

mysterious, and always imminent danger without sometimes faltering. Nor was this all. The marquis was not

her only enemy. She had the Fondege family to dreadthese dangerous hypocrites, who had taken her to

their home so that they might ruin her the more surely. M. de Valorsay wrote that he had no fears of the

Fondegesthat he understood their little game. What was their little game? No doubt they were resolved that

she should become their son's wife, even if they were obliged to use force to win her consent. At this thought

a sudden terror seized her soul, so full of peace and hope an instant before. When she was attacked, would

she have time to produce and use the facsimile of Valorsay's letter?" I must reveal my secret to a friendto a

Fortunately she had a friend in whom she could safely confidethe old magistrate who had given her such

proofs of sympathy. She felt that she needed the advice of a riper experience than her own, and the thought of

consulting him at once occurred to her. She was alone; she had no spy to fear; and it would be folly not to

profit by the few moments of liberty that remained. So she drew her writingcase from her trunk, and, after

barricading her door to prevent a surprise, she wrote her friend an account of the events which had taken

place since their last interview. She told him everything with rare precision and accuracy of detail, sending

him a copy of Valorsay's letter, and informing him that, in case any misfortune befell her, he could obtain the

facsimiles from Carjat. She finished her letter, but did not seal it. "If anything should happen before I have an

She had made all possible haste, fearing that Madame de Fondege and Madame Leon might return at any

moment. But this was truly a chimerical apprehension. It was nearly six o'clock when the two shoppers made

their appearance, wearied with the labors of the day, but in fine spirits. Besides purchasing every requisite for

that wonderful costume of hers, the General's wife had found some laces of rare beauty, which she had

secured for the mere trifle of four thousand francs. "It was one of those opportunities one ought always to

profit by," she said, as she displayed her purchase. "Besides, it is the same with lace as with diamonds, you

should purchase them when you canthen you have them. It isn't an outlayit's an investment." Subtle

On her side, Madame Leon proudly showed her dear young lady a very pretty present which Madame de

Fondege had given her. "So money is no longer lacking in this household," thought Mademoiselle

The General came in a little later, accompanied by a friend, and Marguerite soon discovered that the worthy

man had spent the day as profitably as his wife. He too was quite tired out; and he had reason to be fatigued.

First, he had purchased the horses belonging to the ruined spendthrift, and he had paid five thousand francs

for them, a mere trifle for such animals. Less than an hour after the purchase he had refused almost double

that amount from a celebrated connoisseur in horseflesh, M. de Breulh Faverlay. This excellent

speculation had put him in such good humor that he had been unable to resist the temptation of purchasing a

beautiful saddlehorse, which they let him have for a hundred louis. He had not been foolish, for he was sure

that he could sell the animal again at an advance of a thousand francs whenever he wished to do so. "So,"

remarked his friend, "if you bought such a horse every day, you would make three hundred and sixtyfive

Was this only a jestone of those witticisms which people who boast of wonderful bargains must expect to

parry, or had the remark a more serious meaning? Marguerite could not determine. One thing is certain, the

General did not lose his temper, but gayly continued his account of the way in which he had spent his time.

Having purchased the horses, his next task was to find a carriage, and he had heard of a barouche which a

Russian prince had ordered but didn't take, so that the builder was willing to sell it at less than cost price; and

to recoup this worthy man, the General had purchased a brougham as well. He had, moreover, hired stabling

in the Rue Pigalle, only a few steps from the house, and he expected a coachman and a groom the following

"And all this will cost us less than the miserable vehicle we have been hiring by the year," observed Madame

de Fondege, gravely. "Oh, I know what I say. I've counted the cost. What with gratuities and extras, it costs

us now fully a thousand francs a month, and three horses and a coachman won't cost you more. And what a

difference! I shall no longer be obliged to blush for the skinny horses the stablekeeper sends me, nor to

endure the insolence of his men. The first outlay frightened me a little; but that is made now, and I am

"In laces, no doubt," thought Mademoiselle Marguerite. She was intensely exasperated, and on regaining her

chamber she said to herself, for the tenth time, "What do they take me for? Do they think me an idiot to flaunt

the millions they have stolen from my fatherthat they have stolen from mebefore my eyes in this

fashion? A common thief would take care not to excite suspicion by a foolish expenditure of the fruits of his

Madame Leon was already in bed, and when Mademoiselle Marguerite was satisfied that she was asleep, she

took her letter from her trunk, and added this postscript: "P. S.It is impossible to retain the shadow of a

doubt, M. and Madame de Fondege have spent certainly twenty thousand francs today. This audacity must

arise from a conviction that no proofs of the crime they have committed exist. Still they continue to talk to

me about their son, Lieutenant Gustave. He will be presented to me tomorrow. To morrow, also, between

three and four, I shall be at the house of a man who can perhaps discover Pascal's hidingplace for me,the

house of M. Isidore Fortunat. I hope to make my escape easily enough, for at that same hour, Madame Leon

The old legend of Achilles's heel will be eternally true. A man may be humble or powerful, feeble or strong,

but there are none of us without some weak spot in our armor, a spot vulnerable beyond all others, a certain

place where wounds prove most dangerous and painful. M. Isidore Fortunat's weak place was his cashbox.

To attack him there was to endanger his lifeto wound him at a point where all his sensibility centred. For it

was in this cashbox and not in his breast that his heart really throbbed. His safe made him happy or dejected.

Happy when it was filled to overflowing by some brilliant operation, and dejected when he saw it become

This then explains his frenzy on that illfated Sunday, when, after being brutally dismissed by M. Wilkie, he

returned to his rooms in the company of his clerk, Victor Chupin. This explains, too, the intensity of the

hatred he now felt for the Marquis de Valorsay and the Viscount de Coralth. The former, the marquis, had

defrauded him of forty thousand francs in glittering gold. The other, the viscount, had suddenly sprung up out

of the ground, and carried off from under his very nose that magnificent prize, the Chalusse inheritance,

which he had considered as good as won. And he had not only been defrauded and swindledsuch were his

own expressionsbut he had been tricked, deceived, duped, and outwitted, and by whom? By people who

did not make it their profession to be shrewd, like he did himself. Just fancy, his business was to outwit

others, and a couple of mere amateurs had outgeneraled him. He had not only suffered in pocket, he had been

However, at the very moment when he was dreaming of wreaking vengeance on the Marquis de Valorsay and

the Viscount de Coralth, his housekeeper, austere Madame Dodelin, handed him Mademoiselle Marguerite's

letter. He read it with intense astonishment, rubbing his eyes as if to assure himself that he were really awake.

"Tuesday," he repeated, "the day after tomorrowat your housebetween three and four o'clockI must

His manner was so strange, and his usually impassive face so disturbed by conflicting feelings, that Madame

Dodelin's curiosity overcame her prudence, and she remained standing in front of him with open mouth,

staring with all her eyes and listening with all her ears. He perceived this, and angrily exclaimed: "What are

you doing here? You are watching me, I do believe. Get back to your kitchen, or"

She fled in alarm, and he then entered his private office. His heart was leaping with joy, and he laughed

wickedly at the hope of a speedy revenge. "She's on the scent," he muttered; "and she has luck in her favor.

She has chanced to apply to me on the very day that I had resolved to defend and rehabilitate her lover, the

honest fool who allowed himself to be dishonored by those unscrupulous blackguards. Just as I was thinking

of going in search of her, she comes to me. As I was about to write to her, she writes to me. Who can deny

the existence of Providence after this?" Like many other people, M. Fortunat piously believed in Providence

when things went to his liking, but it is sad to add that in the contrary case he denied its existence. "If she has

any courage," he resumed, "and she seems to have plenty of it, Valorsay and Coralth will be in a tight place

soon. And if it takes ten thousand francs to put them there, and if neither Mademoiselle Marguerite nor M.

Ferailleur has the amountah, well! I'll advancewell, at least five thousandwithout charging them any

commission. I'll even pay the expenses out of my own pocket, if necessary. Ah, my fine fellows, you've

He paused, for Victor Chupin, who had lingered behind to pay the driver, had just entered the room. "You

gave me twenty francs, m'sieur," he remarked to his employer. "I paid the driver four francs and five sous,

What! keep fifteen francs and fifteen sous? Under any other circumstances such unusual generosity would

have drawn a grimace of satisfaction from young Chupin. But today he did not even smile; he slipped the

money carelessly into his pocket, and scarcely deigned to say "thanks," in the coldest possible tone.

Absorbed in thought, M. Fortunat did not remark this little circumstance. "We have them, Victor," he

resumed. "I told you that Valorsay and Coralth should pay me for their treason. Vengeance is near. Read this

letter." Victor read it slowly, and as soon as he had finished his employer ejaculated, "Well?"

But Chupin was not a person to give advice lightly. "Excuse me, m'sieur," said he, "but in order to answer

you, I must have some knowledge of the affair. I only know what you've told mewhich is little

M. Fortunat reflected for a moment. "You are right, Victor," he said, at last. "So far the explanation I gave

you was all that was necessary; but now that I expect more important services from you, I ought to tell you

the whole truth, or at least all I know about the affair. This will prove my great confidence in you."

Whereupon, he acquainted Chupin with everything he knew concerning the history of M. de Chalusse, the

However, if he expected these disclosures to elevate him in his subordinate's estimation he was greatly

mistaken. Chupin had sufficient experience and common sense to read his master's character and discern his

motives. He saw plainly enough that this honest impulse on M. Fortunat's part came from disappointed

avarice and wounded vanity, and that the agent would have allowed the Marquis de Valorsay to carry out his

infamous scheme without any compunctions of conscience, providing he, himself, had not been injured by it.

Still, the young fellow did not allow his real feelings to appear on his face. First, it was not his business to tell

M. Fortunat his opinion of him; and in the second place, he did not deem it an opportune moment for a

declaration of his sentiments. So, when his employer paused, he exclaimed: "Well, we must outwit these

scoundrelsfor I'll join you, m'sieur; and I flatter myself that I can be very useful to you. Do you want the

particulars of the viscount's past life? If so, I can furnish them. I know the brigand. He's married, as I told you

before, and I'll find his wife for you in a few days. I don't know exactly where she lives, but she keeps a

tobacco store, somewhere, and that's enough. She'll tell you how much he's a viscount. Ha! ha! Viscount just

"No doubt; but the most important thing is to know how he's living now, and on what!"

"Not by honest work, I can tell you. But give me a little time, and I'll find out for sure. As soon as I can go

home, change my clothes, and disguise myself, I'll start after him; and may I be hung, if I don't return with a

A smile of satisfaction appeared on M. Fortunat's face. "Good, Victor!" he said, approvingly, "very good! I

see that you will serve me with your usual zeal and intelligence. Rest assured that you will be rewarded as

you have never been rewarded before. As long as you are engaged in this affair, you shall have ten francs a

This was a most liberal offer, and yet, far from seeming delighted, Chupin gravely shook his head. "You

"Excuse me, it's because I have responsibilities, m'sieur. You know my establishment"he spoke this word

"On the contrary, sirbut you don't allow me to finish. I love money, don't I? But no matter, I don't want to

be paid for this business. I don't want either my board or my expenses, not a pennynothing. I'll serve you,

M. Fortunat could not restrain an exclamation of astonishment. Chupin, who was as eager for gain as an old

usurerChupin, as grasping as avarice itself, refuse money! This was something which he had never seen

Victor had become very much excited; his usually pale cheeks were crimson, and in a harsh voice, he

continued: "It's a fancy of minethat's all. I have eight hundred francs hidden in my room, the fruit of years

of work. I'll spend the last penny of it if need be; and if I can see Coralth in the mire, I shall say, 'My money

has been well expended.' I'd rather see that day dawn than be the possessor of a hundred thousand francs. If a

horrible vision haunted you every night, and prevented you from sleeping, wouldn't you give something to

get rid of it? Very well! that brigand's my nightmare. There must be an end to it."

M. de Coralth, who was a man of wide experience, would certainly have felt alarmed if he had seen his

unknown enemy at the present moment, for Victor's eyes, usually a pale and undecided blue, were glittering

like steel, and his hands were clinched most threateningly. "For he was the cause of all my trouble," he

continued, gloomily. "I've told you, sir, that I was guilty of an infamous deed once upon a time. If it hadn't

been for a miracle I should have killed a manthe king of men. Ah, well! if Monsieur Andre had broken his

back by falling from a fifthfloor window, my Coralth would be the Duc de Champdoce today. And shall he

be allowed to ride about in his carriage, and deceive and ruin honest people? Nothere are too many such

villains at large for public safety. Wait a little, CoralthI owe you something, and I always pay my debts.

When M. Andre saved me, though I richly deserved to have my throat cut, he made no conditions. He only

said, 'If you are not irredeemably bad you will be honest after this.' And he said these words as he was lying

there as pale as death with his shoulder broken, and his body mangled from his fall. Great heavens! I felt

smaller thanthan nothing before him. But I swore that I would do honor to his teachingsand when evil

thoughts enter my mind, and when I feel a thirst for liquor, I say to myself, 'Wait a bit, andand M. Andre

will take a glass with you.' And that quenches my thirst instantly. I have his portrait at home, and every night,

before going to bed, I tell him the history of the dayand sometimes I fancy that he smiles at me. All this is

very absurd, perhaps, but I'm not ashamed of it. M. Andre and my good mother, they are my supports, my

crutches, and with them I'm not afraid of making a false step." Schebel, the German philosopher, who has

written a treatise on Volition, in four volumes, was no greater a man than Chupin. "So you may keep your

money, sir," he resumed. "I'm an honest fellow, and honest men ought to ask no reward for the performance

of a duty. Coralth mustn't be allowed to triumph over the innocent chap he ruined. What did you call him?

Ferailleur? It's an odd name. Never mind we'll get him out of this scrape; he shall marry his sweetheart

As he finished speaking he laughed a shrill, dangerous laugh, which revealed his sharp teethbut such

invincible determination was apparent on his face, that M. Fortunat felt no misgivings. He was sure that this

volunteer would be of more service than the highestpriced hireling. "So I can count on you, Victor?" he

"Very well; I will devote my attention to Ferailleur then. As to Valorsay's affairs, I am better acquainted with

them than he is himself. We must be prepared to enter upon the campaign when Mademoiselle Marguerite

Chupin had already caught up his hat; but just as he was leaving the room, he paused abruptly. "How stupid!"

According to his habit when things did not go to his liking, Chupin began to scratch his head furiously.

"That's bad," growled he. "Viscounts of his stamp don't parade their addresses in the directory. Still, I shall

find him." However, although he expressed this conviction he went off decidedly out of temper.

"I shall lose the entire evening hunting up the rascal's address," he grumbled, as he hastened homeward. "And

whom shall I ask for it?Madame d'Argeles's concierge? Would he know itM. Wilkie's servant? That

would be dangerous." He thought of roaming sound about M. de Valorsay's residence, and of bribing one of

the valets; but while crossing the boulevard, the sight of Brebant's Restaurant put a new idea into his head. "I

have it!" he muttered; "my man's caught!" And he darted into the nearest cafe where he ordered some beer

Under other circumstances, he would have hesitated to employ so hazardous an expedient as the one he was

about to resort to, but the character of his adversaries justified any course; besides, time was passing, and he

had no choice of resources. As soon as the waiter served him, he drained his glass of beer to give himself an

MY DEAR VISCOUNTHere's the amountone hundred francsthat I lost to you last evening at piquet.

When he had finished this letter he read it over three or four times, asking himself if this were the style of

composition that very fashionable folks employ in repaying their debts. To tell the truth, he doubted it. In the

rough draft which he penned at first, he had written bezique, but in the copy he wrote piquet, which he

deemed a more aristocratic game. "However," said he, "no one will examine it closely!"

Then, as soon as the ink was dry, he folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope with a hundred

francnote which he drew from an old pocketbook. He next addressed the envelope as follows: "Monsieur le

Vicomte de Coralth, En Ville," and having completed his preparations, he paid his score, and hastened to

Brebant's. Two waiters were standing at the doorway, and, showing them the letter, he politely asked: "Do

you happen to know this name? A gentleman dropped this letter on leaving your place last evening. I ran after

The waiters examined the address. "Coralth!" they replied. "We scarcely know him. He isn't a regular

The waiters shrugged their shoulders. "Let the letter go; it is not worth while to trouble yourself."

Chupin had foreseen this objection, and was prepared for it. "But there's money in the letter," he

remonstrated. And opening the envelope, he showed the banknote which he had taken from his own

This changed the matter entirely. "That is quite a different thing," remarked one of the waiters. "If you find

money, you are, of course, responsible for it. But just leave it here at the desk, and the next time the viscount

A cold chill crept over Chupin at the thought of losing his bank note in this way. "Ah! I don't fancy that

idea!" he exclaimed. "Leave it here? Never in life! Who'd get the reward? A viscount is always generous; it is

quite likely he would give me twenty francs as a reward for my honesty. And that's why I want his address."

The argument was of a nature to touch the waiters; they thought the young man quite right; but they did not

know M. de Coralth's address, and they saw no way of procuring it. "Unless perhaps the porter knows,"

The porter, on being called, remembered that he had once been sent to M. de Coralth's house for an overcoat.

"I've forgotten his number," he declared; "but he lives in the Rue d'Anjou, near the corner of the Rue de la

This direction was not remarkable for its precision, but it was more than sufficient for a pureblooded

Parisian like Victor Chupin. "Many thanks for your kindness," he said to the porter. "A blind man, perhaps,

might not be able to go straight to M. de Coralth's house from your directions, but I have eyes and a tongue as

well. And, believe me, if there's any reward, you shall see that I know how to repay a good turn."

"And if you don't find the viscount," added the waiters, "bring the money here, and it will be returned to

"Naturally!" replied Chupin. And he strode hurriedly away. "Return!" he muttered; "not I! I thought for a

But he had already recovered from his fright, and as he turned his steps homeward he congratulated himself

on the success of his stratagem. "For my viscount is caught," he said to himself. "The Rue d'Anjou Saint

Honore hasn't a hundred numbers in it, and even if I'm compelled to go from door to door, my task will soon

On reaching home he found his mother engaged in knitting, as usual. This was the only avocation that her

almost complete blindness allowed her to pursue; and she followed it constantly. "Ah! here you are, Toto,"

she exclaimed, joyously. "I didn't expect you so soon. Don't you scent a savory smell? As you must be greatly

As customary when he returned, Chupin embraced the good woman with the respectful tenderness which had

so surprised M. Fortunat. "You are always kind," said he, "but, unfortunately, I can't remain to dine with

"You have become a worker, Toto, and that makes me very happy; but you are too eager for money, and that

"That's to say, you fear I shall do something dishonest. Ah! mother! do you think I can forget you and

His mother said no more, and he entered the tiny nook which he so pompously styled his chamber, and

quickly changed the clothes he was wearing (his Sunday toggery) for an old pair of checked trousers, a black

blouse, and a glazed cap. And when he had finished, and given a peculiar turn to his hair, no one would have

recognized him. In place of M. Fortunat's respectable clerk, there appeared one of those vagabonds who hang

about cafes and theatres from six in the evening till midnight, and spend the rest of their time playing cards in

the low drinking dens near the barrieres. It was the old Chupin come to life once moreToto Chupin as he

had appeared before his conversion. And as he took a last look in the little glass hanging over the table, he

was himself astonished at the transformation. "Ah!" he muttered, "I was a sorry looking devil in those days."

Although he had cautiously avoided making any noise in dressing, his mother, with the wonderfully acute

hearing of the blind, had followed each of his movements as surely as if she had been standing near watching

Although accustomed to his mother's remarkable quickness of perception, he was amazed. Still he did not

think of denying it. She would only have to extend her hand to prove that he was telling a falsehood. The

blind woman's usually placid face had become stern. "So it is necessary to disguise yourself," she said,

"Hush, my son! When a man doesn't wish to be recognized, he's evidently doing something he's ashamed of.

Ever since your employer came here, you have been concealing something from me. Take care, Toto! Since I

heard that man's voice, I'm sure that he is quite as capable of urging you to commit a crime as others were in

The blind woman was preaching to a convert; for during the past three days, M. Fortunat had shown himself

in such a light that Chupin had secretly resolved to change his employer. "I promise you I'll leave him,

There was only one way of completely reassuring the good woman, and that was to tell her all. Chupin did so

with absolute frankness. "Ah, well!" she said, when the narrative was finished. "You see now how easy it is

to lead you astray! How could you be induced to play the part of a spy, when you know so well what it leads

to? It's only God's protecting care that has saved you again from an act which you would have reproached

yourself for all your life. Your employer's intentions are good now; but they WERE criminal when he ordered

you to follow Madame d'Argeles. Poor woman! She had sacrificed herself for her son, she had concealed

herself from him, and you were working to betray her. Poor creature! how she must have suffered, and how

much I pity her! To be what she is, and to see herself denounced by her own son! I, who am only a poor

Chupin blew his nose so loudly that the windowpanes rattled; this was his way of repressing his emotion

whenever it threatened to overcome him. "You speak like the good mother that you are," he exclaimed at

last," and I'm prouder of you than if you were the handsomest and richest lady in Paris, for you're certainly

the most honest and virtuous; and I should be a thorough scoundrel if I caused you a moment's sorrow. And if

ever I set my foot in such a mess again, I hope some one will cut it off. But for this once"

He went off with a lighter heart; and on reaching the Rue d'Anjou he immediately began his investigations.

They were not successful at first. At every house where he made inquiries nobody had any knowledge of the

Viscount de Coralth. He had visited half the buildings in the street, when he reached one of the handsomest

houses, in front of which stood a cart laden with plants and flowers. An old man, who seemed to be the

concierge, and a valet in a red waistcoat, were removing the plants from the vehicle and arranging them in a

line under the porte cochere. As soon as the cart was emptied, it drove away, whereupon Chupin stepped

forward, and addressing the concierge, asked: "Does the Viscount de Coralth live here?"

Having foreseen this question, Chupin had prepared a reply. "I certainly don't come to call on him," he

answered. "My reason for inquiring is this: just now, as I passed near the Madeleine, a very elegant lady

called me, and said: 'M. de Coralth lives in the Rue d'Anjou, but I've forgotten the number. I can't go about

from door to door making inquiries, so if you'll go there and ascertain his address for me, I'll give you five

Profiting by his old Parisian experience, Chupin had chosen such a clever excuse that both his listeners

heartily laughed. "Well, Father Moulinet," cried the servant in the red waistcoat, "what do you say to that?

"Is there any lady who's likely to send such flowers as these to YOU?" was the response.

Chupin was about to retire with a bow, when the concierge stopped him. "You accomplish your errands so

well that perhaps you'd be willing to take these flowerpots up to the second floor, if we gave you a glass of

No proposal could have suited Chupin better. Although he was prone to exaggerate his own powers and the

fecundity of his resources, he had not flattered himself with the hope that he should succeed in crossing the

threshold of M. de Coralth's rooms. For, without any great mental effort, he had realized that the servant

arrayed in the red waistcoat was in the viscount's employ, and these flowers were to be carried to his

apartments. However any signs of satisfaction would have seemed singular under the circumstances, and so

"Well, I'll say a whole bottleful. my boy, if that suits you any better," replied the servant, with the charming

goodnature so often displayed by people who are giving other folk's property away.

"Then I'm at your service!" exclaimed Chupin. And, loading himself with a host of flowerpots as skilfully as

if he had been accustomed to handling them all his life, he added: "Now, lead the way."

The valet and the concierge preceded him with empty hands, of course; and, on reaching the second floor,

Chupin had expected to find that M. de Coralth's apartments were handsomer than his own in the Faubourg

Saint Denis; but he had scarcely imagined such luxury as pervaded this establishment. The chandeliers

seemed marvels in his eyes; and the sumptuous chairs and couches eclipsed M. Fortunat's wonderful sofa

completely. "So he no longer amuses himself with petty rascalities," thought Chupin, as he surveyed the

rooms. "Monsieur's working on a grand scale now. Decidedly this mustn't be allowed to continue."

Thereupon he busied himself placing the flowers in the numerous jardinieres scattered about the rooms, as

well as in a tiny conservatory, cleverly contrived on the balcony, and adjoining a little apartment with silk

hangings, that was used as a smoking room. Under the surveillance of the concierge and the valet he was

allowed to visit the whole apartments. He admired the drawingroom, filled to overflowing with costly

trifles; the diningroom, furnished in old oak; the luxurious bedroom with its bed mounted upon a platform,

as if it were a throne, and the library filled with richly bound volumes. Everything was beautiful, sumptuous

and magnificent, and Chupin admired, though he did not envy, this luxury. He said to himself that, if ever he

became rich, his establishment should be quite different. He would have preferred rather more simplicity, a

trifle less satin, velvet, hangings, mirrors and gilding. Still this did not prevent him from going into ecstasies

over each room he entered; and he expressed his admiration so artlessly that the valet, feeling as much

flattered as if he were the owner of the place, took a sort of pride in exhibiting everything.

He showed Chupin the target which the viscount practised at with pistols for an hour every morning; for

Monsieur le Vicomte was a capital marksman, and could lodge eight balls out of ten in the neck of a bottle at

a distance of twenty paces. He also displayed his master's swords; for Monsieur le Vicomte handled side arms

as adroitly as pistols. He took a lesson every day from one of the best fencingmasters in Paris; and his duels

had always terminated fortunately. He also showed the viscount's blue velvet dressing gown, his

furtrimmed slippers, and even his elaborately embroidered nightshirts. But it was the dressingroom that

most astonished and stupefied Chupin. He stood gazing in openmouthed wonder at the immense white

marble table, with its water spigots and its basins, its sponges and boxes, its pots and vials and cups; and he

counted the brushes by the dozenbrushes hard and soft, brushes for the hair, for the beard, for the hands,

and the application of cosmetic to the mustaches and eyebrows. Never had he seen in one collection such a

variety of steel and silver instruments, knives, pincers, scissors, and files. "One might think oneself in a

chiropodist's, or a dentist's establishment," remarked Chupin to the servant. "Does your master use all these

Chupin expressed his feelings with a grimace and an exclamation of mocking wonder. "Ah, well! he must

His listeners laughed heartily; and the concierge, after exchanging a significant glance with the valet, said

sotto voce, "Zounds! it's his business to be a handsome fellow!" The mystery was solved.

While Chupin changed the contents of the jardinieres, and remained upstairs in the intervals between the nine

or ten journeys he made to the portecochere for more flowers, he listened attentively to the conversation

between the concierge and the valet, and heard snatches of sentences that enlightened him wonderfully.

Moreover, whenever a question arose as to placing a plant in one place rather than another, the valet stated as

a conclusive argument that the baroness liked it in such or such a place, or that she would be better pleased

with this or that arrangement, or that he must comply with the instructions she had given him. Chupin was

therefore obliged to conclude that the flowers had been sent here by a baroness who possessed certain rights

He was manoeuvering cleverly in the hope of ascertaining this point, when a carriage was heard driving into

the courtyard below. "Monsieur must have returned!" exclaimed the valet, darting to the window.

Chupin also ran to look out, and saw a very elegant bluelined brougham, drawn by a superb horse, but he

did not perceive the viscount. In point of fact, M. de Coralth was already climbing the stairs, four at a time,

and, a moment later, he entered the room, angrily exclaiming, "Florent, what does this mean? Why have you

Florent was the servant in the red waistcoat. He slightly shrugged his shoulders like a servant who knows too

many of his master's secrets to have anything to fear, and in the calmest possible tone replied, "If the doors

are open, it is only because the baroness has just sent some flowers. On Sunday, too, what a funny idea! And

I have been treating Father Moulinet and this worthy fellow" (pointing to Chupin) "to a glass of wine, to

Fearing recognition, Chupin hid his face as much as possible; but M. de Coralth did not pay the slightest

attention to him. There was a dark frown on his handsome, usually smiling countenance, and his hair was in

great disorder. Evidently enough, something had greatly annoyed him. "I am going out again," he remarked

to his valet, "but first of all I must write two letters which you must deliver immediately."

He passed into the drawingroom as he spoke, and Florent scarcely waited till the door was closed before

uttering an oath. "May the devil take him!" he exclaimed. "Here he sets me on the go again. It is five o'clock,

A sudden hope quickened the throbbings of Chupin's heart. He touched the valet's arm, and in his most

persuasive tone remarked: "I've nothing to do, and as your wine was so good, I'll do your errands for you, if

Chupin's appearance must have inspired confidence, for the servant replied:"WellI don't refusebut

The viscount did not spend much time in writing; he speedily reappeared holding two letters which he flung

upon the table, saying: "One of these is for the baroness. You must deliver it into HER hands or into the

hands of her maidthere will be no answer. You will afterward take the other to the person it is addressed

to, and you must wait for an answer which you will place on my writingtableand make haste." So saying,

the viscount went off as he had enteredon the runand a moment later, his brougham was heard rolling

Florent was crimson with rage. "There," said he, addressing Chupin rather than the concierge, "what did I tell

you? A letter to be placed in madame's own hands or in the hands of her maid, and to be concealed from the

baron, who is on the watch, of course. Naturally no one can execute that commission but myself."

The valet had not yet examined the second letter. He now took it from the table, and glanced at the address.

"Ah," said he, "I can confide this one to you, my good fellow, and it's very fortunate, for it is to be taken to a

place on the other side of the river. Upon my word! masters are strange creatures! You manage your work so

as to have a little leisure, and the moment you think yourself free, pouf!they send you anywhere in creation

without even asking if it suits your convenience. If it hadn't been for you, I should have missed a dinner with

some very charming ladies. But, above all, don't loiter on the way. I don't mind paying your omnibus fare if

you like. And you heard him say there would be an answer. You can give it to Moulinet, and in exchange,

he'll give you fifteen sous for your trouble, and six sous for your omnibus fare. Besides, if you can extract

anything from the party the letter's intended for, you are quite welcome to it."

"Agreed, sir! Grant me time enough to give an answer to the lady who is waiting at the Madeleine, and I'm on

"Here it is, said the valet, handing it to Chupin. But as the latter glanced at the address he turned deadly pale,

and his eyes almost started from their sockets. For this is what he read: "Madame Paul. Dealer in Tobacco.

Quai de la Seine." Great as was his selfcontrol, his emotion was too evident to escape notice. "What's the

matter with you?" asked the concierge and the valet in the same breath. "What has happened to you?"

A powerful effort of will restored this young fellow's coolness, and ready in an instant with an excuse for his

blunder, he replied, "I have changed my mind. What! you'd only give me fifteen sous to measure such a

His explanation was accepted without demur. His listeners thought he was only taking advantage of the need

they had of his services as was perfectly natural under the circumstances. "What! So you are dissatisfied!"

"So I will, at once," replied Chupin. And, imitating the whistle of a locomotive with wonderful perfection, he

However, when he was some twenty yards from the house he stopped short, glanced around him, and espying

a dark corner slipped into it. "That fool in the red waistcoat will be coming out to take the letter to that

famous baroness," he thought. "I'm here, and I'll watch him and see where he goes. I should like to find out

the name of the kind and charitable lady who watches over his brigand of a master with such tender care."

The day and the hour were in his favor. Night was coming on, hastened by a thick fog; the street lamps were

not yet lighted, and as it was Sunday most of the shops were closed. It grew dark so rapidly that Chupin was

scarcely able to recognize Florent when he at last emerged from the house. It is true that he looked altogether

unlike the servant in the red waistcoat. As he had the key to the wardrobe containing his master's clothes, he

did not hesitate to use them whenever an opportunity offered. On this occasion he had appropriated a pair of

those delicately tinted trousers which were M. de Coralth's specialty, with a handsome overcoat, a trifle too

"Fine doings, indeed!" growled Chupin as he started in pursuit. "My servants sha'n't serve me in that way if I

But he paused in his soliloquy, and prudently hid himself under a neighboring gateway. The gorgeous Florent

was ringing at the door of one of the most magnificent mansions in the Rue de la Ville l'Eveque. The door

was opened, and he went in. "Ah! ah!" thought Chupin, "he hadn't far to go. The viscount and the baroness

are shrewd. When you have flowers to send to anybody it's convenient to be neighbors!"

He glanced round, and seeing an old man smoking his pipe on the threshold of a shop, he approached him

"Thank you, monsieur," replied Chupin, gravely. "I inquired, because I think of buying a house "And

repeating the name of Trigault several times to impress it upon his memory he darted off on his errand.

It might be supposed that his unexpected success had delighted him, but, on the contrary, it rendered him

even more exacting. The letter he carried burned his pocket like a redhot iron. "Madame Paul," he muttered,

"that must be the rascal's wife. First, Paul is his Christian name; secondly, I've been told that his wife keeps a

tobacco shopso the case is plain. But the strangest thing about it is that this husband and wife should write

to each other, when I fancied them at dagger's ends." Chupin would have given a pint of his own blood to

know the contents of the missive. The idea of opening it occurred to him, and it must be confessed that it was

not a feeling of delicacy that prevented him. He was deterred by a large seal which had been carefully

affixed, and which would plainly furnish evidence if the letter were tampered with. Thus Chupin was

punished for Florent's faults, for this seal was the viscount's' invariable precaution against his servant's prying

curiosity. So our enterprising youth could only read and reread the superscription and smell the paper,

which was strongly scented with verbena. He fancied that there was some mysterious connection between

this letter intended for M. de Coralth's wife and the missive sent to the baroness. And why should it not be

so? Had they not both been written under the influence of anger? Still he failed to perceive any possible

connection between the rich baroness and the poor tobacco dealer, and his cogitations only made him more

perplexed than ever. However, his efforts to solve the mystery did not interfere with the free use of his limbs,

and he soon found himself on the Quai de la Seine. "Here I am," he muttered. "I've come more quickly than

The Quai de la Seine is a broad road, connecting the Rue de Flandres with the canal de l'Ourcq. On the

lefthand side it is bordered with miserable shanties interspersed with some tiny shops, and several huge coal

depots. On the righthand sidethat next to the canalthere are also a few provision stores. In the daytime

there is no noisier nor livelier place than this same Quai; but nothing could be more gloomy at nighttime

when the shops are closed, when the few gaslamps only increase the grimness of the shadows, and when the

only sound that breaks the silence is the rippling of the water as its smooth surface is ruffled by some

"The Viscount must certainly have made a mistake," thought Chupin; "there is no such shop on the Quai." He

was wrong, however; for after passing the Rue de Soissons he espied the red lantern of a tobaccoshop,

Having almost reached the goal, Chupin slackened his pace. He approached the shop very cautiously and

peered inside, deeming it prudent to reconnoitre a little before he went in. And certainly there was nothing to

prevent a prolonged scrutiny. The night was very dark, the quay deserted. No one was to be seen; not a sound

broke the stillness. The darkness, the surroundings, and the silence were sinister enough to make even Chupin

shudder, though he was usually as thoroughly at home in the loneliest and most dangerous byways of Paris

as an honest man of the middle classes would be in the different apartments of his modest household. "That

scoundrel's wife must have less than a hundred thousand a year if she takes up her abode here!" thought

And, in fact, nothing could be more repulsive than the tenement in which Madame Paul had installed herself.

It was but one story high, and built of clay, and it had fallen to ruin to such an extent that it had been found

necessary to prop it up with timber, and to nail some old boards over the yawning fissures in the walls. "If I

lived here, I certainly shouldn't feel quite at ease on a windy day," continued Chupin, sotto voce.

The shop itself was of a fair size, but most wretched in its appointments, and disgustingly dirty. The floor was

covered with that black and glutinous coaldust which forms the soil of the Quai de la Seine. An auctioneer

would have sold the entire stock and fixtures for a few shillings. Four stone jars, and a couple of pairs of

scales, a few odd tumblers, filled with pipes and packets of cigarettes, some wineglasses, and three or four

labelled bottles, five or six boxes of cigars, and as many packages of musty tobacco, constituted the entire

As Chupin compared this vile den with the viscount's luxurious abode, his blood fairly boiled in his veins.

"He ought to be shot for this, if for nothing else," he muttered through his set teeth. "To let his wife die of

starvation here!" For it was M. de Coralth's wife who kept this shop. Chupin, who had seen her years before,

recognized her now as she sat behind her counter, although she was cruelly changed. "That's her," he

He had used her maiden name in speaking of her. Poor woman! She was undoubtedly still youngbut

sorrow, regret, and privations, days spent in hard work to earn a miserable subsistence, and nights spent in

weeping, had made her old, haggard, and wrinkled before her time. Of her once remarkable beauty naught

remained but her hair, which was still magnificent, though it was in wild disorder, and looked as if it had not

been touched by a comb for weeks; and her big black eyes, which gleamed with the phosphorescent and

destructive brilliancy of fever. Everything about her person bespoke terrible reverses, borne without dignity.

Even if she had struggled at first, it was easy to see that she struggled no longer. Her attireher torn and

soiled silk dress, and her dirty caprevealed thorough indolence, and that morbid indifference which at

"Such is life," thought Chupin, philosophically. "Here's a girl who was brought up like a queen and allowed

to have her own way in everything! If any one had predicted this in those days, how she would have sneered!

I can see her now as she looked that day when I met her driving her gray ponies. If people didn't clear the

road it was so much the worse for them! In those times Paris was like some great shop where she could select

whatever she chose. She said: 'I want this,' and she got it. She saw a handsome young fellow and wanted him

for her husband; her father, who could refuse her nothing, consented, and now behold the result!"

He had lingered longer at the window than he had meant to do, perhaps because he could see that the young

woman was talking with some person in a back room, the door of which stood open. Chupin tried to find out

who this person was, but he did not succeed; and he was about to go in when suddenly he saw Madame Paul

rise from her seat and say a few words with an air of displeasure. And this time her eyes, instead of turning to

the open door, were fixed on a part of the shop directly opposite her. "Is there some one there as well, then?"

He changed his post of observation, and, by standing on tiptoe, he succeeded in distinguishing a puny little

boy, some three or four years old, and clad in rags, who was playing with the remnants of a toyhorse. The

sight of this child increased Chupin's indignation. "So there's a child?" he growled. "The rascal not only

deserts his wife, but he leaves his child to starve! We may as well make a note of that: and when we settle up

our accounts, he shall pay dearly for his villainy." With this threat he brusquely entered the shop.

"Then this is for you." And he handed her the missive which Florent had confided to his care.

Madame Paul took hold of it with some hesitation, eying the messenger suspiciously meanwhile; but, on

seeing the handwriting, she uttered a cry of surprise. And, turning toward the open door, she called, "M.

A baldheaded, corpulent man, who looked some fifty years of age, now timidly emerged from the room

behind the shop with a cap in his hand. "Ah, well! my dear child," he said, in an oily voice, "what was I

However she had already broken the seal, and she was now reading the letter eagerly, clapping her hands

with delight as she finished its perusal. "He consents!" she exclaimed. "He's frightenedhe begs me to wait

But M. Mouchon could not read without his spectacles, and he lost at least two minutes in searching his

pockets before he found them. And when they were adjusted, the light was so dim that it took him at least

three minutes more to decipher the missive. Chupin had spent this time in scrutinizingin appraising the

man, as it were. "What is this venerable gentleman doing here?" he thought. "He's a middle class man, that's

evident from his linen. He's marriedthere's a weddingring on his finger; he has a daughter, for the ends of

his necktie are embroidered. He lives in the neighborhood, for, well dressed as he is, he wears a cap. But what

Meanwhile M. Mouchon had finished reading the letter. "What did I tell you?" he said complacently.

"Yes, you were right!" answered Madame Paul as she took up the letter and read it again with her eyes

"No, no!" exclaimed the elderly gentleman, in evident dismay. "You must strike the iron while it's hot."

"Tell him" But he stopped short, calling her attention with a gesture to the messenger, whose eyes were

She understood. So filling a glass with some liquor, she placed it before Chupin, and offered him a cigar,

saying: "Take a seat here's something to keep you from feeling impatient while you wait here." Thereupon

Even if Chupin had not possessed the precocious penetration he owed to his life of adventure, the young

woman and the old gentleman had said enough to enable him to form a correct estimate of the situation. He

was certain now that he knew the contents of the letter as perfectly as if he had read it. M. de Coralth's anger,

and his order to make haste, were both explained. Moreover, Chupin distinctly saw what connection there

was between the letter to the baroness and the letter to Madame Paul. He understood that one was the natural

consequence of the other. Deserted by her husband, Madame Paul had at last become weary of poverty and

privations. She had instituted a search for her husband, and, having found him, she had written to him in this

style: "I consent to abstain from interfering with you, but only on conditions that you provide means of

subsistence for me, your lawfully wedded wife, and for your child. If you refuse, I shall urge my claims, and

ruin you. The scandal won't be of much use to me, it's true, but at least I shall no longer be obliged to endure

the torture of knowing that you are surrounded by every luxury while I am dying of starvation."

Yes, she had evidently written that. It might not be the precise text; but no doubt it was the purport of her

letter. On receiving it, Coralth had become alarmed. He knew only too well that if his wife made herself

known and revealed his past, it would be all over with him. But he had no money. Charming young men like

the Viscount de Coralth never have any money on hand. So, in this emergency, the dashing young fellow had

written to his wife imploring her to have patience, and to the baroness, entreating, or rather commanding her

This was no doubt the case, and yet there was one circumstance which puzzled Chupin exceedingly. In

former years, he had heard it asserted that Mademoiselle Flavie was the very personification of pride, and that

she adored her husband even to madness. Had this great love vanished? Had poverty and sorrow broken her

spirit to such a degree that she was willing to stoop to such shameful concessions! If she were acquainted

with her husband's present life, how did it happen that she did not prefer starvation, or the almshouse and a

pauper's grave to his assistance? Chupin could understand how, in a moment of passion, she might be driven

to denounce her husband in the presence of his fashionable acquaintances, how she might be impelled to ruin

him so as to avenge herself; but he could not possibly understand how she could consent to profit by the

ignominy of the man she loved. "The plan isn't hers," said Chupin to himself, after a moment's reflection. "It's

There was a means of verifying his suspicions, for on returning into the adjoining room, Madame Paul had

not taken her son with her. He was still sitting on the muddy floor of the shop, playing with his dilapidated

The child rose, and timidly approached, his eyes dilating with distrust and astonishment. The poor boy's

repulsive uncleanliness was a terrible charge against the mother. Did she no longer love her own offspring?

The untidiness of sorrow and poverty has its bounds. A long time must have passed since the child's face and

hands had been washed, and his soiled clothes were literally falling to rags. Still, he was a handsome little

fellow, and seemed fairly intelligent, in spite of his bashfulness. He was very lighthaired, and in features he

was extremely like M. de Coralth. Chupin took him on his knees, and, after looking to see if the door

communicating with the inner room were securely closed, he asked: "What's your name, little chap?"

The child did not reply; perhaps his mother had forbidden him to say anything on the subjectperhaps that

instinct which precedes intelligence, just as the dawn precedes daylight, warned him to be prudent with a

"I don't know. But he'll come some day, and take us away with him to a large house. We shall be all right,

then; and he will give us a deal of money and pretty dresses, and I shall have plenty of toys."

Satisfied on this point, Chupin, pushed his investigations farther. "And do you know this old gentleman who

"He's the gentleman who owns that beautiful garden at the corner of the Rue Riquet, where there are such

It would have been an abominable act to continue this examination, and make this child the innocent accuser

of his own mother. Chupin felt consciencesmitten even now. So he kissed the cleanest spot he could find on

The child had revealed his mother's character with cruel precision. What had she told him about his father?

That he was rich, and that, in case he returned, he would give them plenty of money and fine clothes. The

woman's nature stood revealed in all its deformity. Chupin had good cause to feel proud of his

discernmentall his suppositions had been confirmed. He had read Mouchon's character at a glance. He had

recognized him as one of those wily evilminded men who employ their leisure to the profit of their

depravityone of those patient, coldblooded hypocrites who make poverty their purveyor, and whose

passion is prodigal only in advice. "So he's paying his court to Madame Paul," thought Chupin. "Isn't it

So far his preoccupation had made him forget his wine and his cigar. He emptied the glass at a single draught,

but it proved far more difficult to light the cigar. "Zounds! this is a non combustible," he growled. "When I

However, with the help of several matches and a great deal of drawing, he had almost succeeded, when the

door opened, and Madame Paul reappeared with a letter in her hand. She seemed greatly agitated; her anxiety

was unmistakable. "I can't decide," she was saying to Mouchon, whose figure Chupin could only dimly

distinguish in the darkness. "No, I can't. If I send this letter, I must forever renounce all hope of my husband's

"He can't treat you worse than he does now, at all events," replied the old gentleman. "Besides, a gloved cat

"The man who wants his dog to love him, beats it; and, besides, when the wine is drawn, one must drink it."

This singular logic seemed to decide her. She handed the letter to Chupin, and drawing a franc from her

He involuntarily held out his hand to take the money, but quickly withdrew it, exclaiming: "No, thank you;

Chupin's motherhis poor good mother, as he called herwould certainly have felt proud and delighted at

her son's disinterestedness. That very morning, he had refused the ten francs a day that M. Fortunat had

offered him, and this evening he declined the twenty sous proffered him by Madame Paul. This was

apparently a trifle, and yet in reality it was something marvellous, unprecedented, on the part of this poor lad,

who, having neither trade nor profession, was obliged to earn his daily bread through the medium of those

chance opportunities which the lower classes of Paris are continually seeking. As he returned to the Rue de

Flandres, he muttered: "Take twenty sous from that poor creature, who hasn't had enough to satisfy her

It is only just to say that money had never given him a feeling of satisfaction at all comparable with that

which he now experienced. He was impressed, too, with a sense of vastlyincreased importance on thinking

that all the faculties, and all the energy he had once employed in the service of evil, were now consecrated to

the service of good. By becoming the instrument of Pascal Ferailleur's salvation he would, in some measure,

Chupin's mind was so busily occupied with these thoughts that he reached the Rue d'Anjou and M. de

Coralth's house almost before he was aware of it. To his great surprise, the concierge and his wife were not

alone. Florent was there, taking coffee with them. The valet had divested himself of his borrowed finery, and

had donned his red waistcoat again. He seemed to be in a savage humor; and his anger was not at all strange

under the circumstances. There was but a step from M. de Coralth's house to the baroness's residence, but

fatalities may attend even a step! The baroness, on receiving the letter from her maid, had sent a message to

Florent requesting him to wait, as she desired to speak with him! and she had been so inconsiderate as to keep

him waiting for more than an hour, so that he had missed his appointment with the charming ladies he had

spoken of. In his despair he had returned home to seek consolation in the society of his friend the concierge.

"Yes, here it is," replied Chupin, and Florent had just slipped the letter into his pocket, and was engaged in

counting out the thirty sous which he had promised his messenger, when the familiar cry, "Open, please," was

M. de Coralth had returned. He sprang to the ground as soon as the carriage entered the courtyard, and on

"She made me wait two hours to tell me that the viscount need not be worried in the least; that she would

M. de Coralth seemed to breathe more freely. "And the other party?" he inquired.

The viscount seized the missive, with an eager hand, tore it open, read it at one glance, and flew into such a

paroxysm of passion that he quite forgot those around him, and began to tear the letter, and utter a string of

oaths which would have astonished a cabdriver. But suddenly realizing his imprudence, he mastered his

rage, and exclaimed, with a forced laugh: "Ah! these women! they are enough to drive one mad!" And

deeming this a sufficient explanation, he added, addressing Florent. "Come and undress me; I must be up

This remark was not lost upon Chupin, and at seven o'clock the next morning he mounted guard at M. de

Coralth's door. All through the day he followed the viscount about, first to the Marquis de Valorsay's, then to

the office of a business agent, then to M. Wilkie's, then, in the afternoon, to Baroness Trigault's, and finally,

in the evening, to the house of Madame d'Argeles. Here, by making himself useful to the servants, by his zeal

in opening and shutting the doors of the carriages that left the house, he succeeded in gathering some

information concerning the frightful scene which had taken place between the mother and the son. He

perceived M. Wilkie leave the house with his clothes in disorder, and subsequently he saw the viscount

emerge. He followed him, first to the house of the Marquis de Valorsay, and afterward to M. Wilkie's rooms,

Thus, when Chupin presented himself in M. Fortunat's office at two o'clock on the Tuesday afternoon, he felt

that he held every possible clue to the shameful intrigue which would ruin the viscount as soon as it was

M. Fortunat knew that his agent was shrewd, but he had not done justice to his abilities; and it was, indeed,

with something very like envy that he listened to Chupin's clear and circumstantial report. "I have not been as

successful," he remarked, when Chupin's story was ended. But he had not time to explain how or why, for

just as he was about to do so, Madame Dodelin appeared, and announced that the young lady he expected was

Mademoiselle Marguerite had not been compelled to resort to any subterfuge to make her escape from

Madame de Fondege's house. The General had decamped early in the morning to try his horses and his

carriages, announcing, moreover, that he would breakfast at the club. And as soon as her breakfast was

concluded, Madame de Fondege had hurried off to her dressmaker's, warning the household that she would

not return before dinnertime. A little while later, Madame Leon had suddenly remembered that her noble

relative would certainly be expecting a visit from her, and so she dressed herself in haste, and went off, first

Thus, Mademoiselle Marguerite had been able to make her escape without attracting any one's attention, and

she would be able to remain away as many hours as she chose, since the servants would not know how long

she had been absent even if they saw her when she returned. An empty cab was passing as she left the house,

so she hailed it and got in. The step she was about to take cost her a terrible effort. It was a difficult task for

her, a girl naturally so reserved, to confide in a stranger, and open to him her maidenly heart, filled with love

for Pascal Ferailleur! Still, she was much calmer than she had been on the previous evening, when she called

on the photographer for a facsimile of M. de Valorsay's letter. Several circumstances combined to reassure

her. M. Fortunat knew her already, since he was the agent whom the Count de Chalusse had employed to

carry on the investigations which had resulted in her discovery at the foundling asylum. A vague

presentiment told her that this man was better acquainted with her past life than she was herself, and that he

could, if he chose, tell her her mother's namethe name of the woman whom the count so dreaded, and who

had so pitilessly deserted her. However, her heart beat more quickly, and she felt that she was turning pale

when, at Madame Dodelin's invitation, she at last entered M. Fortunat's private office. She took in the room

and its occupants with a single glance. The handsome appointments of the office surprised her, for she had

expected to see a den. The agent's polite manner and rather elegant appearance disconcerted her, for she had

expected to meet a coarse and illiterate boor; and finally, Victor Chupin, who was standing twisting his cap

near the fireplace, attired in a blouse and a pair of ragged trousers, fairly alarmed her. Still, no sign of her

agitation was perceptible on her countenance. Not a muscle of her beautiful, proud face movedher glance

remained clear and haughty, and she exclaimed in a ringing voice: "I am the late Count de Chalusse's ward,

M. Fortunat bowed with all the grace of manner he was wont to display in the circles where he went

wifehunting, and with a somewhat pretentious gesture he advanced an armchair, and asked his visitor to sit

down. "Your letter reached me, mademoiselle," he replied, "and I was expecting youflattered and honored

beyond expression by your confidence. My door, indeed, was closed to any one but you."

Marguerite took the proffered seat, and there was a moment's silence. M. Fortunat found it difficult to believe

that this beautiful, imposing young girl could be the poor little apprentice whom he had seen in the

bookbindery, years before, clad in a coarse serge frock, with dishevelled hair covered with scraps of paper.

In the meantime, Marguerite was regretting the necessity of confiding in this man, for the more she looked at

him, the more she was convinced that he was not an honest, straightforward person; and she would infinitely

have preferred a cynical scoundrel to this plausible and polite gentleman, whom she strongly suspected of

being a hypocrite. She remained silent, waiting for M. Fortunat to dismiss the young man in the blouse,

whose presence she could not explain, and who stood in a sort of mute ecstasy, staring at her with eyes

expressive of the most intense surprise and the liveliest admiration. But weary at last of this fruitless delay,

she exclaimed: "I have come, monsieur, to confer with you respecting certain matters which require the most

Chupin understood her, for he blushed to the tips of his ears, and started as if to leave the room. But his

"Remain, Victor," he said kindly, and, turning to Mademoiselle Marguerite, he added: "You have no

indiscretion to fear from this worthy fellow, mademoiselle. He knows everything, and he has already been

M. Fortunat smiled sweetly. "I have already taken your business in hand, mademoiselle," said he. "An hour

"I fancied I might conclude that you wished the help of my experience and poor ability in clearing an

Marguerite sprang to her feet, at once agitated and alarmed. "How did you know this?" she exclaimed.

M. Fortunat had left his armchair, and was now leaning against the mantelshelf, in what he considered a

most becoming and awe inspiring attitude, with his thumb in the armhole of his waistcoat. "Ah! nothing

could be more simple," he answered, in much the same tone as a conqueror might assume to explain his feat.

"It is part of my profession to penetrate the intentions of persons who deign to honor me with their

confidence. So my surmises are correct; at least you have not said the contrary?"

She had said nothing. When her first surprise was over, she vainly endeavored to find a plausible explanation

of M. Fortunat's acquaintance with her affairs, for she was not at all deceived by his pretended perspicacity.

Meanwhile, delighted by the supposed effect he had produced, he recklessly continued: "Reserve your

amazement for what I am about to disclose, for I have made several important discoveries. It must have been

your good angel who inspired you with the idea of coming to me. You would have shuddered if you had

realized the dangers that threatened you. But now you have nothing to fear; I am watching. I am here, and I

hold in my hand all the threads of the abominable intrigue for ruining you. For it is you, your person, and

your fortune that are imperilled. It was solely on your account that M. Ferailleur was attacked. And I can tell

you the names of the scoundrels who ruined him. The crime originated with the person who had the most

powerful interest in the matterthe Marquis de Valorsay. His agent was a scoundrel who is generally known

as the Viscount de Coralth; but Chupin here can tell you his real name and his shameful past. You preferred

M. Ferailleur, hence it was necessary to put him out of the way. M. de Chalusse had promised your hand to

the Marquis de Valorsay. This marriage was Valorsay's only resourcethe plank that might save the

drowning man. People fancy he is rich; but he is ruined. Yes, ruined completely, irretrievably. He was in such

desperate straits that he had almost determined to blow his brains out before the hope of marrying you

This was indeed the case. The name of Valorsay was quite sufficient to set all M. Fortunat's bile in motion.

All thought of his exclient irritated him beyond endurance. Unfortunately for him, however, his anger in the

present instance had ruined his plans. He had intended to take Mademoiselle Marguerite by surprise, to work

upon her imagination, to make her talk without saying anything himself, and to remain master of the

situation. But on the contrary he had revealed everything; and he did not discover this until it was too late to

retrieve his blunder. "How the Marquis de Valorsay has kept his head above water is a wonder to me," he

continued. "His creditors have been threatening to sue him for more than six months. How he has been able

to keep them quiet since M. de Chalusse's death, I cannot understand. However, this much is certain,

mademoiselle: the marquis has not renounced his intention of becoming your husband; and to attain that

object he won't hesitate to employ any means that may promise to prove effectual."

Completely mistress of herself, Mademoiselle Marguerite listened with an impassive face. "I know all this,"

"Yes; but there is one thing that baffles my powers of comprehension. My dowry was the only temptation to

M. de Valorsay, was it not? Why does he still wish to marry me, now that I have no fortune?"

M. Fortunat had gradually lost all his advantage. "I have asked myself the same question," he replied, "and I

think I have found an answer. I believe that the marquis has in his possession a letter, or a will, or a document

of some sort, written by M. de Chalussein fact an instrument in which the count acknowledges you as his

M. Fortunat explained M. de Valorsay's conduct exactly as the old magistrate had done. However,

Mademoiselle Marguerite discreetly refrained from committing herself. The great interest that M. Fortunat

seemed to take in her affairs aroused her distrust; and she decided to do what he had attempted in vainthat

is, allow him to do all the talking, and to conceal all that she knew herself. "Perhaps you are right," she

"I can prove that Valorsay hasn't a shilling, and that he has lived for a year by expedients which render him

liable to arrest and prosecution at any time. I can prove that he deceived M. de Chalusse as to his financial

position. I can prove that he conspired with M. de Coralth to ruin your lover. Wouldn't this be something?"

She smiled in a way that was exceedingly irritating to his vanity, and in a tone of goodnatured incredulity,

"And to do them," rejoined M. Fortunat, quickly. "I never promise what I cannot perform. A man should

never touch a pen when he is meditating any evil act. Of course, no one is fool enough to write down his

infamy in detail. But a man cannot always be on the qui vive. There will be a word in one letter, a sentence in

another, an allusion in a third. And by combining these words, phrases, and allusions, one may finally

He suddenly checked himself, warned of his fresh imprudence by the expression on Mademoiselle

Marguerite's face. She drew back, and looking him full in the eyes, she exclaimed: "Then you have been in

M. de Valorsay's confidence, sir? Would you be willing to swear that you never helped him in his designs?"

A silent and ignored witness of this scene, Victor Chupin was secretly delighted. "Hit!" he thought"hit just

in the bull's eye. Zounds! there's a woman for you! She has beaten the guv'nor on every point."

M. Fortunat was so taken by surprise that he made no attempt to deny his guilt. "I confess that I acted as M.

de Valorsay's adviser for some time," he replied, "and he frequently spoke to me of his intention of marrying

a rich wife in order to retrieve his shattered fortunes. Upon my word, I see nothing so very bad about that! It

is not a strictly honest proceeding, perhaps, but it is done every day. What is marriage in this age? Merely a

business transaction, is it not? Perhaps it would be more correct to say that it is a transaction in which one

person tries to cheat the other. The fathersinlaw are deceived, or the husband, or the wife, and sometimes

all of them together. But when I discovered this scheme for mining M. Ferailleur, I cried 'halt!' My

conscience revolted at that. Dishonor an innocent man! It was base, cowardly, outrageous! And not being

Would Mademoiselle Marguerite accept this explanation? Chupin feared so, and accordingly turning quickly

to his employer, he remarked: "To say nothing of the fact that this fine gentleman has swindled you

outrageously, shrewd as you arecheating you out of the forty thousand francs you lent him, and which he

M. Fortunat cast a withering look at his clerk, but the mischief was done: denial was useless. He seemed fated

to blunder in this affair. "Well, yes," he declared, "it's true. Valorsay HAS defrauded me, and I have sworn to

Mademoiselle Marguerite was partially reassured, for she understood his zeal now. Her scorn for the man

was only increased; but she was convinced that he would serve her faithfully. "I like this much better," said

she. "It is better to have no concealment. You desire M. de Valorsay's ruin. I desire the rehabilitation of M.

Ferailleur. So our interests are in common. But before acting in this matter, we must know M. Ferailleur's

"Because no one knows what has become of him. When the desire for revenge first took possession of me, I

at once thought of him. I procured his address, and went to the Rue d'Ulm. But he had gone away. The very

day after his misfortune, M. Ferailleur sold his furniture and went away with his mother."

"I am aware of that, and I have come to ask you to search for him. To discover his hidingplace will be only

"Do you suppose I haven't thought of this?" replied M. Fortunat. "Why, I spent all day yesterday searching

for him. By questioning the people in the neighborhood I finally succeeded in ascertaining that Madame

Ferailleur left her home in a cab several hours after her son, and took a very large quantity of baggage with

her. Well, do you know where she drove? To the Western railway station. I am sure of this, and I know she

told a porter there that her destination was London. M. Ferailleur is now en route for America, and we shall

"I don't question the result of your investigations, but appearances are deceitful. I thoroughly understand M.

Ferailleur's character, and he is not the man to be crushed by an infamous calumny. He may seem to fly, he

may disappear, he may conceal himself for a time, but it is only to make his vengeance more certain. What!

Pascal, who is energy itself, who possesses an iron will, and invincible determination, would he renounce his

honor, his future, and the woman he loves without a struggle? If he had felt that his case was hopeless, he

would have destroyed himself, and as he has not done so, he is not without hope. He has not left Paris; I am

M. Fortunat was not convinced. In his opinion this was only sentiment and rubbish. Still there was one person

present who was deeply impressed by the confidence of this young girl, who was the most beautiful creature

he had ever seen, and whose devotion and energy filled his heart with admiration, and this person was

Chupin. He stepped forward with his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, and in a feeling voice he exclaimed: "I

understand your idea! Yes, M. Ferailleur is in Paris. And I shall be unworthy of the name of Chupin, if I don't

Mademoiselle Marguerite knew Pascal Ferailleur. Suddenly struck down in the full sunlight of happiness by a

terrible misfortune, he, of course, experienced moments of frenzy and terrible depression; but he was

Mademoiselle Marguerite only did him justice when she said that the sole condition on which he could

consent to live was that of consecrating his life, and all his strength, intelligence and will to confounding this

infamous calumny. And still she did not know the extent of Pascal's misfortune. How could she suppose that

he believed himself deserted by her? How could she know the doubts and fears and the anguish that had been

roused in his heart by the note which Madame Leon had given him at the garden gate? What did she know of

the poignant suspicions that had rent his mind, after listening to Madame Vantrasson's disparaging

It must be admitted that he was indebted to his mother alone for his escape from suicidethat grim madness

that seizes hold of so many desperate, despairing men. And it was still to his mother the incomparable

guardian of his honorthat he owed his resolution on the morning he applied to Baron Trigault. And his

He was no longer the same man when he left the princely mansion which he had entered with his heart so full

of anguish. He was still somewhat bewildered with the strange scenes which he had involuntarily witnessed,

the secrets he had overheard, and the revelations which had been made to him; but a light gleamed on the

horizona fitful and uncertain light, it is true, but nevertheless a hopeful gleam. At least, he would no longer

have to struggle alone. An honest and experienced man, powerful by reason of his reputation, his connections

and his fortune, had promised him his help. Thanks to this man whom misfortune had made a truer friend

than years could have done, he would have access to the wretch who had deprived him both of his honor and

of the woman he loved. He knew the weak spot in the marquis's armor now; he knew where and how to

strike, and he felt sure that he should succeed in winning Valorsay's confidence, and in obtaining irrefutable

Pascal was eager to inform his mother of the fortunate result of his visit, but certain arrangements which were

needful for the success of his plans required his attention, and it was nearly five o'clock when he reached the

Route de la Revolte. Madame Ferailleur was just returning home when he arrived, which surprised him

considerably, for he had not known that she had intended going out. The cab she had used was still standing

before the door, and she had not had time to take off her shawl and bonnet when he entered the house. She

uttered a joyful cry on perceiving her son. She was so accustomed to read his secret thoughts on his face, that

it was unnecessary for him to say a word; before he had even opened his lips, she cried: "So you have

"I was not deceived, then, in the worthy man who came to offer us his assistance?"

"No, certainly not. Do what I may, I can never repay him for his generosity and selfdenial. If you knew, my

He kissed her as if he wished to apologize for what he was about to say, and then he quickly replied:

Madame Ferailleur started back, as if she had seen a reptile spring up in her pathway. "The daughter of the

"It is the truth, mother; listen to me." And in a voice that trembled with emotion, he rapidly related all he had

learned by his visit to the baron, softening the truth as much as he could without concealing it. But

prevarication was useless. Madame Ferailleur's indignation and disgust were none the less evident. "That

woman is a shameless creature," she said, coldly, when her son's narrative was concluded.

Pascal made no reply. He knew only too well that his mother was right, and yet it wounded him cruelly to

hear her speak in this style. For the baroness was Marguerite's mother after all.

"So," continued Madame Ferailleur, with increasing indignation, "creatures do exist who are destitute even of

the maternal instincts of animals. I am an honest woman myself; I don't say it in selfglorification, it's no

credit to me; my mother was a saint, and I loved my husband; what some people call duty was my happiness,

so I may be allowed to speak on this subject. I don't excuse infidelity, but I can understand how such a thing

is possible. Yes, I can understand how a beautiful young woman, who is left alone in a city like Paris, may

lose her senses, and forget the worthy man who has exiled himself for her sake, and who is braving a

thousand dangers to win a fortune for her. The husband who exposes his honor and happiness to such terrible

risk, is an imprudent man. But when this woman has erred, when she has given birth to a child, how she can

abandon it, how she can cast it off as if it were a dog, I cannot comprehend. I could imagine infanticide more

easily. No, such a woman has no heart, no bowels of compassion. There is nothing human in her! For how

could she live, how could she sleep with the thought that somewhere in the world her own child, the flesh of

her flesh, was exposed to all the temptations of poverty, and the horrors of shame and vice? And she, the

possessor of millions, she, the inmate of a palace, thinking only of dress and pleasure! How was it that she

didn't ask herself every minute, 'Where is my daughter now, and what is she doing? What is she living on?

Has she shelter, clothes and food? To what depths of degradation she may have sunk? Perhaps she has so far

lived by honest toil, and perhaps at this very moment this support fails her, and she is abandoning herself to a

life of infamy.' Great God! how does this woman dare to step out of doors? On seeing the poor wretches who

have been driven to vice by want, how can she fail to say to herself: 'That, perhaps, is my daughter!'"

Pascal turned pale, moved to the depths of his soul by his mother's extraordinary vehemence. He trembled

lest she should say: "And you, my son, would you marry the child of such a mother?" For he knew his

mother's prejudices, and the great importance she attached to a spotless reputation transmitted from parent to

child, from generation to generation. "The baroness knew that her husband adored her, and hearing of his

return she became terrified; she lost her senses," he ventured to say in extenuation.

"Would you try to defend her?" exclaimed Madame Ferailleur. "Do you really think one can atone for a fault

"Perhaps you would censure the baroness more severely if you knew what her daughter has sufferedif you

knew the perils and miseries she has been exposed to from the moment her mother left her on a doorstep,

near the central markets, till the day when her father found her. It is a miracle that she did not perish."

Where had Madame Ferailleur learned these particulars? Pascal asked himself this question without being

"Then you know nothing of Mademoiselle Marguerite's past life. Is it possible she never told you anything

"She has only told me that she earned her living with her own hands at one time of her life."

"Yes; II have been to the asylum where she was received and educated. I have had a conversation with two

Sisters of Charity who remember her, and it is scarcely an hour since I left the people to whom she was

Standing opposite his mother with one hand convulsively clutching the back of the chair he was leaning on,

Pascal tried to nerve himself for some terrible blow. For was not his life at stake? Did not his whole future

depend upon the revelations Madame Ferailleur was about to make?" So this was your object in going out,

"Was it necessary? What! you love a young girl, you swear in my presence that she shall be your wife, and

you think it strange that I should try to ascertain whether she is worthy of you or not? It would be very

Madame Ferailleur gave an almost imperceptible shrug of the shoulders, as if she were astonished to have to

answer such puerile objections. "Have you already forgotten the disparaging remarks made by our new

"I understood her base insinuations as well as you did, and after your departure I questioned her, or rather I

allowed her to tell her story, and I ascertained that Mademoiselle Marguerite had once been an apprentice of

Vantrasson's brotherinlaw, a man named Greloux, who was formerly a bookbinder in the Rue SaintDenis,

but who has now retired from business. It was there that Vantrasson met Mademoiselle Marguerite, and this

is why he was so greatly surprised to see her doing the mistress at the Hotel de Chalusse."

"By a little tact I obtained the Greloux's address from Madame Vantrasson," resumed his mother. "Then I

"Yes; thanks to a falsehood which doesn't trouble my conscience much, I succeeded in effecting an entrance,

and had an hour's conversation with them." His mother's icy tones frightened Pascal. Her slowness tortured

him, and still he dared not press her. "The Greloux family," she continued, "seem to be what are called

worthy people, that is, incapable of committing any crime that is punishable by the code, and very proud of

their income of seven thousand francs a year. They must have been very much attached to Mademoiselle

Marguerite, for they were lavish in their protestations of affection when I mentioned her name. The husband

"As for the wife, it was easy to see that she had sincerely regretted the loss of the best apprentice, the most

honest servant, and the best worker she had ever seen in her life. And yet, from her own story, I should be

willing to swear that she had abused the poor child, and had made a slave of her." Tears glittered in Pascal's

eyes, but he breathed freely once more. "As for Vantrasson," resumed Madame Ferailleur, "it is certain that

he took a violent fancy to his sister's apprentice. This man, who has since become an infamous scoundrel,

was then only a rake, an unprincipled drunkard and libertine. He fancied the poor little apprenticeshe was

then but thirteen years oldwould be only too glad to become the mistress of her employer's brother; but she

scornfully repulsed him, and his vanity was so deeply wounded that he persecuted the poor girl to such an

extent that she was obliged to complain, first to Madame Greloux, whoto her shame be it saidtreated

these insults as mere nonsense; and afterward to Greloux himself, who was probably delighted to have an

opportunity of ridding himself of his indolent brotherinlaw, for he turned him out of the house."

The thought that so vile a rascal as this man Vantrasson should have dared to insult Marguerite made Pascal

frantic with indignation. "The wretch!" he exclaimed; "the wretch!" But without seeming to notice her son's

anger, Madame Ferailleur continued: "They pretended they had not seen their former apprentice since she had

been living in grandeur, as they expressed it. But in this they lied to me. For they saw her at least once, and

that was on the day she brought them twenty thousand francs, which proved the nucleus of their fortune.

"Dear Marguerite!" murmured Pascal, "dear Marguerite!" And then aloud: "But where did you learn these

"At the asylum where Mademoiselle Marguerite was brought up, and there, too, I only heard words of praise.

'Never,' said the superior, 'have I had a more gifted, sweetertempered or more attractive charge.' They had

reproached her sometimes for being too reserved, and her selfrespect had often been mistaken for inordinate

pride; but she had not forgotten the asylum any more than she had forgotten her former patrons. On one

occasion the superior received from her the sum of twentyfive thousand francs, and a year ago she presented

the institution with one hundred thousand francs, the yearly income of which is to constitute the marriage

Pascal was greatly elated. "Well, mother!" he exclaimed, "well, is it strange that I love her?" Madame

Ferailleur made no reply, and a sorrowful apprehension seized hold of him. "You are silent," said he, "and

why? When the blessed day that will allow me to wed Marguerite arrives, you surely won't oppose our

"Unjust! Haven't I faithfully reported all that was told me, although I knew it would only increase your

Madame Ferailleur sadly shook her head. "Do you think," she interrupted, "that I can, without sorrow, see

you choose a girl of no family, a girl who is outside the pale of social recognition? Don't you understand my

disquietude when I think that the girl that you will marry is the daughter of such a woman as Baroness

Trigault, an unfortunate girl whom her mother cannot even recognize, since her mother is a married

"Did I say it was her fault? NoI only pray God that you may never have to repent of choosing a wife

"I mean that you will only know so much of Mademoiselle Marguerite's past life as she may choose to tell

you," continued the obdurate old lady. "You heard Madame Vantrasson's ignoble allegations. It has been said

that she was the mistress, not the daughter, of the Count de Chalusse. Who knows what vile accusations you

may be forced to meet? And what is your refuge, if doubts should ever assail you? Mademoiselle

Marguerite's word! Will this be sufficient? It is now, perhaps; but will it suffice in years to come? I would

have my son's wife above suspicion; and shewhy, there is not a single episode in her life that does not

"What does calumny matter? it will never shake my faith in her. The misfortunes which you reproach

"What! Am I to scorn her because she has been unfortunate? Am I to regard her birth as a crime? Am I to

despise her because her MOTHER is a despicable woman? NoGod be praised! the day when illegitimate

children, the innocent victims of their mother's faults, were branded as outcasts, is past."

But Madame Ferailleur's prejudices were too deeply rooted to be shaken by these arguments. "I won't discuss

this question, my son," she interrupted, "but take care. By declaring children irresponsible for their mother's

faults, you will break the strongest tie that binds a woman to duty. If the son of a pure and virtuous wife, and

the son of an adulterous woman meet upon equal ground, those who are held in check only by the thought of

It was the first time that a cloud had ever arisen between mother and son. On hearing his dearest hopes thus

attacked, Pascal was tempted to rebel, and a flood of bitter words rose to his lips. However he had strength

enough to control himself. "Marguerite alone can triumph over these implacable prejudices," he thought;

And as he found it difficult to remain master of himself, he stammered some excuse, and abruptly retired to

his own room, where he threw himself on his bed. He felt that it was not his place to reproach his mother or

censure her for her opinions. What mother had ever been so devoted as she had been? And who knows?it

was, perhaps, from these same rigid prejudices that this simpleminded and heroic woman had derived her

energy, her enthusiastic love of God, her hatred of evil, and that virility of spirit which misfortune had been

powerless to daunt. Besides, had she not promised to offer no opposition to his marriage! And was not this a

great concession, a sacrifice which must have cost her a severe struggle? And where can one find the mother

who does not count as one of the sublime joys of maternity the task of seeking a wife for her son, of choosing

from among all others the young girl who will be the companion of his life, the angel of his dark and of his

prosperous days? His mind was occupied with these thoughts when his door suddenly opened, and he sprang

It was Madame Vantrasson, who came to announce that dinner was readya dinner which she had herself

prepared, for on going out Madame Ferailleur had left her in charge of the household. On seeing this woman,

Pascal was overcome with rage and indignation, and felt a wild desire to annihilate her. He knew that she was

only a vile slanderer, but she might meet other beings as vile as herself who would be only too glad to believe

her falsehoods. And to think that he was powerless to punish her! He now realized the suffering his mother

had spoken ofthe most atrocious suffering which the lover can endurepowerlessness to protect the

object of his affections, when she is assailed. Engrossed in these gloomy thoughts, Pascal preserved a sullen

silence during the repast. He ate because his mother filled his plate; but if he had been questioned, he could

scarcely have told what he was eating. And yet, the modest dinner was excellent. Madame Vantrasson was

really a good cook, and in this first effort in her new situation she had surpassed herself. Her vanity as a

cordonbleu was piqued because she did not receive the compliments she expected, and which she felt she

deserved. Four or five times she asked impatiently, "Isn't that good?" and as the only reply was a scarcely

enthusiastic "Very good," she vowed she would never again waste so much care and talent upon such

Madame Ferailleur was as silent as her son, and seemed equally anxious to finish with the repast. She

evidently wanted to get rid of Madame Vantrasson, and in fact as soon as the simple dessert had been placed

on the table, she turned to her, and said: "You may go home now. I will attend to the rest."

Irritated by the taciturnity of these strange folks, the landlady of the Model Lodging House withdrew, and

they soon heard the street door close behind her with a loud bang as she left the house. Pascal drew a long

breath as if relieved of a heavy weight. While Madame Vantrasson had been in the room he had scarcely

dared to raise his eyes, so great was his dread of encountering the gaze of this woman, whose malignity was

but poorly veiled by her smoothtongued hypocrisy. He really feared he should not be able to resist his desire

to strangle her. However, Madame Ferailleur must have understood her son's agitation, for as soon as they

"How can I be angry with you, mother, when I know that you are thinking only of my happiness? But how

Madame Ferailleur checked him with a gesture. "Let us say no more on the subject," she remarked.

"Mademoiselle Marguerite will be the innocent cause of one of the greatest disappointments of my life; but I

have no reason to hate herand I have always been able to show justice even to the persons I loved the least.

I have done so in this instance, and I am going perhaps to give you a convincing proof of it."

She reflected for a moment and then she asked: "Did you not tell me, my son, that Mademoiselle Marguerite's

"Marguerite knows all that an unusually talented girl can learn in four years, when she finds herself very

"If she wrote you a note would it be written grammatically, and be free from any mistakes in spelling?"

"Oh, certainly!" exclaimed Pascal, and a sudden inspiration made him pause abruptly. He darted to his own

room, and a minute later he returned with a package of letters, which he laid on the table, saying: "Here,

Madame Ferailleur drew her spectacles from their case, and, after adjusting them, she began to read.

With his elbows on the table, and his head resting upon his hands, Pascal eagerly watched his mother,

anxious to read her impressions on her face. She was evidently astonished. She had not expected these letters

would express such nobility of sentiment, an energy no whit inferior to her own, and even an echo of her own

prejudices. For this strange young girl shared Madame Ferailleur's rather bigoted opinions. Again and again

she asked herself if her birth and past had not created an impassable abyss between Pascal and herself. And

she had not felt satisfied on this point until the day when the grayhaired magistrate, after hearing her story,

It soon became apparent that Madame Ferailleur was deeply moved, and once she even raised her glasses to

wipe away a furtive tear which made Pascal's heart leap with very joy. "These letters are admirable," she said

at last; "and no young girl, reared by a virtuous mother, could have given better expression to nobler

sentiments; but" She paused, not wishing to wound her son's feelings, and as he insisted, she added:

"But, these letters have the irreparable fault of being addressed to you, Pascal!"

This, however, was the expiring cry of her intractable obstinacy. "Now," she resumed, "wait before you

censure your mother." So saying, she rose, opened a drawer, and taking from it a torn and crumpled scrap of

This proved to be the note in pencil which Madame Leon had given to Pascal, and which he had divined

rather than read by the light of the streetlamp; he had handed it to his mother on his return, and she had kept

it. He had scarcely been in his right mind the evening he received it, but now he was enjoying the free

exercise of all his faculties. He no sooner glanced at the note than he sprang up, and in an excited voice,

The strange discovery seemed to stupefy him. "I was mad, raving mad!" he muttered. "The fraud is palpable,

unmistakable. How could I have failed to discover it?" And as if he felt the need of convincing himself that

he was not deceived, he continued, speaking to himself rather than to his mother: "The handwriting is not

unlike Marguerite's, it's true; but it's only a clever counterfeit. And who doesn't know that all writings in

pencil resemble each other more or less? Besides, it's certain that Marguerite, who is simplicity itself, would

not have made use of such pretentious melodramatic phrases. How could I have been so stupid as to believe

that she ever thought or wrote this: 'One cannot break a promise made to the dying; I shall keep mine even

though my heart break.' And again: 'Forget, therefore, the girl who has loved you so much: she is now the

betrothed of another, and honor requires she should forget even your name!'" He read these passages with an

extravagant emphasis, which heightened their absurdity. "And what shall I say of these mistakes in spelling?"

he resumed. "You noticed them, of course, mother? command is written with a single 'm,' and supplicate

with one 'p.' These are certainly not mistakes that we can attribute to haste! Ignorance is proved since the

blunder is always the same. The forger is evidently in the habit of omitting one of the double letters."

Madame Ferailleur listened with an impassive face. "And these mistakes are all the more inexcusable since

"Yes; a verbatim copy. Yesterday evening, while I was examining it for the twentieth time, it occurred to me

that I had read some portions of it before. Where, and under what circumstances? It was a puzzle which kept

me awake most of the night. But this morning I suddenly remembered a book which I had seen in the hands

of the workmen at the factory, and which I had often laughed over. So, while I was out this morning I entered

a bookshop, and purchased the volume. That's it, there on the corner of the mantelshelf. Take it and see."

Pascal obeyed, and noticed with surprise that the work was entitled, "The Indispensable and Complete

He did so, and read: "(Model 198). Letter from a young lady who has promised her dying father to renounce

the man she loves, and to bestow her hand upon another." Doubt was no longer possible. Line for line and

word for word, the mistakes in spelling excepted, the note was an exact copy of the stilted prose of the

It seemed to Pascal as if the scales had suddenly fallen from his eyes, and that he could now understand the

whole intrigue which had been planned to separate him from Marguerite. His enemies had dishonored him in

the hope that she would reject and scorn him, and, disappointed in their expectations, they had planned this

pretended rupture of the engagement to prevent him from making any attempt at selfjustification. So, in

spite of some shortlived doubts, his love had been more clearsighted than reason, and stronger than

appearances. He had been quite right, then, in saying to his mother: "I can never believe that Marguerite

deserts me at a moment when I am so wretchedthat she condemns me unheard, and has no greater

confidence in me than in my accusers. Appearances may indicate the contrary, but I am right." Certain

circumstances, which had previously seemed contradictory, now strengthened this belief. "How is it," he said

to himself, "that Marguerite writes to me that her father, on his deathbed, made her promise to renounce me,

while Valorsay declares the Count de Chalusse died so suddenly, that he had not even time to acknowledge

his daughter or to bequeath her his immense fortune? One of these stories must be false; and which of them?

The one in this note most probably. As for the letter itself, it must have been the work of Madame Leon."

If he had not already possessed irrefutable proofs of this, the "Indispensable Letterwriter" would have

shown it. The housekeeper's perturbation when she met him at the garden gate was now explained. She was

shuddering at the thought that she might be followed and watched, and that Marguerite might appear at any

"I think it would be a good plan to let this poor young girl know that her companion is Valorsay's spy,"

Pascal was about to approve this suggestion, when a sudden thought deterred him. "They must be watching

Marguerite very closely," he replied, "and if I attempt to see her, if I even venture to write to her, our enemies

"Yes, even admitting there is danger, which is by no means certain. Owing to her past life, Marguerite's

experience is far in advance of her years, and if some one told me that she had fathomed Madame Leon's

It was necessary to ascertain what had become of Marguerite; and Pascal was puzzling his brain to discover

how this might be done, when suddenly he exclaimed: "Madame Vantrasson! We have her; let us make use

of her. It will be easy to find some excuse for sending her to the Hotel de Chalusse: she will gossip with the

servants there, and in that way we can discover the changes that have taken place."

This was a heroic resolution on Pascal's part, and one which he would have recoiled from the evening before.

But it is easy to be brave when one is hopeful; and he saw his chances of success increase so rapidly that he

no longer feared the obstacles that had once seemed almost insurmountable. Even his mother's opposition had

ceased to alarm him. For why should he fear after the surprising proof she had given him of her love of

justice, proving that the pretended letter from Mademoiselle Marguerite was really a forgery?

He slept but little that night and did not stir from the house on the following day. He was busily engaged in

perfecting his plan of attack against the marquis. His advantages were considerable, thanks to Baron Trigault,

who had placed a hundred thousand francs at his disposal; but the essential point was to use this amount in

such a way as to win Valorsay's confidence, and induce him to betray himself. Pascal's hours of meditation

were not spent in vain, and when it became time for him to repair to his enemy's house, he said to his mother:

"I've found a plan; and if the baron will let me follow it out, Valorsay is mine!"

It was pure childishness on Pascal's part to doubt Baron Trigault's willingness to agree even with closed eyes

to any measures he might propose. He ought to have recollected that their interests were identical, that they

hated the same men with equal hatred, and that they were equally resolved upon vengeance. And certainly the

events which had occurred since their last interview had not been of a nature to modify the baron's intentions.

However, misfortune had rendered Pascal timid and suspicious, and it was not until he reached the baron's

house that his fears vanished. The manner in which the servants received him proved that the baron greatly

esteemed him: for the man must be stupid indeed who does not know that the greeting of the servants is ever

in harmony with the feelings of the master of the house. "Will you be kind enough to follow me?" said the

servant to whom he handed his card. "The baron is very busy, but that doesn't matter. He gave orders that

Pascal followed without a word. The elegance of this princely abode never varied. The same careless,

prodigal, regal luxury was apparent everywhere. The servantswhose name was legionwere always

passing noiselessly to and fro. A pair of horses, worth at least a thousand louis, and harnessed to the

baroness's brougham, were stamping and neighing in the courtyard; and the hall was, as usual, fragrant with

On his first visit Pascal had only seen the apartments on the ground floor. This time his guide remarked that

he would take him upstairs to the baron's private room. He was slowly ascending the broad marble staircase

and admiring the bronze balustrade, the rich carpet, the magnificent frescoes, and the costly statuary, when a

rustle of silk resounded near him. He had only time to step aside, and a lady passed him rapidly, without

turning her head, or even deigning to look at him. She did not appear more than forty, and she was still very

beautiful, with her golden hair dressed high on the back of her head. Her costume, brilliant enough in hue to

frighten a cab horse, was extremely eccentric in cut; but it certainly set off her peculiar style of beauty to

Pascal did not need to be told this. He had seen her but once, and then only for a second; but it had been

under such circumstances that he should never forget her so long as he lived. And now he understood the

strange and terrible impression which had been produced upon him when he saw her first. Mademoiselle

Marguerite was the living prototype of this lady, save as regards the color of her hair. And there would have

been no difference in this respect had the baroness allowed her locks to retain their natural tint. Her hair had

been black, like Marguerite's, and black it had remained until she was thirtyfive, when she bleached it to the

fashionable color of the time. And every fourth day even now her hairdresser came to apply a certain

compound to her head, after which she remained in the bright sunlight for several hours, so as to impart a

Pascal had scarcely regained his composure, when the servant opened the door of an immense apartment as

large as a handsome suite of rooms, and magnificently furnished. Here sat the baron, surrounded by several

clerks, who were busily engaged in putting a pile of papers and documents in order.

But as soon as Pascal entered, the baron rose, and cordially holding out his hand, exclaimed, "Ah! here you

So he had not forgotten the name which Pascal had assumed. This was a favorable omen. "I called,

And, taking Pascal's arm, he led him into his private sanctum, separated from the large apartment by

foldingdoors, which had been removed, and replaced by hangings. Once there he indicated by a gesture that

they could be heard in the adjoining room, and that it was necessary to speak in a low tone. "You have no

doubt come," said he, "for the money I promised that dear Marquis de ValorsayI have it all ready for you;

here it is." So saying, he opened an escritoire, and took out a large roll of banknotes, which he handed to

But Pascal, whose face had suddenly become as red as fire, did not utter a word in reply. On receiving this

money a new but quite natural thought had entered his mind for the first time. "What is the matter?" inquired

"Nothing, monsieur, nothing! Only I was asking myselfif I ought if I can accept this money."

"Yes, monsieur, you are right. I ought to have said that it is sure to be lost; and hence my embarrassment. Is it

not solely on my account that you sacrifice a sum which would be a fortune to many men? Yes. Very well,

then. I am asking myself if it is right for me to accept such a sacrifice, when it is by no means certain that I

shall ever be able to requite it. Shall I ever have a hundred thousand francs to repay you?"

"But isn't this money absolutely necessary to enable you to win Valorsay's confidence?"

Though the baron had formed a high estimate of Pascal's character, he was astonished and deeply touched by

these scruples, and this excessive delicacy of feeling. Like most opulent men, he knew few poor people who

wore their poverty with grace and dignity, and who did not snatch at a twentyfranc piece wherever they

chanced to find it. "Ah, well, my dear Ferailleur," he said, kindly, "don't trouble yourself on this score. It's not

"No; I give you my word of honor it isn't. Leaving you quite out of the question, I should still have lent

Valorsay this money; and if you do not wish to take it to him, I shall send it by some one else."

After that, Pascal could not demur any further. He took the baron's proffered hand and pressed it warmly,

uttering only this one word, made more eloquent than any protestations by the fervor with which it was

The baron shrugged his shoulders goodnaturedly, like a man who fails to see that he has done anything at all

meritorious, or even worthy of the slightest acknowledgment. "And you must understand, my dear sir," he

resumed, "that you can employ this sum as you choose, in advancing your interests, which are identical with

mine. You can give the money to Valorsay at such a time and under such conditions as will best serve your

plans. Give it to him in an hour or in a month, all at once or in fifty different instalments, as you please. Only

The keenest penetration was concealed beneath the baron's careless goodnature. Pascal knew this, and

feeling that his protector understood him, he said: "You overpower me with kindness."

"Excuse me; if I follow my present plan, I shall be obliged to ascribe certain sentiments, words, and even

With a careless toss of the head, accompanied by a disdainful snap of the fingers, the baron interrupted him.

"Set to work, and don't give yourself the slightest uneasiness about that. You may do whatever you like, if

you only succeed in unmasking this dear marquis, and Coralth, his worthy acolyte. Show me up in whatever

light you choose. Who will you be in Valorsay's eyes? Why, Maumejan, one of my business agents, and I can

always throw the blame on you." And as if to prove that he had divined even the details of the scheme

devised by his young friend, he added: "Besides, every one knows that a millionaire's business agent is

anything but a pleasant person to deal with. A millionaire, who is not a fool, must always smile, and no

matter how absurd the demands upon him may be, he must always answer: 'Yes, certainly, certainlyI

should be only too happy!' But then he adds: 'You must arrange the matter with my agent. Confer with him.'

And it is the unlucky agent who must object, declare that his employer has no money at his disposal just now,

Pascal was still disposed to insist, but the baron was obdurate. "Oh! enough, enough!" he exclaimed. "Don't

waste precious time in idle discussion. The days are only twentyfour hours long: and as you see, I'm very

busy, so busy that I've not touched a card since the day before yesterday. I am preparing a delightful surprise

for Madame Trigault, my daughter, and my soninlaw. It has been rather a delicate operation, but I flatter

myself that I have succeeded finely." And he laughed a laugh that was not pleasant to hear. "You see, I've had

enough of paying several hundred thousand francs a year for the privilege of being sneered at by my wife,

scorned by my daughter, swindled by my soninlaw, and vilified and anathematized by all three of them. I

am still willing to go on paying, but only on conditions that they give me in return for my money, if not the

reality, at least a show of love, affection, and respect. I'm determined to have the semblance of these things;

I'm quite resolved on that. Yes, I will have myself treated with deference. I'll be petted and coddled and made

much of, or else I'll suspend payment. It was one of my old friends, a parvenu like myselfa man whose

domestic happiness I have envied for many yearswho gave me this receipt: 'At home,' said he, 'with my

wife, my daughters, and my sonsin law, I'm like a peer of England at an hotel. I order firstclass happiness

at so much a month. If I get it I pay for it; if I don't get it, I cut off the supplies. When I get extras I pay for

them cheerfully, without haggling. Follow my example, my old friend, and you'll have a comfortable life.'

And I shall follow his advice, M. Ferailleur, for I am convinced that his theory is sound and practicable. I

have led this life long enough. I'll spend my last days in peace, or, as God hears me, I'll let my family die of

His face was purple, and the veins on his forehead stood out like whipcords, but not so much from anger as

from the constraint he imposed upon himself by speaking in a whisper. He drew a long breath, and then in a

calmer tone, resumed: "But you must make haste and succeed, M. Ferailleur, if you don't want the young girl

you love to be deprived of her rightful heritage. You do not know into what unworthy hands the Chalusse

property is about to fall." He was on the point of telling Pascal the story of Madame d'Argeles and M. Wilkie,

"Who's taking such liberty in my house?" the baron began. But the next instant he heard some one fling open

the door of the large room adjoining, and then a coarse, guttural voice called out: "What! he isn't here! This is

The baron made an angry gesture. "That's KamiBey," said he, "the Turk whom I am playing that great game

of cards with. The devil take him! He will be sure to force his way in hereso we may as well join him, M.

On reentering the adjoining apartment Pascal beheld a very corpulent man, with a very red face, a straggling

beard, a flat nose, small, beadlike eyes, and sensual lips. He was clad in a black frockcoat, buttoned tight to

the throat, and he wore a fez. This costume gave him the appearance of a chunky bottle, sealed with red wax.

Such, indeed, was KamiBey, a specimen of those semibarbarians, loaded with gold who are not attracted

to Paris by its splendors and glories, but rather by its corruptionpeople who come there persuaded that

money will purchase anything and everything, and who often return home with the same conviction. Kami

was no doubt more impudent, more cynical and more arrogant than others of his class. As he was more

wealthy, he had more followers; he had been more toadied and flattered, and victimized to a greater extent by

the host of female intriguers, who look upon every foreigner as their rightful prey.

He spoke French passably well, but with an abominable accent. "Here you are at last!" he exclaimed, as the

Why KamiBey was called prince no one knew, not even the man himself. Perhaps it was because the lackey

who opened his carriage door on his arrival at the Grand Hotel had addressed him by that title.

"About what!" he repeated. "You have won more than three hundred thousand francs from me, and I was

The baron frowned, and this time he omitted the title of prince altogether. "It seems to me, sir, that according

to our agreement, we were to play until one of us had won five hundred thousand francs," he said haughtily.

"Possibly: but I'm very busy just now. I wrote to you explaining this, did I not? If you are at all uneasy, tear

up the book in which the results of our games are noted, and that shall be the end of it. You will gain

KamiBey felt that the baron would not tolerate his arrogance, and so with more moderation he exclaimed:

"It isn't strange that I've become suspicious. I'm so victimized on every side. Because I'm a foreigner and

immensely rich, everybody fancies he has a right to plunder me. Men, women, hotelkeepers and merchants,

all unite in defrauding me. If I buy pictures, they sell me vile daubs at fabulous prices. They ask ridiculous

amounts for horses, and then give me worthless, wornout animals. Everybody borrows money from

meand I'm never repaid. I shall be ruined if this sort of thing goes on much longer."

He had taken a seat, and the baron saw that he was not likely to get rid of his guest very soon; so approaching

Pascal he whispered: "You had better go off, or you may miss Valorsay. And be careful, mind; for he is

Courage! It was not necessary to recommend that to Pascal. He who had triumphed over his despair in the

terrible hours, when he had reason to suppose that Marguerite believed him guilty and had abandoned him,

could scarcely lack courage. While he was condemned to inaction, his mind had no doubt been assailed by

countless doubts and fears; but now that he knew whom he was to attacknow that the decisive moment had

come, he was endowed with indomitable energy; he had turned to bronze, and he felt sure that nothing could

disconcert or even trouble him in future. The weapons he had to use were not at all to his taste, but he had not

been allowed a choice in the matter; and since his enemies had decided on a warfare of duplicity, he was

So, while hastening to the Marquis de Valorsay's residence, he took stock of his chances, and recapitulated

his resources, striving to foresee and remember everything. Thus if he failed for he admitted the possibility

of defeat, without believing in ithe would have no cause to reproach himself. Only fools find consolation

in saying: "Who could have foreseen that?" Great minds do foresee. And Pascal felt almost certain that he

That morning, before leaving home, he had dressed with extreme care, realizing that the shabby clothes he

had worn on his first visit to the Trigault mansion would not be appropriate on such an occasion as this. The

baron's agent could scarcely have a povertystricken appearance, for contact with millionaires is supposed to

procure wealth as surely as proximity to fire insures warmth. So he arrayed himself in a suit of black, which

was neither too elegant nor too much worn, and donned a broad white necktie. He could see only one

immediate, decisive chance against him. M. de Valorsay might possibly recognize him. He thought not, but

he was not sure; and anxious on this account, he at first decided to disguise himself. However, on reflection,

he concluded not to do so. An imperfect disguise would attract attention and awaken suspicion; and could he

really disguise his physiognomy? He was certain he could not. Very few men are capable of doing so

successfully, even after long experience. Only two or three detectives and half a dozen actors possess the art

of really changing their lineaments. Thus after weighing the pros and cons, Pascal determined to present

On approaching M. de Valorsay's residence in the Avenue des Champs Elysees, he slackened his pace. The

mansion, which stood between a courtyard and a garden, was very large and handsome. The stables and

carriagehousereally elegant structuresstood on either side of the courtyard, near the halfopen gate of

which five or six servants were amusing themselves by teasing a large dog. Pascal was just saying to himself

that the coast was clear, and that he should incur no danger by going in, when he saw the servants step aside,

the gate swing back, and M. de Coralth emerged, accompanied by a young, fairhaired man, whose

mustaches were waxed and turned up in the most audacious fashion. They were arm in arm, and turned in the

direction of the Arc de Triomphe. Pascal's heart thrilled with joy. "Fate favors me!" he said to himself. "If it

hadn't been for KamiBey, who detained me a full quarter of an hour at Baron Trigault's, I should have found

myself face to face with that miserable viscount, and then all would have been lost. But now I'm safe!"

"The marquis is very busy this morning," said the servant to whom Pascal addressed himself at the gate. "I

doubt if he can see you." But when Pascal handed him one of his visiting cards, bearing the name of

Maumejan, with this addition in pencil: "Who calls as the representative of Baron Trigault," the valet's face

changed as if by enchantment. "Oh!" said he, "that's quite a different matter. If you come from Baron

Trigault, you will be received with all the respect due to the Messiah. Come in. I will announce you myself."

Everything in M. de Valorsay's house, as at the baron's residence, indicated great wealth, and yet a close

observer would have detected a difference. The luxury of the Rue de la Villel'Eveque was of a real and

substantial character, which one did not find in the Avenue des Champs Elysees. Everything in the marquis's

abode bore marks of the haste which mars the merest trifle produced at the present age. "Take a seat here, and

I will see where the marquis is," said the servant, as he ushered Pascal into a large drawingroom. The

apartment was elegantly furnished, but had somewhat lost its freshness; the carpet, which had once been a

marvel of beauty, was stained in several places, and as the servants had not always been careful to keep the

shutters closed, the sunlight had perceptibly faded the curtains. The attention of visitors was at once attracted

by the number of gold and silver cups, vases, and statuettes scattered about on sidetables and cheffoniers.

Each of these objects bore an inscription, setting forth that it had been won at such a race, in such a year, by

such a horse, belonging to the Marquis de Valorsay. These were indeed the marquis's chief claims to glory,

and had cost him at least half of the immense fortune he had inherited. However, Pascal did not take much

interest in these trophies, so the time of waiting seemed long. "Valorsay is playing the diplomat," he thought.

"He doesn't wish to appear to be anxious. Unfortunately, his servant has betrayed him."

This summons affected Pascal's heart like the first roll of a drum beating the charge. But his coolness did not

desert him. "Now is the decisive moment," he thought. "Heaven grant that he may not recognize me!" And

M. de Valorsay was seated in the apartment he usually occupied when he remained at homea little

smokingroom connected with his bedroom. He was to all intents busily engaged in examining some sporting

journals. A bottle of Madeira and a partially filled glass stood near him. As the servant announced "Monsieur

Maumejan!" he looked up and his eyes met Pascal's. But his glance did not waver; not a muscle of his face

moved; his countenance retained its usually cold and disdainful expression. Evidently he had not the slightest

suspicion that the man he had tried to ruin his mortal enemywas standing there before him.

Pascal took a chair. He had feared that he might not be able to retain his selfcontrol when he found himself

in the presence of the scoundrel who, after destroying his happiness, ruining his future, and depriving him of

his honordearer than life itself was at that moment endeavoring, by the most infamous manoeuvres, to

rob him of the woman he loved. "If my blood mounted to my brain," he had thought, "I should spring upon

him and strangle him!" But no. His arteries did not throb more quickly; it was with perfect calmnessthe

calmness of a strong naturethat he stealthily watched M. de Valorsay. If he had seen him a week before he

would have been startled by the change which the past few days had wrought in this brilliant nobleman's

appearance. He was little more than a shadow of his former self. And seen at this hour, before placing himself

in his valet's hands, before his premature decrepitude had been concealed by the artifices of the toilet, he was

really frightful. His face was haggard, and his red and swollen eyelids betrayed a longcontinued want of

The fact is, he had suffered terribly during the past week. A man may be a scapegrace and a spendthrift and

may boast of it; he may have no principle and no conscience; he may be immoral, he may defy God and the

devil, but it is nevertheless true that he suffers fearful anguish of mind when he is guilty, for the first time, of

a positive crime, forbidden by the laws and punishable with the galleys. And who can say how many crimes

the Marquis de Valorsay had committed since the day he provided his accomplice, the Viscount de Coralth,

with those fatal cards? And apart from this there was something extremely appalling in the position of this

ruined millionaire, who was contending desperately against his creditors for the vain appearance of splendor,

with the despairing energy of a shipwrecked mariner struggling for the possession of a floating spar. Had he

not confessed to M. Fortunat that he had suffered the tortures of the damned in his struggle to maintain a

show of wealth, while he was often without a penny in his pocket, and was ever subject to the pitiless

surveillance of thirty servants? His agony, when he thought of his precarious condition, could only be

compared to that of a miner, who, while ascending from the bowels of the earth, finds that the rope, upon

which his life depends, is slowly parting strand by strand, and who asks himself, in terror, if the few threads

that still remain unsevered will be strong enough to raise him to the mouth of the pit.

However, the moment which M. de Valorsay had asked for had lengthened into a quarter of an hour, and he

had not yet finished his work. "What the devil is he doing?" wondered Pascal, who was following his enemy's

Countless sporting newspapers were strewn over the table, the chairs, and the floor around the marquis, who

took them up one after another, glanced rapidly through their columns, and threw them on the floor again. or

placed them on a pile before him, first marking certain passages with a red pencil. At last, probably fearing

"I am really very sorry to keep you waiting so long, but some one is waiting for this work to be completed."

"Oh! pray continue, Monsieur le Marquis," interrupted Pascal. "Strange to say, I have a little leisure at my

The marquis seemed to feel that it was necessary to make some remark in acknowledgment of this courtesy

on his visitor's part, and so, as he continued his work, he condescended to explain its purpose. "I am playing

the part of a commentator," he remarked. "I sold seven of my horses a few days ago, and the purchaser,

before paying the stipulated price, naturally required an exact and authentic statement of each animal's

performances. However, even this does not seem to have satisfied the gentleman, for he has now taken it into

his head to ask for such copies of the sporting journals as record the victories or defeats of the animals he has

purchased. A gentleman is not so exacting generally. It is true, however, that I have a foreigner to deal

withone of those halfcivilized nabobs who come here every year to astonish the Parisians with their

wealth and display, and who, by their idiotic prodigality, have so increased the price of everything that life

has become wellnigh an impossibility to such of us as don't care to squander an entire fortune in a couple of

years. These folks are the curse of Paris, for, with but few exceptions, they only use their millions to enrich

Pascal at once thought of the foreigner, KamiBey, whom he had met at Baron Trigault's half an hour before,

and who had complained so bitterly of having had worthless scrubs palmed off upon him when he fancied he

had purchased valuable animals. "KamiBey must be this exacting purchaser," thought Pascal, "and it's

probable that the marquis, desperately straitened as he is, has committed one of those frauds which lead their

perpetrator to prison?" The surmise was by no means farfetched, for in sporting matters, at least, there was

cause to suspect Valorsay of great elasticity of conscience. Had he not already been accused of defrauding

At last the marquis heaved a sigh of relief. "I've finished," he muttered, as he tied up the bundle of papers he

had laid aside, and after ringing the bell, he said to the servant who answered the summons: "Here, take this

Pascal's presentiments had not deceived him, and he said to himself: "This is a good thing to know. Before

A storm was decidedly gathering over the Marquis de Valorsay's head. Did he know it? Certainly he must

have expected it. Still he had sworn to stand fast until the end. Besides, he would not concede that all was

lost; and, like most great gamblers, he told himself that since he had so much at stake, he might reasonably

hope to succeed. He rose, stretched himself, as a man is apt to do after the conclusion of a tiresome task, and

then, leaning against the mantelshelf, he exclaimed: "Now, Monsieur Maumejan, let us speak of the

business that brings you here." His negligent attitude and his careless tone were admirably assumed, but a

shrewd observer would not have been deceived by them, or by the indifferent manner in which he added:

Pascal shook his head, as he replied: "I regret to say that I don't, Monsieur le Marquis."

This response had the same effect as a heavy rock falling upon M. de Valorsay's bald pate. He turned whiter

than his linen, and even tottered, as if his lame leg, which was so much affected by sudden changes in the

weather, had utterly refused all service. "What! You haven'tthis is undoubtedly a joke."

The consequences of this disappointment must have been terrible, for the marquis could not maintain his

selfcontrol. Still he strove valiantly to conceal his emotion. He thought to himself that if he allowed this

man to see what a terrible blow this really was, he would virtually confess his absolute ruin, and have to

renounce the struggle, and own himself vanquished and lost. So, summoning all his energy, he mastered his

emotion in some degree, and, instead of appearing desperate, succeeded in looking only irritated and

annoyed. "In short," he resumed, angrily, "you have brought no money! I counted on a hundred thousand

francs this morning. Nothing! This is kind on the baron's part! But probably he doesn't understand the

"Excuse me, Monsieur le Marquis, he understands it so well that, instead of informing you by a simple note.

he sent me to acquaint you with his sincere regret. When I left him an hour ago, he was really disconsolate.

He was particularly anxious I should tell you that it was not his fault. He counted upon the payment of two

The marquis had now recovered a little from the shock, though he was still very pale. He looked at Pascal

with evident distrust, for he knew with what sweet excuses wellbred people envelope their refusals. "So the

As cold and as unmoved as a statue, Pascal seemed quite unconscious of the effect of the message he had

broughtquite unconscious of Valorsay's sufferings and selfconstraint. "You think I am jesting, monsieur,"

he said, quietly, "but I assure you that the baron is very short of money just now."

Pascal shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. "It astonishes me, Monsieur le Marquis, to hear YOU speak in

this way. It is not the magnitude of a man's income that constitutes affluence, but rather the way in which that

income is spent. In this foolish age, almost all rich people are in arrears. What income does the baron derive

from his ten millions of francs? Not more than five hundred thousand. A very handsome fortune, no doubt,

and I should be more than content with it. But the baron gambles, and the baroness is the most elegantin

other words, the most extravagantwoman in Paris. They both of them love luxury, and their establishment

is kept up in princely style. What are five hundred thousand francs under such circumstances as those? Their

situation must be something like that of several millionaires of my acquaintance, who are obliged to take their

This excuse might not be true, but it was certainly a very plausible one. Had not a recent lawsuit revealed the

fact that certain rich folks, who had an income of more than a hundred thousand francs a year, had kept a

thieving coachman for six months, simply because, in all that time, they were not able to raise the eight

hundred francs they owed him, and which must be paid before he was dismissed? M. de Valorsay knew this,

but a terrible disquietude seized him. Had people begun to suspect HIS embarrassment? Had any rumor of it

reached Baron Trigault's ears? This was what he wished to ascertain. "Let us understand each other, Monsieur

Maumejan," said he; "the baron was unable to procure this money he had promised me todaybut when

Pascal opened his eyes in pretended astonishment, and it was with an air of the utmost simplicity that he

replied, "I concluded the baron would take no further action in the matter. I judged so from his parting words:

'It consoles me a little,' he said, 'to think that the Marquis de Valorsay is very rich and very well known, and

that he has a dozen friends who will be delighted to do him this trifling service.'"

Until now, M. de Valorsay had cherished a hope that the loan was only delayed, and the certainty that the

decision was final, crushed him. "My ruin's known," he thought, and feeling that his strength was deserting

him, he poured out a brimming glass of Madeira, which he emptied at a single draught. The wine lent him

fictitious energy. Fury mounted to his brain; he lost all control over himself, and springing up, with his face

purple with rage, he exclaimed: "It's a shame! an infamous shame! and Trigault deserves to be severely

punished. He has no business to keep a man in hot water for three days about such a trifle. If he had said 'No'

in the first place, I should have made other arrangements, and I shouldn't now find myself in a dilemma from

which I see no possible way of escape. No gentleman would have been guilty of such a contemptible actno

one but a shopkeeper or a thief would have stooped to such meanness! This is the result of admitting these

It certainly hurt Pascal to hear these insults heaped upon the baron, and it hurt him all the more since they

However, a gesture, even a frown, might endanger the success of his undertaking, so he preserved an

impassive countenance. "I must say that I don't understand your indignation, Monsieur le Marquis," he said,

coldly. "I can see why you might feel annoyed, but why you should fly into a passion"

"Ah! you don't know" began M. de Valorsay, but he stopped short. It was time. The truth had almost

But the marquis was again upon his guard. "I have a debt that must be paid this evening, at all hazardsa

"Is it possible that a rich man like you can be troubled about such a trifling sum, which any one would lend

M. de Valorsay interrupted him with a contemptuous sneer. "Didn't you just tell me that we were living in an

age when no one has any money except those who are in business? The richest of my friends have only

enough for themselves, even if they have enough. The time of old stockings, stuffed full of savings, is past!

Shall I apply to a banker? He would ask two days for reflection, and he would require the names of two or

three of my friends on the note. If I go to my notary, there will be endless forms to be gone through, and

For a moment or more already, Pascal had been moving about uneasily on his chair, like a man who is

waiting for an opportunity to make a suggestion, and as soon as M. de Valorsay paused to take breath, he

A glass of icewater presented to a parched traveller while journeying over the desert sands of Sahara could

not impart greater relief and delight than the marquis experienced on hearing Pascal's offer. He literally felt

For ruin was inevitable if he did not succeed in obtaining twenty five thousand francs that day. If he could

procure that amount he might obtain a momentary respite, and to gain time was the main thing. Moreover, the

offer was a sufficient proof that his financial difficulties were not known. "Ah! I have had a fortunate

But he was careful to conceal the secret joy that filled his heart. He feared lest he might say "Yes" too

quickly, so betray his secret, and place himself at the mercy of the baron's envoy. "I would willingly accept

"Would it be proper for me, after the baron has treated me in such a contemptible manner, to have any

Pascal protested vigorously. "Allow me to say," he exclaimed, "that I am not any one's subordinate. Trigault

is my client, like thirty or forty othersnothing more. He employs me in certain difficult and delicate

negotiations, which I conduct to the best of my ability. He pays me, and we are each of us perfectly

From the look which Valorsay gave Pascal, one would have sworn that he suspected who his visitor really

was. But such was not the case. It was simply this: a strange, but by no means impossible, idea had flashed

through the marquis's mind"Oh!" thought he, "this unknown party with whom Maumejan offers to

negotiate the loan, is probably none other than the baron himself. That worthy gambler has invented this

ingenious method of obliging me so as to extort a rate of interest which he would not dare to demand openly.

And why not? There have been plenty of such instances. Isn't it a wellknown fact that the N Brothers,

the most rigidly honest financiers in the world, have never under any circumstances directly obliged one of

their friends? If their own father, of whom they always speak with the greatest veneration, asked them to lend

him fifty francs for a month, they would say to him as they do to every one else: 'We are rather cramped just

now; but see that rascal B.' And that rascal B, who is the most pliable tool in existence, will,

providing father N offers unquestionable security, lend the old gentleman his son's money at from

These ideas and recollections were of considerable assistance in restoring Valorsay's composure. "Enough

"There is always one. I must warn you that it will be difficult for me to repay this loan in less than two

This, then, was the time he thought necessary for the accomplishment of his designs.

"That does not matter," replied Pascal, "and even if you desire a longer delay "

Pascal had expected this question, and he had prepared a reply which was in perfect keeping with the spirit of

the role he had assumed. "I shall charge you the ordinary rates," he answered, "six per cent. interest, plus

If the marquis had retained the shadow of a doubt, it vanished now. "Ah!" he sneered, "that strikes me as a

But he would gladly have recalled the sneer when he saw how the agent received it. Pascal drew up his head

with a deeply injured air, and remarked in the chilling tone of a person who is strongly tempted to retract his

word, "Then there is nothing more to be said, M. le Marquis; and since you find the conditions onerous"

"I did not say so," interrupted M. de Valorsay, quickly"I did not even think it!"

This gave Pascal an opportunity to present his programme, and he availed himself of it. "Others may pretend

to oblige people merely from motives of friendship," he remarked. "But I am more honest. If I do anything in

the way of business, I expect to be paid for it; and I vary my terms according to my clients' need. It would be

impossible to have a fixed price for services like mine. When, on two different occasions, I saved a

gentleman of your acquaintance from bankruptcy, I asked ten thousand francs the first time, and fifteen

thousand the second. Was that an exaggerated estimate of my services? I might boast with truth that I once

assured the marriage of a brilliant viscount by keeping his creditors quiet while his courtship was in progress.

The day after the wedding he paid me twenty thousand francs. Didn't he owe them to me? If, instead of being

a trifle short of money, you happened to be ruined, I should not ask you merely for a thousand francs. I

should study your position, and fix my terms according to the magnitude of the peril from which I rescued

There was not a sentence, not a word of this cynical explanation which had not been carefully studied

beforehand. There was not an expression which was not a tempting bait to the marquis's evil instincts. But M

de Valorsay made no sign. "I see that you are a shrewd man, Monsieur Maumejan," said he, "and if I am ever

Pascal bowed with an air of assumed modesty; but he was inwardly jubilant, for he felt that his enemy would

certainly fall into the trap which had been set for him. "And now, when shall I have this money?" inquired the

"Certainly not. What interest would M. Trigault have in lending you a hundred thousand francs? None

whatever. With me it is quite a different thing. The profit I'm to realize is your security. In business matters

distrust your friends. Apply to usurers rather than to them. Question people who are in difficulties, and

ninetyfive out of a hundred will tell you that their worst troubles have been caused by those who called

He had risen to take leave, when the door of the smokingroom opened, and a servant appeared and said in

an undertone: "Madame Leon is in the drawingroom with Dr. Jodon. They wish to see you, monsieur."

Though Pascal had armed himself well against any unexpected mischance, he changed color on hearing the

name of the worthy housekeeper. "All is lost if this creature sees and recognizes me!" he thought.

Fortunately the Marquis was too much engrossed in his own affairs to note the momentary agitation of Baron

Trigault's envoy. "It is strange that I can't have five minutes' peace and quietness," he said. "I told you that I

The thought of passing out through the drawingroom filled Pascal with consternation. How could he hope to

escape Madame Leon's keen eyes? Fortunately M. de Valorsay came to his relief, for as Pascal was about to

open the same door by which he had entered, the marquis exclaimed: "Not that way! Pass out herethis is

And leading him through his bedroom the marquis conducted him to the staircase, where he even feigned to

It is not at the moment of peril that people endure the worst agony; it is afterward, when they have escaped it.

As he went down the staircase, Pascal wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. "Ah! it was a narrow escape!"

He felt proud of the manner in which he had sustained a part so repugnant to his nature. He was amazed to

find that he could utter falsehoods with such a calm, unblushing facehe was astonished at his own

audacity. And what a success he had achieved! He felt certain that he had just slipped round M. de Valorsay's

neck the noose which would strangle him later on. Still he was considerably disturbed by Madame Leon's

visit to the marquis. "What is she doing here with this physician?" he asked himself again and again. "Who is

this man? What new piece of infamy are they plotting to require his services?" One of those presentiments

which are prompted by the logic of events, told him that this physician had been, or would be, one of the

actors in the vile conspiracy of which he and Mademoiselle Marguerite were the victims. But he had no

leisure to devote to the solution of this enigma. Time was flying, and before returning to the marquis's house

he must find out what had aroused the suspicions of the purchaser of those horses, the biographies of which

had been so rigidly exacted. Through the baron, he might hope to obtain an interview with KamiBeyand

After the more than cordial reception which the baron had granted him that morning, it was quite natural that

the servants should receive him as a friend of the household. They would scarcely allow him to explain what

he desired. It was the pompous head valet in person who ushered him into one of the small reception rooms,

exclaiming: "The baron's engaged, but I'm sure he would be annoyed if he failed to see you; and I will inform

A moment later, the baron entered quite breathless from his hurried descent of the staircase. "Ah! you have

"Everything is progressing as favorably as I could wish, Monsieur le Baron, but I must speak with that

"Providence is certainly on our side," said the baron, thoughtfully. "Kami is still here."

"It's a fact. Did you think it would be easy to get rid of this confounded Turk! He invited himself to breakfast

without the slightest ceremony, and would give me no peace until I promised to play with him for two hours.

I was closeted with him, cards in hand, when they told me you were here. Come, we'll go and question him."

They found the interesting foreigner in a savage mood. He had been winning when the servant came for the

baron, and he feared that an interruption would change the luck. "What the devil took you away?" he

exclaimed, with that coarseness of manner which was habitual with him, and which the flatterers around him

styled "form." "A man should no more be disturbed when he's playing than when he's eating."

"Come, come, prince," said the baron, goodnaturedly, "don't be angry, and I'll give you three hours instead

The foreigner at once thrust his hand into his pocket, with such a natural gesture, that neither the baron nor

Pascal could repress a smile, and he himself understanding the cause of their merriment broke into a hearty

laugh. "It's purely from force of habit," said he. "Ah! since I've been in Paris But what do you wish?"

The baron sat down, and gravely replied: "You told us scarcely an hour ago that you had been cheated in the

KamiBey's purple cheeks became a trifle pale. "Hum!" said he, in an altered tone of voice, "that is a delicate

question. My defrauder appears to be a dangerous fellowa duellistand if I disclose his knavery, he is

quite capable of picking a quarrel with menot that I am afraid of him, I assure you, but my principles don't

allow me to fight. When a man has an income of a million, he doesn't care to expose himself to the dangers of

"But, prince, in France folks don't do a scoundrel the honor to cross swords with him."

"That's just what my steward, who is a Frenchman, told me; but no matter. Besides, I am not sufficiently sure

He was evidently terribly frightened, and the first thing to be done was to reassure him. "Come," insisted the

baron, "tell us the man's name. This gentleman here"pointing to Pascal"is one of my most esteemed

friends. I will answer for him as I would for myself; and we will swear upon our honor not to reveal the secret

After casting a halffrightened glance around him, the worthy Turk seemed to gather courage. But no! He

deliberated some time, and then rejoined: "Really, I'm not sufficiently convinced of the accuracy of my

suspicions to incur the risk of accusing a man who belongs in the very best society; a man who is very rich

and very highly respected, and who would tolerate no imputations upon his character."

It was plain that he would not speak. The baron shrugged his shoulders, but Pascal stepped bravely forward.

"Then I will tell you, prince," he said, "the name that you are determined to hide from us."

"But you must allow me to remark that the baron and myself retract the promise we made you just now."

If KamiBey had seen an emissary of his sovereign enter the room carrying the fatal bowstring he would

not have seemed more terrorstricken. He sprang nervously on to his short, fat legs, his eyes wildly dilating

and his hands fluttering despairingly. "Don't speak so loud! don't speak so loud!" he exclaimed, imploringly.

As he did not even attempt to deny it, the truth of the assertion might be taken for granted. But Pascal was not

content with this. "Now that we know the fact, I hope, Prince, that you will be sufficiently obliging to tell us

Poor Kami. He was in despair. "Alas!" he replied, reluctantly, "nothing could be more simple. I wanted to set

up a racing stable. Not that I care much for sport. I can scarcely distinguish a horse from a mulebut

morning and evening, everybody says to me: 'Prince, a man like you ought to make your name celebrated on

the turf.' Besides I never open a paper without reading: 'Such a man ought to be a patron of the noblest of

sports.' At last, I said to myself: 'Yes, they are right. I ought to take part in racing.' So I began to look about

for some horses. I had purchased several, when the Marquis de Valorsay proposed to sell me some of his,

some that were very well known, and that hadso he assured mewon at least ten times the amount they

had cost him. I accepted his offer, and visited his stables, where I selected seven of his best horses and paid

for them; and I paid a good round price, I assure you. Now comes the knavery. He has not given me the

horses I purchased. The real animals, the valuable oneshave been sold in England under false names, and

although the horses sent to me may be like the others in appearance, they are really only common animals,

Pascal and the baron exchanged astonished glances. It must be confessed that frauds of every description are

common enough in the racing world, and a great deal of dishonest manoeuvring results from greed for gain

united with the fever of gambling. But never before had any one been accused of such an audacious and

"How did you fail to discover this at the outset, prince?" inquired Pascal in an incredulous tone.

"Ah! that's another thing. I shouldn't be at all surprised if it were proved that the man who has charge of my

"It was only by the merest chance. A jockey whom I thought of employing had often ridden one of the

animals which I fancied myself the owner of. Naturally, I showed him the horse, but he had no sooner set

eyes on it than he exclaimed: 'That the horse! Never! You've been cheated, prince!' Then we examined the

Knowing Kami's character better than Pascal, the baron had good reason to distrust the accuracy of these

statements. For the Turkish millionaire's superb contempt of money was only affected. Vanity alone unloosed

his pursestrings. He was quite capable of presenting Jenny Fancy with a necklace costing fiveandtwenty

thousand francs for the sake of seeing his generosity recorded in the Gaulois or the Figaro the next day; but

he would refuse to give a trifle to the mother of a starving family. Besides, it was his ambition to be regarded

as the most swindled man in Europe. But though he was shamefully imposed upon, it was not voluntarily

"Frankly, prince," said the baron, "your story sounds like one of the wild legends of your native land.

Valorsay is certainly no fool. How is it possible that he could have been guilty of so gross a frauda fraud

which might be, which could not fail to be discovered in twentyfour hoursand which, once proven, would

"Before perpetrating such a piece of deception upon any one else, he would have thought twice; but upon me

it's different. Isn't it an established fact that a person incurs no risk in robbing Kami Bey?"

"What good would that have done? Besides, the sale was only conditional, and took place under the seal of

secrecy. The marquis reserved the right to take his horses back on payment of a stipulated sum, and the time

The marquis's rascality was now easily explained. Finding himself in a desperate strait, and feeling that his

salvation was certain if he could only gain a little time, he had yielded to temptation, saying to himself, like

unfaithful cashiers when they first appropriate their employers' money: "I will pay it back, and no one will

ever know it!" However, when the day of settlement came he had found himself in as deplorable a plight as

on the day of the robbery, and he had been compelled to yield to the force of circumstances.

"Ah! I am still in doubt. I have compelled the marquis to give me the papers in which the exploits of these

horses are recorded. These statements will be of service in case of a lawsuit. But shall I or shall I not enter a

complaint against him? If it were a mere question of money I should let the matter drop; but he has defrauded

and deceived me so outrageously that it annoys me. On the other hand, to confess that he has cheated me in

this fashion would cover me with ridicule. Besides, the man is a dangerous enemy. And what would become

of me if I happened to side against him? I should be compelled to leave Paris. Ah! I'd give ten thousand

His perplexity was so great, and his anger so intense, for that once he tore off his eternal fez and flung it on to

the table, swearing like a drayman. However, controlling himself at last, he exclaimed in a tone of assumed

indifference: "No matter, there's been enough said on this subject for one dayI'm here to playso let us

Pascal had nothing more to learn; so he shook hands with the baron, made an appointment with him for the

It was only halfpast two; a good hour and a half remained at his disposal. "I will profit by this opportunity to

eat something," he thought; a sudden faintness reminding him that he had taken nothing but a cup of

chocolate that day. Thereupon perceiving a cafe near by, he entered it, ordered breakfast, and lingered there

until it was time to return to the Marquis de Valorsay's. He would have gone there before the appointed time

if he had merely listened to the promptings of his impatience, so thoroughly was he persuaded that this

second interview would be decisive. But prudence advised him not to expose himself to the danger of an

"Well! Monsieur Maumejan," cried the marquis, as soon as Pascal made his appearance. He had been

counting the seconds with intense anxiety, as his tone of voice unmistakably revealed.

In reply Pascal gravely drew from his pocket twentyfour bank notes, of a thousand francs each, and he

placed them upon the table, saying: "Here is the amount, Monsieur le Marquis. I have, of course, deducted

my commission. Now, if you will write and sign a note for twentyfive thousand francs, payable to my order

M. de Valorsay's hand trembled nervously as he penned the desired note, for, until the very last moment, he

had doubted the promises of this unknown agent who had made his appearance so opportunely Then, when

the document was signed, he carelessly slipped the money into a drawer and exclaimed: "So here's the

needful to pay my debt of honor; but my embarrassment is none the less great. These twentyfour thousand

francs won't take the place of the hundred thousand which Baron Trigault promised me."

And, as Pascal made no reply, the marquis began a desultory tramp up and down the smokingroom. He was

very pale, his brows were knit; he looked like a man who was meditating a decisive step, and who was

calculating the consequences. But having no time to waste in hesitation, he soon paused in front of Pascal,

and exclaimed: "Since you have just lent me twentyfour thousand francs, why won't you lend me the rest?"

But Pascal shook his head. "One risks nothing by advancing twentyfive thousand francs to a person in your

position, Monsieur le Marquis. Whatever happens, such a sum as that can always be gathered from the wreck.

But double or triple the amount! The deuce! that requires reflection, and I must understand the situation

M. de Valorsay had now gone too far to draw back. "Ah, well!" he resumed, "the truth is thismy affairs are

"Wait; I am about to retrieve my fortuneto make it even larger than it has ever been. I am on the point of

contracting a marriage which will make me one of the richest men in Paris; but I must have a little time to

bring the affair to a successful termination, and I need moneyand my creditors are pressing me

unmercifully. You told me this morning that you once assisted a man who was in a similar position. Will you

More easily overcome by joy than by sorrow, Pascal almost betrayed himself. He had attained his object.

Still, he succeeded in conquering his emotion, and it was in a perfectly calm voice that he replied: "I can

promise nothing until I understand the situation, Monsieur le Marquis. Will you explain it to me? I am

It was nearly midnight when M. Wilkie left the Hotel d'Argeles after the terrible scene in which he had

revealed his true character. On seeing him pass out with haggard eyes, colorless lips, and disordered clothing,

the servants gathered in the vestibule took him at first for another of those ruined gamblers who not

"No doubt about that. He is pretty effectually used up, judging from appearances," one of them remarked.

It was not until some moments later that they learned a portion of the truth through the servants who had been

on duty upstairs, and who now ran down in great terror, crying that Madame d'Argeles was dying, and that a

M. Wilkie was already far away, hastening up the boulevard with an agile step. Any one else would have

been overcome with shame and sorrowwould have been frightened by the thought of what he had done,

and have striven to find some way to conceal his disgrace; but he, not in the least. In this frightful crisis, he

was only conscious of one factthat just as he raised his hand to strike Madame Lia d'Argeles, his mother, a

big, burly individual had burst into the room, like a bombshell, caught him by the throat, forced him upon his

knees, and compelled him to ask the lady's pardon. He, Wilkie, to be humiliated in this style! He would never

endure that. This was an affront he could not swallow, one of those insults that cry out for vengeance and for

blood. "Ah! the great brute shall pay for it," he repeated, again and again, grinding his teeth. And if he

hastened up the boulevard, it was only because he hoped to meet his two chosen friends, M. Costard and the

For he intended to place his outraged honor in their care. They should be his seconds, and present his demand

for satisfaction to the man who had insulted him. A duel was the only thing that could appease his furious

anger and heal his wounded pride. And a great scandal, which he would be the hero of, was not without a

certain charm for him. What a glorious chance to win notoriety at an epoch when newspapers have become

public laundries, in which every one washes his soiled linen and dries it in the glare of publicity! He saw his

already remarkable reputation enhanced by the interest that always attaches to people who are talked about,

and he could hear in advance the flattering whisper which would greet his appearance everywhere: "You see

that young man?he is the hero of that famous adventure," etc. Moreover, he was already twisting and

turning the terms of the notice which his seconds must have inserted in the Figaro, hesitating between two or

three equally startling beginnings: "Another famous duel," or "Yesterday, after a scandalous scene, an

Unfortunately, he did not meet either M. Costard or the Viscount de Serpillon. Strange to say, they were not

in any of the cafes, where the flower of French chivalry usually congregates, in the company of

goldenhaired young women, from nine in the evening until one o'clock in the morning. This disappointment

grieved M. Wilkie sorely, although he derived some benefit from it, for his disordered attire attracted

attention at each place he entered, and acquaintances eagerly inquired: "Where have you come from, and

what has happened to you?" Whereupon he replied with an air of profound secrecy: "Pray don't speak of it. A

At last the cafes began to close, and promenaders became rare. M. Wilkie, much to his regret, was obliged to

go home. When he had locked his door and donned his dressinggown, he sat down to think over the events

of the day, and collect his scattered wits. What most troubled and disquieted him was not the condition in

which he had left Madame Lia d'Argeles, his mother, who was, perhaps, dying, through his fault! It was not

the terrible sacrifice that this poor woman had made for him in a transport of maternal love! It was not the

thought of the source from which the money he had squandered for so many years had been derived. No, M.

Wilkie was quite above such paltry considerationsgood enough for commonplace and antiquated people.

"He was too clever for that. Ah! yes. He had a stronger stomach, and was up with the times!" If he were

sorely vexed in spirit it was because he thought that the immense property which he had believed his own had

slipped, perhaps for ever, from his grasp. For rising threateningly between the Chalusse millions and himself,

he pictured the form of his father, this man whom he did not know, but whose very name had made Madame

M. Wilkie was seized with terror when he looked his actual situation in the face. What was to become of

him? He was certain that Madame d'Argeles would not give him another sou. She could nothe recognized

that fact. His intelligence was equal to that. On the other hand, if he ever obtained anything from the count's

estate, which was more than doubtful, would he not be obliged to wait a long time for it? Yes, in all

probability such would be the case. Then how should he live, how would he be able to obtain food in the

meantime? His despair was so poignant that tears came to his eyes; and he bitterly deplored the step he had

taken. Yes, he actually sighed for the past; he longed to live over again the very years in which he had so

often complained of his destiny. Then, though not a millionaire by any means, he at least wanted for nothing.

Every quarterday a very considerable allowance was promptly paid him, and, in great emergencies, he could

apply to Mr. Patterson, who always sent a favorable answer if not drawn upon too heavily. Yes, he sighed for

that time! Ah! if he had only then realized how fortunate he was! Had he not been one of the most opulent

members of the society in which he moved? Had he not been flattered and admired more than any of his

companions? Had he not found the most exquisite happiness in his part ownership of Pompier de Nanterre!

Now, what remained? Nothing, save anxiety concerning the future, and all sorts of uncertainties and terrors!

What a mistake! What a blunder he had made! Ah! if he could only begin again. He sincerely wished that the

great adversary of mankind had the Viscount de Coralth in his clutches. For, in his despair, it was the once

He was in this ungrateful frame of mind when a loud, almost savage, ring came at his door. As his servant

slept in an attic upstairs, Wilkie was quite alone in his rooms, so he took the lamp and went to open the door

himself. At this hour of the night, the visitor could only be M. Costard or the Viscount de Serpillon, or

perhaps both of them. "They have heard that I was looking for them, and so they have hastened here," he

But he was mistaken. The visitor was neither of these gentlemen, but M. Ferdinand de Coralth in person.

Prudence had compelled the viscount to leave Madame d'Argeles's cardparty one of the last, but as soon as

he was out of the house he had rushed to the Marquis de Valorsay's to hold a conference with him, far from

suspecting that he was followed, and that an auxiliary of Pascal Ferailleur and Mademoiselle Marguerite was

even then waiting for him belowan enemy as formidable as he was humbleVictor Chupin.

At sight of the man who had so long been his modelthe friend who had advised what he styled his

blunderWilkie was so surprised that he almost dropped his lamp. Then as his wrath kindled, "Ah! so it's

But M. de Coralth was too much exasperated to notice Wilkie's strange greeting. Seizing him roughly by the

arm, and closing the door with a kick, he dragged Wilkie back into the little drawing room. "Yes, it's I," he

"I can find no other explanation of your conduct! What! You choose Madame d'Argeles's reception day, and

"Ah, well! it wasn't from choice. I had been there twice before, and had the doors shut in my face."

"You ought to have gone back ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times, rather than have accomplished

"What did I recommend? Prudence, calmness and moderation, persuasive gentleness, sentiments of the

"But instead of that, you fall upon this woman like a thunderbolt, and set the whole household in the wildest

commotion. What could you be thinking of, to make such an absurd and frightful scene? For you howled and

shrieked like a street hawker, and we could hear you in the drawingroom. If all is not irretrievably lost, there

In his dismay, Wilkie endeavored to falter some excuses, but he was only able to begin a few sentences which

died away, uncompleted in his throat. The violence shown by M. de Coralth, who was usually as cold and as

polished as marble, quieted his own wrath. Still toward the last he felt disposed to rebel against the insults

that were being heaped upon him. "Do you know, viscount, that I begin to think this very strange," he

exclaimed. "If any one else had led me into such a scrape, I should have called him to account in

M. de Coralth shrugged his shoulders with an air of contempt, and threateningly replied: "Understand, once

for all, that you had better not attempt to bully me! Now, tell me what passed between your mother and

"Dash it all! Do you suppose that I intend to remain here all night? Tell me what occurred, and be quick about

It was one of M. Wilkie's greatest boasts that he had an indomitable willan iron nature. But the viscount

exercised powerful influence over him, and, to tell the truth, inspired him with a form of emotion which was

nearly akin to fear. Moreover, a glimmer of reason had at last penetrated his befogged brain: he saw that M.

de Coralth was rightthat he had acted like a fool, and that, if he hoped to escape from the dangers that

threatened him, he must take the advice of more experienced men than himself. So, ceasing his

recriminations, he began to describe what he styled his explanation with Madame d'Argeles. All went well at

But when he came to the intervention of the man who had prevented him from striking his mother, he turned

crimson, and rage again filled his heart. "I'm sorry I let myself get into such a mess!" he exclaimed. "You

should have seen my condition. My shirt collar was torn, and my cravat hung in tatters. He was much

stronger than Ithe contemptible scoundrel!ah! if it hadn't been for that But I shall have my

revenge. Yes, he shall learn that he can't trample a man under foot with impunity. To morrow two of my

friends will call upon him; and if he refuses to apologize or to give me satisfaction, I'll cane him."

It was evident enough that M. de Coralth had to exercise considerable constraint to listen to these fine

projects. "I must warn you that you ought to speak in other terms of an honorable and honored gentleman," he

M. Wilkie's heart bounded with joy, as he heard this name. "Ah! this is capital!" he exclaimed. "What! So it

was Baron Trigault the noted gamblerwho owns such a magnificent house in the Rue de la Ville

The viscount sprang from his chair, and interrupting M. Wilkie: "I advise you, for the sake of your own

safety," he said, measuring his words to give them greater weight, "never to mention the Baroness Trigault's

There was no misunderstanding M. de Coralth's tone, and his glance said plainly that he would not allow

much time to pass before putting his threat into execution. Having always lived in a lower circle to that in

which the baroness sparkled with such lively brilliancy, M. Wilkie was ignorant of the reasons that induced

his distinguished friend to defend her so warmly; but he DID understand that it would be highly imprudent to

insist, or even to discuss the matter. So, in his most persuasive manner, he resumed: "Let us say no more

about the wife, but give our attention to the husband. So it was the baron who insulted me! A duel with

himwhat good luck! Well! he may sleep in peace to night, but as soon as he is up in the morning he will

find Costard and Serpillon on hand. Serpillon has not an equal as a second. First, he knows the best places for

a meeting; then he lends the combatants weapons when they have none; he procures a physician; and he is on

The viscount had never had a very exalted opinion of Wilkie's intelligence, but now he was amazed to see

how greatly he had overestimated it. "Enough of such foolishness," he interrupted, curtly. "This duel will

"I will, if you persist in such an absurd idea. You ought to have sense enough to know that the baron would

kick Serpillon out of the house, and that you would only cover yourself with ridicule. So, between your duel

The prospect of sending his seconds to demand satisfaction from Baron Trigault was certainly a very

attractive one. But, on the other hand, Wilkie could not afford to dispense with M. de Coralth's services. "But

"Well, you can demand satisfaction when you obtain possession of your property: but the least scandal now

"I will abandon the project, then," sighed Wilkie, despondently; "but pray advise me. What do you think of

M. de Coralth seemed to consider a moment, and then gravely replied: "I think that, UNASSISTED, you have

no chance whatever. You have no standing, no influential connections, no positionyou are not even a

"Still, I am convinced that with some assistance you might overcome your mother's resistance, and even your

The viscount's gravity seemed to increase. "Listen to me," said he; "I will do for you what I would not do for

any one else. I will endeavor to interest in your cause one of my friends, who is all powerful by reason of his

"Yes. Be ready tomorrow at eleven o'clock, and I will call for you and take you to his house. If he interests

himself in your cause, it is as good as gained." And as his companion overwhelmed him with thanks, he rose,

and said: "I must go now. No more foolishness, and be ready tomorrow at the appointed time."

Thanks to the surprising mutability of temper which was the most striking characteristic of his nature, M.

He had received M. de Coralth as an enemy; but he now escorted him to the door with every obsequious

attentionin fact, just as if he looked upon him as his preserver. A word which the viscount had dropped

during the conversation had considerably helped to bring about this sudden revulsion of feelings. "You

cannot fail to understand that if the Marquis de Valorsay espouses your cause, you will want for nothing. And

if a lawsuit is unavoidable, he will be perfectly willing to advance the necessary funds." How could M.

Wilkie lack confidence after that? The brightest hopes, the most ecstatic visions had succeeded the gloomy

forebodings of a few hours before. The mere thought of being presented to M. de Valorsay, a nobleman

celebrated for his adventures, his horses, and his fortune, more than sufficed to make him forget his troubles.

What rapture to become that illustrious nobleman's acquaintance, perhaps his friend! To move in the same

orbit as this star of the first magnitude which would inevitably cast some of its lustre upon him! Now he

would be a somebody in the world. He felt that he had grown a head taller, and Heaven only knows with what

disdain poor Costard and Serpillon would have been received had they chanced to present themselves at that

It is needless to say that Wilkie dressed with infinite care on the following morning, no doubt in the hope of

making a conquest of the marquis at first sight. He tried his best to solve the problem of appearing at the

same time most recherche but at ease, excessively elegant and yet unostentatious; and he devoted himself to

the task so unreservedly that he lost all conception of the flight of time: so that on seeing M. de Coralth enter

It seemed to him that barely five minutes had elapsed since he took his place before the lookingglass to

study attitudes and gestures, with a new and elegant mode of bowing and sitting down, like an actor

"Why do you say 'already?'" replied the viscount. "I am a quarter of an hour behind time. Are you not ready?"

The drive was a silent one. M. Ferdinand de Coralth, whose smooth white skin would ordinarily have excited

the envy of a young girl, did not look like himself. His face was swollen and covered with blotches, and there

were dark blue circles round his eyes. He seemed, moreover, to be in a most savage humor. "He hasn't had

sleep enough," thought M. Wilkie, with his usual discernment; "he hasn't a bronze constitution like myself."

M. Wilkie himself was insensible to fatigue, and although he had not closed his eyes the previous night, he

only felt that nervous trepidation which invariably attacks debutants, and makes the throat so marvellously

dry. For the first, and probably the last time in his life, M. Wilkie distrusted his own powers, and feared that

The sight of the Marquis de Valorsay's handsome mansion was not likely to restore his assurance. When he

entered the courtyard, where the master's mailphaeton stood in waiting; when through the open doors of the

handsome stables he espied the many valuable horses neighing in their stalls, and the numerous carriages

shrouded in linen covers; when he counted the valets on duty in the vestibule, and when he ascended the

staircase behind a lackey attired in a black dresscoat, and as serious in mien as a notary; when he passed

through the handsome drawingrooms, filled to overflowing with pictures, armor, statuary, and all the

trophies gained by the marquis's horses upon the turf, M. Wilkie mentally acknowledged that he knew

nothing of high life, and that what he had considered luxury was scarcely the shadow of the reality. He felt

actually ashamed of his own ignorance. This feeling of inferiority became so powerful that he was almost

tempted to turn and fly, when the man clothed in black opened the door and announced, in a clear voice: "M.

With a most gracious and dignified airthe air of a true GRAND seigneurthe only portion of his

inheritance which he had preserved intact, the marquis rose to his feet, and, offering his hand to M. de

Coralth, exclaimed: "You are most welcome, viscount. This gentleman is undoubtedly the young friend you

"The same; and really he stands greatly in need of your kindness. He finds himself in an extremely delicate

"Ah, well, I will lend him one with pleasure, since he is your friend. But I must know the circumstances

M. Wilkie had prepared his story in advance, a touching and witty narrative; but when the moment came to

begin it, he found himself unable to speak. He opened his mouth, but no sound issued from his lips, and it

seemed as if he had been stricken dumb. Accordingly it was M. de Coralth who made a statement of the case,

and he did it well. The narrative thus gained considerably in clearness and precision; and even M. Wilkie

noticed that his friend understood how to present the events in their most favorable light, and how to omit

them altogether when his heartless conduct would have appeared too odious. He also noticedand he

considered it an excellent omenthat M. de Valorsay was listening with the closest attention.

Worthy marquis! if his own interests had been in jeopardy he could not have appeared more deeply

concerned. When the viscount had concluded his story, he gravely exclaimed: "Your young friend is indeed

in a most critical position, a position from which he cannot escape without being terribly victimized, if he's

M. de Valorsay reflected for a little, and then, addressing M. Wilkie, replied: "Yes, I consent to assist you,

monsieur. First, because your cause seems to me just, and, also, because you are M. de Coralth's friend. I

The interesting young man lifted his hand, and, by dint of a powerful effort, he succeeded in articulating:

"You must understand that when I engage in an enterprise, it must not fail. The eye of the public is upon me,

and I have my PRESTIGE to maintain. I have given you a great mark of confidence, for in lending you my

influence I become, in some measure at least, your sponsor. But I cannot accept this great responsibility

"And I think that we ought to begin operations this very day. The main thing is to circumvent your father, the

"I shall dress at once and go to the Hotel de Chalusse, in order to ascertain what has occurred there. You on

your side must hasten to Madame d'Argeles and request her politely, but firmly, to furnish you with the

necessary proofs to assert your rights. If she consents, well and good! If she refuses, we will consult some

But the thought of meeting Madame d'Argeles again was anything but pleasing to Wilkie. "I would willingly

yield that undertaking to some one else," said he. "Cannot some one else go in my place?"

Fortunately M. de Coralth knew how to encourage him. "What! are you afraid?" he asked.

Afraid! he?never! It was easy to see that by the way he settled his hat on his head and went off, slamming

"What an idiot!" muttered M. de Coralth. "And to think that there are ten thousand in Paris built upon the

M. de Valorsay gravely shook his head. "Let us thank fortune that he is as he is. No youth who possessed

either heart or intelligence would play the part that I intend for him, and enable me to obtain proud

Marguerite and her millions. But I fear he won't go to Madame d'Argeles's house. You noticed his

"Oh, you needn't trouble yourself in the least on that account he'll go. He would go to the devil if the noble

M. de Coralth understood Wilkie perfectly. The fear of being considered a coward by a nobleman like the

Marquis de Valorsay was more than sufficient, not only to divest him of all his scruples, but even to induce

him to commit any act of folly, or actually a crime. For if he had looked upon M. de Coralth as an oracle, he

Accordingly, as he hastened toward Madame d'Argeles's residence, he said to himself: "Why shouldn't I go to

her house? I've done her no injury. Besides, she won't eat me." And remembering that he should be obliged to

render a report of this interview, he resolved to assert his superiority and to remain cool and unmoved, as he

However, the unusual aspect of the house excited his surprise, and puzzled him not a little. Three huge

furniture vans, heavily laden, were standing outside the gate. In the courtyard there were two more vehicles

of the same description, which a dozen men or so were busily engaged in loading. "Ah, ha!" muttered M.

Wilkie, "it was fortunate that I camevery fortunate; so she was going to run away!" Thereupon,

approaching a group of servants who were in close conference in the hall, he demanded, in his most

The servants remembered the visitor perfectly; they now knew who he really was, and they could not

understand how he could have the impudence and audacity to come there again so soon after the shameful

scene of the previous evening. "Madame is at home," replied one of the men, in anything but a polite tone;

He went off, leaving M. Wilkie in the vestibule to settle his collar and twirl his puny mustaches, with affected

indifference; but in reality he was far from comfortable. For the servants did not hesitate to stare at him, and

it was quite impossible not to read their contempt in their glances. They even sneered audibly and pointed at

him; and he heard five or six epithets more expressive than elegant which could only have been meant for

himself. "The fools!" thought he, boiling with anger. "The scoundrels! Ah! if I dared. If a gentleman like

But the valet who had gone to warn Madame d'Argeles soon reappeared and put an end to his sufferings.

"Come, make haste," rejoined Wilkie, indignantly, and following the servant, he was ushered into a room

which had already been divested of its hangings, curtains, and furniture. He here found Madame d'Argeles

engaged in packing a large trunk with household linen and sundry articles of clothing.

By a sort of miracle the unfortunate woman had survived the terrible shock which had at first threatened to

have an immediately fatal effect. Still she had none the less received her deathblow. It was only necessary to

look at her to be assured of that. She was so greatly changed that when M. Wilkie's eyes first fell on her, he

asked himself if this were really the same person whom he had met on the previous evening. Henceforth she

would be an old woman. You would have taken her for over fifty, so terrible had been the sufferings caused

her by the shameful conduct of her son. In this sadeyed, haggardfaced woman, clad in black, no one would

have recognized the notorious Lia d'Argeles, who, only the evening before, had driven round the lake,

reclining on the cushions of her victoria, and eclipsing all the women around her by the splendor of her

toilette. Nothing now remained of the gay worldling but the golden hair which she was condemned to see

always the same, since its tint had been fixed by dyes as indelible as the stains upon her past.

She rose with difficulty when M. Wilkie entered, and in the expressionless voice of those who are without

As usual, when the time came to carry out his happiest conceptions, his courage failed him. "I came to talk

"Nonsense! you can't make me believe that! What's the meaning of these carts in the courtyard?"

Wilkie was struck dumb for a moment, but eventually recovering himself a little, he exclaimed: "What! you

With a gesture of utter indifference, she gently replied: "I don't know; I shall go where no one will know me,

A terrible disquietude seized hold of Wilkie. This sudden change of residence, this departure which so

strongly resembled flight, this cold greeting when he expected passionate reproaches, seemed to indicate that

Madame d'Argeles's resolution would successfully resist any amount of entreaty on his part. "The devil," he

remarked, "I don't think this at all pleasant! What is to become of me? How am I to obtain possession of the

Count de Chalusse's estate? That's what I am after! It's rightfully mine, and I'm determined to have it, as I told

He paused, for he could no longer face the scornful glances that Madame d'Argeles was giving him. "Don't be

alarmed," she replied bitterly, "I shall leave you the means of asserting your right to my parents' estate."

"Your threats obliged me to decide contrary to my own wishes. I felt that no amount of slander or disgrace

"I reflected, and I saw that nothing would arrest you upon your downward path except a large fortune. If you

were poor and compelled to earn your daily breada task which you are probably incapable of

performingwho can tell what depths of degradation you might descend to? With your instincts and your

vices, who knows what crime you wouldn't commit to obtain money? It wouldn't be long before you were in

the dock, and I should hear of you only through your disgrace. But, on the other hand, if you were rich, you

would probably lead an honest life, like many others, who, wanting for nothing, are not tempted to do wrong,

who, in fact, show virtue in which there is nothing worthy of praise. For real virtue implies temptationa

Although he did not understand these remarks very well, M. Wilkie evinced a desire to offer some objections;

but Madame d'Argeles had already resumed: "So I went to my notary this morning. I told him everything; and

by this time my renunciation of my rights to the estate of the Count de Chalusse is already recorded."

"Allow me to finish since you don't understand me. As soon as I renounce the inheritance it becomes yours."

"I have no wish to deceive you. I only desire that the name of Lia d'Argeles should not be mentioned. I will

give you the necessary proofs to establish your identity; my marriage contract and your certificate of birth."

It was joy that made M. Wilkie speechless now. "And when will you give me these documents?" he faltered,

"You shall have them before you leave this house; but first of all I must talk with you."

Agitated and excited though he was, M. Wilkie had not once ceased to think of M. de Coralth and the

Marquis de Valorsay. What would they do in such a position, and how should he act to conform himself to

the probable example of these models of deportment? Manifestly he ought to assume that stolid and insolent

air of boredom which is considered a sure indication of birth and breeding. Convinced of this, and seized with

a laudable desire to emulate such distinguished examples, he had perched himself upon a trunk, where he still

sat with his legs crossed. He now pretended to suppress a yawn, as he growled, "What! some more long

Absorbed in the memories she had invoked, Madame d'Argeles paid no heed to Wilkie's impertinence. "Yes,

I must talk with you," she said, "and more for your sake than for my own. I must tell you who I am, and

through what strange vicissitudes I have passed. You know what family I belong to. I will tell you,

howeverfor you may be ignorant of the factthat our house is the equal of any in France in lineage,

splendor of alliance, and fortune. When I was a child, my parents lived at the Hotel de Chalusse, in the

Faubourg Saint Germain, a perfect palace, surrounded by one of those immense gardens, which are no longer

seen in Parisa real park, shaded with centuryold trees. Certainly everything that money could procure, or

vanity desire, was within my reach; and yet my youth was wretchedly unhappy. I scarcely knew my father,

who was devoured by ambition, and had thrown himself body and soul into the vortex of politics. Either my

mother did not love me, or thought it beneath her dignity to make any display of sensibility; but at all events

her reserve had raised a wall of ice between herself and me. As for my brother he was too much engrossed in

pleasure to think of a mere child. So I lived quite alone, too proud to accept the love and friendship of my

inferiorsabandoned to the dangerous inspirations of solitude, and with no other consolation than my

booksbooks which had been chosen for me by my mother's confessor, and which were calculated to fill my

imagination with visionary and romantic fancies. The only conversation I heard dealt with the means of

leaving all the family fortune to my brother, so that he might uphold the splendor of the name, and with the

necessity of marrying me to some superannuated nobleman who would take me without a dowry, or of

compelling me to enter one of those aristocratic convents, which are the refuge, and often the prison, of poor

"I do not pretend to justify my fault, I am only explaining it. I thought myself the most unfortunate being in

the worldand such I really was, since I honestly believed itwhen I happened to meet Arthur Gordon,

your father. I saw him for the first time at a fete given at the house of the Comte de Commarin. How he, a

mere adventurer, had succeeded in forcing his way into the most exclusive society in the world, is a point

which I have never been able to explain. But, alas! it is only too true that when our glances met for the first

time, my heart was stirred to its inmost depths; I felt that it was no longer minethat I was no longer free!

Ah! why does not God allow a man's face to reflect at least something of his nature? This man, who was a

corrupt and audacious hypocrite, had that air of apparent nobility and frankness which inspires you with

unlimited confidence, and the melancholy expression on his features seemed to indicate that he had known

sorrow, and had good cause to rail at destiny. In his whole appearance there was certainly a mysterious and

fatal charm. I afterward learned that this was only a natural result of the wild life he had led. He was only

twentysix, and he had already been the commander of a slave ship, and had fought in Mexico at the head of

one of those guerilla bands which make politics an excuse for pillage and murder. He divined only too well

the impression he had made upon my heart. I met him twice afterward in society. He did not speak to me; he

even pretended to avoid me, but standing a little on one side, he watched my every movement with burning

eyes in which I fancied I could read a passion as absorbing as my own. At last he ventured to write to me.

The moment a letter addressed to me in an unknown hand was covertly handed me by my maid, I divined that

it came from him. I was frightened, and my first impulse was to take it, not to my mother whom I regarded

as my natural enemybut to my father. However, he chanced to be absent; I kept the letter, I read it, I

"Alas! from that moment my conduct was inexcusable. I knew that it was worse than a fault to continue this

clandestine correspondence. I knew my parents would never give my hand in marriage to a man who was not

of noble birth. I knew that I was risking my reputation, the spotless honor of our house, my happiness, and

life! Still I persistedI was possessed with a strange madness that made me ready to brave every danger.

Besides, he gave me no time to breathe, or reflect. Everywhere, constantly, every instant, he compelled me to

think of him. By some miracle of address and audacity, he had discovered a means of intruding upon my

presence, even in my father's house. For instance, every morning I found the vases in my room full of choice

flowers, though I was never able to discover what hands had placed them there. Ah! how can one help

believing in an omnipresent passion which one inhales with the very air one breathes! How can one resist it?

"I only discovered Arthur Gordon's object when it was too late. He had come to Paris with the fixed

determination of trapping some rich heiress, and forcing her family to give her to him with a large dowry,

after one of those disgraceful scandals which render a marriage inevitable. At the very same time he was

pursuing two other rich young girls, persuaded that one of the three would certainly become his victim.

"I was the first to yield. One of those unforeseen events which are the work of Providence, was destined to

decide my fate. Several times, already, in compliance with Arthur's urgent entreaties, I had met him at night

time in a little pavilion in our garden. This pavilion contained a billiardroom and a spacious gallery in which

my brother practised fencing and pistol shooting with his masters and friends. There, thanks to the liberty I

enjoyed, we thought ourselves perfectly secure from observation, and we were imprudent enough to light the

candles. One night when I had just joined Arthur in the pavilion, I thought I heard the sound of hoarse, heavy

breathing behind me. I turned round in a fright and saw my brother standing on the threshold. Oh! then I

realized how guilty I had been! I felt that one or the other of these two menmy lover or my

"I tried to speak, to throw myself between them, but I found I could neither speak nor move; it was as if I had

been turned to stone. Nor did they exchange a word at first. But at last my brother drew two swords from

their scabbards, and throwing one at Arthur's feet, exclaimed: 'I have no wish to assassinate you. Defend

yourself, and save your life if you can!' And as Arthur hesitated, and seemed to be trying to gain time instead

of picking up the weapon that was lying on the floor near him, my brother struck him in the face with the flat

side of his sword, and cried: 'Now will you fight, you coward! In an instant it was all over. Arthur caught up

the sword, and springing upon my brother, disarmed him, and wounded him in the breast. I saw this. I saw

the blood spurt out upon my lover's hands. I saw my brother stagger, beat the air wildly with his hands, and

fall apparently lifeless to the floor. Then I, too, lost consciousness and fell!"

Any one who had seen Madame d'Argeles as she stood there recoiling in horror, with her features contracted,

and her eyes dilated, would have realized that by strength of will she had dispelled the mists enshrouding the

past, and distinctly beheld the scene she was describing. She seemed to experience anew the same agony of

terror she had felt twenty years before; and this lent such poignant intensity to the interest of her narrative that

if M. Wilkie's heart was not exactly touched, he was, as he afterward confessed, at least rather interested. But

Madame d'Argeles seemed to have forgotten his existence. She wiped away the foam flecked blood which

"When I regained my senses it was morning, and I was lying, still dressed, on a bed in a strange room. Arthur

Gordon was standing at the foot of the bed anxiously watching my movements. He did not give me time to

question him. 'You are in my house,' said he. 'Your brother is dead!' Almighty God! I thought I should die as

well. I hoped so. I prayed for death. But, in spite of my sobs, he pitilessly continued: 'It is a terrible

misfortune which I shall never cease to regret. And yet, it was his own fault. You, who witnessed the scene.

know that it was so. You can still see on my face the mark of the blow he dealt me. I only defended myself

and you.' I was ignorant then of the accepted code of duelling. I did not know that by throwing himself upon

my brother before he was on guard, Arthur Gordon had virtually assassinated him. He relied upon my

ignorance for the success of the sinister farce he was playing. 'When I saw your brother fall,' he continued, 'I

was wild with terror; and not knowing what I did, I caught you up in my arms and brought you here. But

don't tremble, I know that you are not in my house of your own free will. A carriage is below and awaits your

orders to convey you to your parents' home. It will be easy to find an explanation for last night's catastrophe.

Slander will not venture to attack such a family as yours.' He spoke in the constrained tone, and with that air

which a brave man, condemned to death, would assume in giving utterance to his last wishes. I felt as if I

were going mad. 'And you!' I exclaimed, 'you! What will become of you?' He shook his head, and with a look

of anguish, replied: 'Me! What does it matter about me! I am ruined undoubtedly. So much the better.

Nothing matters now that I must live apart from you'! Ah! he knew my heart. He knew his power! Swayed by

an emotion which was madness rather than heroism, I sprang toward him, and clasped him in my arms: 'Then

I, too, am lost!' I cried. 'Since fate united us, nothing but death shall separate us. I love you. I am your

"A keen observer would certainly have detected a gleam of fiendish joy in his eyes. But he protested, or

pretended to protest. With feigned energy he refused to accept such a sacrifice. He could not link my destiny

to his, for misery had ever been his lot; and now that this last and most terrible misfortune had overtaken him,

he was more than ever convinced that there was a curse hanging over him! He would not suffer me to bring

misery upon myself, and eternal remorse upon him. But the more he repulsed me, the more obstinately I

clung to him. The more forcibly he showed the horror of the sacrifice, the more I was convinced that my

honor compelled me to make it. So at last he yielded, or seemed to yield, with transports of gratitude and

love. 'Well! yes, I accept your sacrifice, my darling!' he exclaimed. 'I accept it; and before the God who is

looking down upon us, I swear that I will do all that is in human power to repay such sublime and marvellous

devotion.' And, bending over me, he printed a kiss upon my forehead. 'But we must fly!' he resumed, quickly.

'I have my happiness to defend now! I will not suffer any one to discover us and separate us now. We must

start at once, without losing a moment, and gain my native land, America. There, we shall be safe. For rest

assured they will search for us. Who knows but even now the officers of the law are upon our track? Your

family is allpowerfulI am a mere nobodywe should be crushed if they discover us. They would bury

you in a gloomy cloister, and I should be tried as a common thief, or as a vile assassin.' My only answer was:

"It had been easy for him to foresee what the result of this interview would be. A vehicle was indeed waiting

at the door, but not for the purpose of conveying me to the Hotel de Chalusseas was proved conclusively

by the fact that his trunks were already strapped upon it. Besides, the coachman must have received his

instructions in advance for he drove us straight to the Havre Railway station without a word. It was not until

some months afterward that these trifles, which entirely escaped my notice at the time, opened my eyes to the

truth. When we reached the station we found a train ready to start, and we took our places in it. I tried to quiet

my conscience with miserable sophistries. Remembering that God has said to woman: To follow thy husband

thou shalt abandon all else, native land, paternal home, parents and friends, I told myself that this was the

husband whom my heart had instinctively chosen, and that it was my duty to follow him and share his

destiny. And thus I fled with him, although I thought I left a corpse behind methe corpse of my only

M. Wilkie was actually so much interested that he forgot his anxiety concerning his attitude, and no longer

thought of M. de Coralth and the Marquis de Valorsay. He even sprang up, and exclaimed: "Amazing!"

But Madame d'Argeles had already resumed: "Such was my great, inexcusable, irreparable fault. I have told

you the whole truth, without trying either to conceal or justify anything. Listen to my chastisement! On our

arrival at Le Havre the next day, Arthur confessed that he was greatly embarrassed financially. Owing to our

precipitate flight, he had not had time to realize the property he possessedat least so he told mea banker,

on whom he had depended, had moreover failed him, and he had not sufficient money to pay our passage to

New York. This amazed me. My education had been absurd, like that of most young girls in my station. I

knew nothing of real life, of its requirements and difficulties. I knew, of course, that there were rich people

and poor people, that money was a necessity, and that those who did not possess it would stoop to any

meanness to obtain it. But all this was not very clear in my mind, and I never suspected that a few francs

more or less would be a matter of vital importance. So I was not in the least prepared for the request to which

this confession served as preface, and Arthur Gordon was obliged to ask me pointblank if I did not happen

to have some money about me, or some jewelry which could be converted into money. I gave him all I had,

my purse containing a few louis, a ring and a necklace, with a handsome diamond cross attached to it.

However, the total value was comparatively small, and such was Arthur's disappointment that he made a

remark which frightened me even then, though I did not fully understand its shameful meaning until

afterward: 'A woman who repairs to a rendezvous should always have all the valuables she possesses about

"Want of money was keeping us prisoners at Le Havre, when Arthur Gordon chanced to meet an old

acquaintance, who was the captain of an American sailing vessel. He confided his embarrassment to his

friend, and the latter, whose vessel was to sail at the end of the same week, kindly offered us a free passage.

The voyage was one long torture to me, for it was then that I first served my apprenticeship in shame and

disgrace. By the captain's offensive gallantry, the lower officers' familiarity of manner, and the sailors'

ironical glances whenever I appeared on deck, I saw that my position was a secret for no one. Everybody

knew that I was the mistress and not the wife of the man whom I called my husband: and, without being

really conscious of it, perhaps, they made me cruelly expiate my fault. Moreover, reason had regained its

ascendency, my eyes were gradually opening to the truth, and I was beginning to learn the real character of

"Not that he had wholly ceased to practise dissimulation. But after the evening meal he often lingered at table

smoking and drinking with his friend the captain, and when he joined me afterward, heated with alcohol, he

shocked me by advocating theories which were both novel and repulsive to me. Once, after drinking more

than usual, he entirely forgot his assumed part, and revealed himself in his true character. He declared he

bitterly regretted that our love affair had ended so disastrously. It was deplorable to think that so happily

conceived and so skilfully conducted a scheme should have terminated in bloodshed. And the blow had fallen

just as he fancied he had reached the goal; just as he thought he would reap the reward of his labor. In a few

weeks' more time he would undoubtedly have gained sufficient influence over me to persuade me to elope

with him. This would, of course, have caused a great scandal; the next day there would have been a family

conclave; a compromise would have been effected, and finally, a marriage arranged with a large dowry, to

hush up the affair. 'And I should now be a rich man,' he added, 'a very rich manI should be rolling through

the streets of Paris in my carriage, instead of being on board this cursed ship, eating salt cod twice a day, and

"Ah! it was no longer possible to doubt. The truth was as clear as daylight. I had never been loved, not even

an hour, not even a moment. The loving letters which had blinded me, the protestations of affection which

had deceived me, had been addressed to my father's millions, not to myself. And not unfrequently I saw

Arthur Gordon's face darken, as he talked with evident anxiety about what he could do to earn a living for

himself and me in America. 'I have had trouble enough to get on alone,' he grumbled. 'What will it be now?

To burden myself with a penniless wife! What egregious folly! And yet I couldn't have acted differentlyI

was compelled to do it.' Why had he been compelled to do it? why had he not acted differently?that was

what I vainly puzzled my brain to explain. However, his gloomy fears of poverty were not realized. A

delightful surprise awaited him at New York. A relative had recently died, leaving him a legacy of fifty

thousand dollarsa small fortune. I hoped that he would now cease his constant complaints, but he seemed

even more displeased than before. 'Such is the irony of fate,' he repeated again and again. 'With this money, I

might easily have married a wife worth a hundred thousand dollars, and then I should be rich at last!' After

that, I had good reason to expect that I should soon be forsakenbut no, shortly after our arrival, he married

me. Had he done so out of respect for his word? I believed so. But, alas! this marriage was the result of

"We were living in New York, when one evening he came home, looking very pale and agitated. He had a

French newspaper in his hand. 'Read this,' he said, handing it to me. I took the paper as he bade me, and read

that my brother had not been killed, that he was improving, and that his recovery was now certain. And as I

fell on my knees, bursting into tears, and thanking God for freeing me from such terrible remorse, he

exclaimed: 'We are in a nice fix! I advise you to congratulate yourself! 'From that time forward, I noticed he

displayed the feverish anxiety of a man who feels that he is constantly threatened with some great danger. A

few days afterward, he said to me: 'I cannot endure this! Have our trunks ready tomorrow, and we will start

South. Instead of calling ourselves Gordon, we'll travel under the name of Grant.' I did not venture to

question him. He had quite mastered me by his cruel tyranny, and I was accustomed to obey him like a slave

in terror of the lash. However, during our long journey, I learned the cause of our flight and change of name.

"'Your brother, dn him,' he said, one day, 'is hunting for me everywhere! He wants to kill me or to deliver

me up to justice, I don't know which. He pretends that I tried to murder him!' It was strange; but Arthur

Gordon, who was bravery personified, and who exposed himself again and again to the most frightful

dangers, felt a wild, unreasoning, inconceivable fear of my brother. It was this dread that had decided him to

burden himself with me. He feared that if he left me, lying unconscious beside my brother's lifeless form, I

might on recovering my senses reveal the truth, and unconsciously act as his accuser. You were born in

Richmond, Wilkie, where we remained nearly a month, during which time I saw but little of your father. He

had formed the acquaintance of several rich planters, and spent his time hunting and gambling with them.

Unfortunately, fifty thousand dollars could not last long at this rate; and, in spite of his skill as a gambler, he

returned home one morning ruined. A fortnight later when he had sold our effects, and borrowed all the

money he could, we embarked again for France. It was not until we reached Paris that I discovered the

reasons that had influenced him in returning to Europe. He had heard of my father and mother's death, and

intended to compel me to claim my share of the property. He dared not appear in person on account of my

brother. At last the hour of my vengeance had arrived; for I had taken a solemn oath that this scoundrel who

had ruined me should never enjoy the fortune which had been his only object in seducing me. I had sworn to

die inch by inch and by the most frightful tortures rather than give him one penny of the Chalusse millions.

"When I told him that I was resolved not to assert my rights, he seemed utterly confounded. He could not

understand how the down trodden slave dared to revolt against him. And when he found that my decision

was irrevocable, I thought he would have an attack of apoplexy. It made him wild with rage to think that he

was only separated from this immense fortunethe dream of his lifeby a single word of mine, and to find

that he had not the power to extort that word from me. Then began a struggle between us, which became

more and more frightful as the money he possessed gradually dwindled away. But it was in vain that he

resorted to brutal treatment; in vain that he struck me, tortured me, and dragged me about the floor by the hair

of my head! The thought that I was avenged, that his sufferings equalled mine, increased my courage a

hundredfold, and made me almost insensible to physical pain. He would certainly have been the first to grow

weary of the struggle, if a fiendish plan had not occurred to him. He said to himself that if he could not

conquer the wife, he COULD conquer the mother and he threatened to turn his brutatity to you, Wilkie. To

save youfor I knew what he was capable ofI pretended to waver, and I asked twentyfour hours for

reflection. He granted them. But the next day I left him forever, flying from him with you in my arms."

M. Wilkie turned white, and a cold chill crept up his spine. However, it was not pity for his mother's

sufferings, nor shame for his father's infamy that agitated him, but ever the same terrible fear of incurring the

enmity of this dangerous coveter of the Chalusse millions. Would he be able to hold his father at bay even

with the assistance of M. de Coralth and the Marquis de Valorsay? A thousand questions rose to his lips, for

he was eager to hear the particulars of his mother's flight; but Madame d'Argeles hurried on with her story as

"I was alone with you, Wilkie, in this great city," she resumed. "A hundred francs was all that I possessed.

My first care was to find a place of shelter. For sixteen francs a month, which I was compelled to pay in

advance, I found a small, meagrely furnished room in the Faubourg Saint Martin. It was badly ventilated and

miserably lighted, but still it was shelter. I said to myself that we could live there together by my work,

Wilkie. I was a proficient in feminine accomplishments; I was an excellent musician, and I thought I should

have no difficulty in earning the four or five francs a day which I considered absolutely necessary for our

subsistence. Alas! I discovered only too soon what chimerical hopes I had cherished. To give music lessons it

is necessary to obtain pupils. Where should I find them? I had no one to recommend me, and I scarcely dared

show myself in the streets, so great was my fear that your father would discover our hidingplace. At last, I

decided to try to find some employment in needlework, and timidly offered my services at several shops.

Alas! it is only those who have gone about from door to door soliciting work who know the misery of the

thing. To ask alms would be scarcely more humiliating. People sneered at me, and replied (when they

deigned to reply at all) that 'there was no business doing, and they had all the help they wanted.' My evident

inexperience was probably the cause of many of these refusals, as well as my attire, for I still had the

appearance of being a rich woman. Who knows what they took me for? Still the thought of you sustained me,

"I finally succeeded in obtaining some bands of muslin to embroider, and some pieces of tapestry work to fill

in. Unremunerative employment, no doubt, especially to one ignorant of the art of working quickly, rather

than well. By rising with daylight, and working until late at night, I scarcely succeeded in earning twenty

sous a day. And it was not long before even this scanty resource failed me. Winter came, and the cold

weather with it. One morning I changed my last fivefranc pieceit lasted us a week. Then I pawned and

sold everything that was not absolutely indispensable until nothing was left me but my patched dress and a

single skirt. And soon an evening came when the owner of our miserable den turned us into the street because

"This was the final blow! I tottered away, clinging to the walls for support; too weak from lack of food to

carry you. The rain was falling, and chilled us to the bones. You were crying bitterly. And all that night and

all the next day, aimless and hopeless, we wandered about the streets. I must either die of want or return to

your father. I preferred death. Toward eveninginstinct having led me to the SeineI sat down on one of

the stone benches of the PointNeuf, holding you on my knees and watching the flow of the dark river below.

There was a strange fascinationa promise of peace in its depthsthat impelled me almost irresistibly to

plunge into the flood. If I had been alone in the world, I should not have stopped to consider a second, but on

Moved by the thought of the danger he had escaped, M. Wilkie shuddered. "Brrr!" he growled. "You did

She did not even hear him, but continued: "I at last decided that it was best to put an end to this misery, and

rising with difficulty, I was approaching the parapet, when a gruff voice beside us exclaimed: 'What are you

doing there?' I turned, thinking some police officer had spoken, but I was mistaken. By the light of the street

lamp, I perceived a man who looked some thirty years of age, and had a frank and rather genial face. Why

this stranger instantly inspired me with unlimited confidence I don't know. Perhaps it was an unconscious

horror of death that made me long for any token of human sympathy. However it may have been, I told him

my story, but not without changing the names, and omitting many particulars. He had taken a seat beside me

on the bench, and I saw big tears roll down his cheeks as I proceeded with my narrative. 'It is ever so! it is

ever so!' he muttered. 'To love is to incur the risk of martyrdom. It is to offer one's self as a victim to every

perfidy, to the basest treason and ingratitude.' The man who spoke in this fashion was Baron Trigault. He did

not allow me to finish my story. 'Enough!' he suddenly exclaimed, 'follow me!' A cab was passing, he made

us get in, and an hour later we were in a comfortable room, beside a blazing fire, with a generously spread

table before us. The next day, moreover, we were installed in a pleasant home. Alas! why wasn't the baron

She paused for a moment, her face redder than fire; but soon mastering her agitation, she resumed: "There

was one great cause of dissension between the baron and myself. I wished you to be educated, Wilkie, like

the son of a noble family, while he desired you should receive the practical training suited to a youth who

would have to make his own way in the world, and win position, fortune, and even name for himself. Ah! he

was a thousand times right, as events have since proved only too well! But maternal love blinded me, and,

after an angry discussion, he went away, declaring he would not see me again until I became more

reasonable. He thought that reflection would cure me of my folly. Unfortunately, he was not acquainted with

the fatal obstinacy which is the distinguishing characteristic of the Chalusse family. While I was wondering

how I could find the means of carrying the plans I had formed for you into execution, two of the baron's

acquaintances presented themselves, with the following proposal: Aware of the enormous profits derived by

clandestine gambling dens, they had conceived the project of opening a public establishment on a large scale,

where any Parisian or foreigner, if he seemed to be a gentleman, and possessed of means, would find no

difficulty in obtaining admission. By taking certain precautions, and by establishing this gambling den in a

private drawingroom, they believed the scheme practicable, and came to suggest that I should keep the

drawingroom in question, and be their partner in the enterprise. Scarcely knowing what I pledged myself to,

I accepted their offer, influencedI should rather say decidedby the exalted positions which both these

gentlemen occupied, by the public consideration they enjoyed, and the honored names they bore. And that

same week this house was rented and furnished, and I was installed in it under the name of Lia d'Argeles.

"But this was not all. There still remained the task of creating for myself one of those scandalous reputations

that attract public attention. This proved an easy task, thanks to the assistance of my silent partners, and the

innocent simplicity of several of their friends and certain journalists. As for myself, I did my best to insure

the success of the horrible farce which was to lend infamous notoriety to the name of Lia d'Argeles. I had

magnificent equipages and superb dresses, and I made myself conspicuous at the theatres and all places of

public resort. As is generally the case when one is acting contrary to conscience, I called the most absurd

sophistries to my assistance. I tried to convince myself that appearances are nothing, that reality is everything,

and that it did not matter if I were known as a courtesan since rumor lied, and my life WAS really chaste.

When the baron hastened to me and tried to rescue me from the abyss into which I had flung myself. it was

too late. I had discovered that the business would prove successful; and for your sake, I longed for money as

passionately, as madly, as any miser. Last year my gamingroom yielded more than one hundred and fifty

thousand francs clear profit, and I received as my share the thirtyfive thousand francs which you

squandered. Now you know me as I really am. My associates, my partners, the men whose secret I have

faithfully kept, walk the streets with their heads erect. They boast of their unsullied honor, and they are

respected by every one. Such is the truth, and I have no reason to make their disgrace known. Besides, if I

proclaimed it from the housetops, no one would believe me. But you are my son, and I owe you the truth,

In any age but the present, Madame d'Argeles's story would have seemed absolutely incredible. Nowadays,

however, such episodes are by no means rare. Two mentwo men of exalted rank and highly respected, to

use a common expressionassociate in opening a gaminghouse under the very eyes of the police, and in

coining money out of a woman's supposed disgrace. 'Tis after all but an everyday occurrence.

The unhappy woman had told her story with apparent coldness, and yet, in her secret heart, she perhaps

hoped that by disclosing her terrible sacrifice and long martyrdom, she would draw a burst of gratitude and

tenderness from her son, calculated to repay her for all her sufferings. But the hope was vain. It would have

been easier to draw water from a solid rock than to, extract a sympathetic tear from Wilkie's eyes. He was

only alive to the practical side of this narrative, and what impressed him most was the impudent assurance of

Madame d'Argeles's business associates. "Not a bad idea; not bad at all," he exclaimed. And, boiling over

with curiosity, he continued: "I would give something handsome to know those men's names. Really you

Any other person than this interesting young man would have been crushed by the look his mother gave

hima look embodying the deepest disappointment and contempt. "I think you must be mad," she remarked

coldly. And as he sprang up, astonished that any one should doubt his abundant supply of good sense, "Let us

Thereupon she hastily went into the adjoining room, reappearing a moment later with a roll of papers in her

hand. "Here," she remarked, "is my marriage certificate, your certificate of birth, and a copy of my

renunciationa perfectly valid document, since the court has authorized it, owing to my husband's absence.

All these proofs I am ready and willing to place at your disposal, but on one condition."

This last word fell like a cold showerbath upon Wilkie's exultant joy. "What is this condition?" he anxiously

"It is that you should sign this deed, which has been drawn up by my notarya deed by which you pledge

yourself to hand me the sum of two million francs on the day you come into possession of the Chalusse

Two millions! The immensity of the sum struck Wilkie dumb with consternation. Nor did he forget that he

would be compelled to give the Viscount de Coralth the large reward he had promised him a reward

promised in writing, unfortunately. "I shall have nothing left," he began, piteously.

But with a disdainful gesture Madame d'Argeles interrupted him. "Set your mind at rest," said she. "You will

still be immensely rich. All the estimates which have been made are far below the mark. When I was a girl I

often heard my father say that his income amounted to more than eight hundred thousand francs a year. My

brother inherited the whole property, and I would be willing to swear that he never spent more than half of his

Wilkie's nerves had never been subjected to so severe a shock. He tottered and his brain whirled. "Oh! oh!"

"Only I must warn you of a more than probable deception," pursued Madame d'Argeles. "As my brother was

firmly resolved to deprive me even of my rightful portion of the estate, he concealed his fortune in every

possible way. It will undoubtedly require considerable time and trouble to gain possession of the whole.

However I know a man, formerly the Count de Chalusse's confidential agent, who might aid you in this task."

M. Wilkie took it up, placed it carefully in his pocket, and then exclaimed: "That being the case, I consent to

sign, but after this you need not complain. Two millions at five per cent. ought to greatly alleviate one's

Madame d'Argeles did not deign to notice this delicate irony. "I will tell you in advance to what purpose I

"I intend one of these two millions to serve as the dowry of a young girl who would have been the Count de

Chalusse's sole legatee, if his death had not been so sudden and so unexpected."

"The other I intend to invest for you in such a way that you can only touch the interest of it, so that you will

not want for bread after you have squandered your inheritance, even to the very last penny."

This wise precaution could not fail to shock such a brilliant young man as M. Wilkie. "Do you take me for a

fool?" he exclaimed. "I may appear very generous, but I am shrewd enough, never you fear."

But he attempted to prove that he was no fool by reading and rereading the contract before he would consent

to append his name to it. At last, however, he did so, and stowed away the proofs which insured him the

"Now," said Madame d'Argeles, "I have one request to make of you. Whenever your father makes his

appearance and lays claim to this fortune, I entreat you to avoid a lawsuit, which would only make your

mother's shame and the disgrace attached to the hitherto stainless name of Chalusse still more widely known.

Compromise with him. You will be rich enough to satisfy his greed without feeling it."

M. Wilkie remained silent for a moment, as if he were deliberating upon the course he ought to pursue. "If

my father is reasonable, I will be the same," he said at last. "I will choose as an arbiter between us one of my

Madame d'Argeles had become very pale. "Wretched boy!" she exclaimed. "You don't know that it's the

marquis" She paused abruptly. One word more and she would have betrayed Pascal Ferailleur's secret

plans, with which she had been made acquainted by Baron Trigault. Had she a right to do this, even to put her

son on his guard against a man whom she considered the greatest villain in the world?

But Madame d'Argeles had recovered her selfpossession. "I only wished to warn you against too close a

connection with the Marquis de Valorsay. He has an excellent position in society, but yours will be far more

brilliant. His star is on the wane; yours is just rising. All that he is regretting, you have a right to hope for.

Perhaps even now he is jealous of you, and wishes to persuade you to take some false step."

M. Wilkie took up his hat, but, though he was longing to depart, embarrassment kept him to the spot. He

vaguely felt that he ought not to leave his mother in this style. "I hope I shall soon have some good news to

She shook her head sadly, and in a scarcely audible voice responded: "It is not likely that we shall meet

"Mr. Patterson will collect the money. As for me, say to yourself that I'm dead. You have broken the only

link that bound me to life, by proving the futility of the most terrible sacrifices. However, I am a mother, and

I forgive you." Then as he did not move, and as she felt that her strength was deserting her, she dragged

Stupefied with astonishment, M. Wilkie stood for a moment silent and motionless. "Allow me," he faltered at

last; "Allow meI wish to explain." But Madame d'Argeles did not even turn her head; the door closed

However strong a man's nature may be, he always has certain moments of weakness. For instance, at the

present moment Wilkie was completely at a loss what to do. Not that he repented, he was incapable of that;

but there are hours when the most hardened conscience is touched, and when long dormant instincts at last

assert their rights. If he had obeyed his first impulse, he would have darted after his mother and thrown

himself on his knees before her. But reflection, remembrance of the Viscount de Coralth, and the Marquis de

Valorsay, made him silent the noblest voice that had spoken in his soul for many a long day. So, with his

head proudly erect, he went off, twirling his mustaches and followed by the whispers of the

But what did he care for the opinion of these plebeians! Before he was a hundred paces from the house his

emotion had vanished, and he was thinking how he could most agreeably spend the time until the hour

appointed for his second interview with M. de Valorsay. He had not breakfasted, but "his stomach was out of

sorts," as he said to himself, and it would really have been impossible for him to swallow a morsel. Thus not

caring to return home, he started in quest of one of his former intimates, with the generous intention of

overpowering him with the great news. Unfortunately he failed to find this friend, and eager to vent the pride

that was suffocating him, in some way or other, he entered the shop of an engraver, whom he crushed by his

importance, and ordered some visiting cards bearing the inscription W. de Gordon Chalusse, with a count's

Thus occupied, time flew by so quickly that he was a trifle late in keeping his appointment with his dear

friend the marquis. Wilkie found M. de Valorsay as he had left himin his smoking room, talking with the

Viscount de Coralth. Not that the marquis had been idle, but it had barely taken him an hour to set in motion

the machinery which he had had in complete readiness since the evening before. "Victory!" cried Wilkie, as

he appeared on the threshold. "It was a hard battle, but I asserted my rights. I am the acknowledged heir! the

millions are mine!" And without giving his friends time to congratulate him, he began to describe his

interview with Madame d'Argeles, presenting his conduct in the most odious light possible, pretending he had

indulged in all sorts of harsh rejoinders, and making himself out to be "a man of bronze," or "a block of

"You are certainly more courageous than I fancied," said M. de Valorsay gravely, when the narrative was

"It is, indeed. Now the world is before you. Let your story be noised abroadand it will be noised

abroadand you will become a hero. Imagine the amazement of Paris when it learns that Lia d'Argeles was

a virtuous woman, who sacrificed her reputation for the sake of her sona martyr, whose disgrace was only

a shameful falsehood invented by two men of rank to increase the attractions of their gamblingden! It will

take the newspapers a month to digest this strange romance. And whom will all this notoriety fall upon?

Upon you, my dear sir; and as your millions will lend an additional charm to the romance, you will become

M. Wilkie was really too much overwhelmed to feel elated. "Upon my word, you overpower me, my dear

"I too have been at work," resumed the marquis. "And I have made numerous inquiries, in accordance with

my promise. I almost regret it, for what I have discovered isvery singular, to say the least. I was just saying

so to Coralth when you came in. What I have learned makes it extremely unpleasant for me, to find myself

mixed up in the affair; accordingly, I have requested the persons who gave me this information to call here.

You shall hear their story, and then you must decide for yourself." So saying, he rang the bell, and as soon as

When the lackey had retired to carry out this order, the marquis remarked: "Casimir was the deceased count's

valet. He is a clever fellow, honest, intelligent, and well up in his businesssuch a man as you will need, in

fact, and I won't try to conceal the fact that the hope of entering your service has aided considerably in

M. Casimir, who was irreproachably clad in black, with a white cambric tie round his neck, entered the room

at this very moment, smiling and bowing obsequiously. "This gentleman, my good fellow," said M. de

Valorsay, pointing to Wilkie, "is your former master's only heir. A proof of devotion might induce him to

keep you with him. What you told me a little while ago is of great importance to him; see if you can repeat it

In his anxiety to secure a good situation, M. Casimir had ventured to apply to the Marquis de Valorsay; he

had talked a good deal, and the marquis had conceived the plan of making him an unsuspecting accomplice.

"I never deny my words," replied the valet, "and since monsieur is the heir to the property, I won't hesitate to

M. Wilkie bounded from his chair. "Immense sums!" he exclaimed. "Is it possible!"

"Monsieur shall judge. On the morning preceding his death, the count had more than two millions in

banknotes and bonds stowed away in his escritoire, but when the justice of the peace came to take the

inventory, the money could not be found. We servants were terribly alarmed, for we feared that suspicion

Ah! if Wilkie had only been alone he would have given vent to his true feelings. But here, under the eyes of

the marquis and M. de Coralth, he felt that he must maintain an air of stoical indifference. He ALMOST

succeeded in doing so, and in a tolerably firm voice he remarked: "This is not very pleasant news. Two

millions! that's a good haul. Tell me, my friend, have you any clue to the thief?"

The valet's troubled glance betrayed an uneasy conscience, but he had gone too far to draw back. "I shouldn't

like to accuse an innocent person," he replied, "but there was some one who constantly had access to that

"She's a young girl who isat least people saythe count's illegitimate daughter. Her word was law in the

"She has gone to live with General de Fondege, one of the count's friends. She wouldn't take her jewels and

diamonds away with her, which seemed very strange, for they are worth more than a hundred thousand

francs. Even Bourigeau said to me: 'That's unnatural, M. Casimir.' Borigeau is the concierge of the house, a

Unfortunately, this tribute to the merits of the valet's friend was interrupted by the arrival of a footman, who,

after tapping respectfully at the door, entered the room and exclaimed: "The doctor is here, and desires to

"Very well," replied M. de Valorsay, "ask him to wait. When I ring, you can usher him in." Then addressing

"You may retire for the present, but don't leave the house. M. Wilkie will acquaint you with his intentions by

"There is a story for you!" exclaimed M. Wilkie as soon as the door was closed. "A robbery of two millions!"

The marquis shook his head, and remarked, gravely: "That's a mere nothing. I suspect something far more

"Wait! I may be mistaken. Even the doctor may lie deceived. But you shall judge for yourself." As he spoke,

he pulled the bell rope, and an instant after, the servant announced: "Dr. Jodon."

It was, indeed, the same physician who had annoyed Mademoiselle Marguerite by his persistent curiosity and

impertinent questions, at the Count de Chalusse's bedside; the same crafty and ambitious man, constantly

tormented by covetousness, and ready to do anything to gratify itthe man of the period, in short, who

sacrificed everything to the display by which he hoped to deceive other people, and who was almost starving

M. Casimir was an innocent accomplice, but the doctor knew what he was doing. Interviewed on behalf of

the Marquis de Valorsay by Madame Leon, he had fathomed the whole mystery at once. These two crafty

natures had read and understood each other. No definite words had passed between themthey were both

too shrewd for that; and yet, a compact had been concluded by which each had tacitly agreed to serve the

As soon as the physician appeared, M. de Valorsay rose and shook hands with him; then, offering him an

armchair, he remarked: "I will not conceal from you, doctor, that I have in some measure prepared this

By the doctor's attitude, a keen observer might have divined the secret trepidation that always precedes a bad

"To tell the truth," he began, speaking slowly, and with some difficulty, "now that the moment for speaking

has come, I almost hesitate. Our profession has painful exigencies. Perhaps it is now too late. If there had

been any of the count's relatives in the house, or even an heir at the time, I should have insisted upon an

On hearing the word "autopsy," M. Wilkie looked round with startled eyes. He opened his lips to interrupt the

speaker, but the physician had already resumed his narrative. "Besides, I had only suspicions," he said,

"suspicions based, it is true, upon strange and alarming circumstances. I am a man, that is to say, I am liable

to error. In the kingdom of science it would be unpardonable temerity on my part to affirm"

The physician did not seem to hear him, but continued in the same dogmatic tone. "The count apparently died

from an attack of apoplexy, but certain poisons produce similar and even identical symptoms which are apt to

deceive the most experienced medical men. The persistent efforts of the count's intellect, his muscular

rigidity alternating with utter relaxation, the dilation of the pupils of his eyes, and more than aught else the

violence of his last convulsions, have led me to ask myself if some criminal had not hastened his end."

Whiter than his shirt, and trembling like a leaf, M. Wilkie sprang from his chair. "I understand!" he

But the physician replied with an energetic protest. "Oh, not so fast!" said he. "Don't mistake my conjectures

for assertions. Still, I ought not to conceal the circumstances which awakened my suspicions. On the morning

preceding his attack, the count took two spoonfuls of the contents of a vial which the people in charge could

not or would not produce. When I asked what this vial contained, the answer was: 'A medicine to prevent

apoplexy.' I don't say that this is false, but prove it. As for the motive that led to the crime, it is apparent at

once. The escritoire contained two millions of francs, and the money has disappeared. Show me the vial, find

the money, and I will admit that I am wrong. But until then, I shall have my suspicions."

He did not speak like a physician but like an examining magistrate, and his alarming deductions found their

way even to M. Wilkie's dull brain. "Who could have committed the crime?" he asked.

"It could only have been the person likely to profit by it; and only one person besides the count knew that the

"Is the count's illegitimate daughter, who lived in the house with himMademoiselle Marguerite."

M. Wilkie sank into his chair again, completely overwhelmed. The coincidence between the doctor's

deposition and M. Casimir's testimony was too remarkable to pass unnoticed. Further doubt seemed

impossible. "Ah! this is most unfortunate!" faltered Wilkie. "What a pity! Such difficulties never assail any

one but me! What am I to do?" And in his distress he glanced from the doctor to the Marquis de Valorsay,

"My profession forbids my acting as an adviser in such cases," replied the physician, "but these gentlemen

"Excuse me," interrupted the marquis quickly; "but this is one of those cases in which a man must be left to

his own inspirations. The most I can do, is to say what course I should pursue if I were one of the deceased

"Pray tell me, my dear marquis," sighed Wilkie. "You would render me an immense service by doing so."

M. de Valorsay seemed to reflect for a moment; and then he solemnly exclaimed: "I should feel that my

honor required me to investigate every circumstance connected with this mysterious affair. Before receiving a

man's estate, one must know the cause of his death, so as to avenge him if he has been foully murdered."

For M. Wilkie the oracle had spoken. "Such is my opinion exactly," he declared. "But what course would you

"And this very day, this very hour, without losing a second, I should address a communication to the public

prosecutor, informing him of the robbery which is patent to any one, and referring to the possibility of foul

"Yes, that would be an excellent idea; but there is one slight drawbackI don't know how to draw up such a

"I know no more about it than you do yourself; but any lawyer or notary will give you the necessary

information. Are you acquainted with any such person? Would you like me to give you the address of my

business man? He is a very clever fellow, who has almost all the members of my club as his clients."

This last reason was more than sufficient to fix M. Wilkie's choice. "Where can I find him?" he inquired.

"At his househe is always there at this hour. Come! here is a scrap of paper and a pencil. You had better

make a note of his address. Write: 'Maumejan, Route de la Revolte.' Tell him that I sent you, and he will treat

you with the same consideration as he would show to me. He lives a long way off, but my brougham is

standing in the courtyard; so take it, and when your consultation is over, come back and dine with me."

"Ah! you are too kind!" exclaimed M. Wilkie. "You overpower me, my dear marquis, you do, upon my word!

He went off looking radiant; and a moment later the carriage which was to take him to M. Maumejan's was

"You will excuse me for leaving you so abruptly, Monsieur le Marquis," said he, "but I have an engagement

"Yes, I. You may tell me that this is a downfall, but I will answer, 'It will give me a living.' Medicine is

becoming a more and more unremunerative profession. However hard a physician may work, he can scarcely

pay for the water he uses in washing his hands. I have an opportunity of purchasing the business of a

wellestablished and wellknown dentist, in an excellent neighborhood. Why not avail myself of it? Only

The marquis had expected the doctor would require remuneration for his services. Before compromising

himself any further, M. Jodon wished to knew what compensation he was to receive. The marquis was so sure

of this, that he quickly exclaimed: "Ah, my dear doctor, if you have need of twenty thousand francs, I shall be

The bargain was concluded. The doctor was now ready to find traces of any poison whatsoever in the Count

de Chalusse's exhumed remains. He pressed the marquis's hand and then went off, exclaiming: "Whatever

Left alone with the Viscount de Coralth, and consequently freed from all restraint, M. de Valorsay rose with a

longdrawn sigh of relief. "What an interminable seance!" he growled. And, approaching his acolyte, who

was sitting silent and motionless in an armchair, he slapped him on the shoulder, exclaiming: "Are you ill

The viscount turned as if he had been suddenly aroused from slumber. "I'm well enough," he answered

"Oh! A truce to disagreeable prophecies, please! Besides, it's too late to draw back, or to even think of retreat.

"Alas! that is the cause of my anxiety. If it hadn't been for my wretched past, which you have threatened me

with like a dagger, I should long ago have left you to incur this danger alone. You were useful to me in times

past, I admit. You presented me to the Baroness Trigault, to whose patronage I owe my present means, but I

am paying too dearly for your services in allowing myself to be made the instrument of your dangerous

schemes. Who aided you in defrauding KamiBey? Who bet for you against your own horse Domingo? Who

risked his life in slipping those cards in the pack which Pascal Ferailleur held? It was Coralth, always

A gesture of anger escaped the marquis, but resolving to restrain himself, he made no rejoinder. It was not

until after he had walked five or six times round the smokingroom and grown more calm that he returned to

the viscount's side. "Really, I don't recognize you," he began. "Is it really you who have turned coward? And

"Facts shall convince you. This morning I might have doubted, but now, thanks to that vain idiot who goes by

the name of Wilkie, I am sure, perfectly, mathematically sure of success. Maumejan, who is entirely devoted

to me, and who is the greediest, most avaricious scoundrel alive, will draw up such a complaint that

Marguerite will sleep in prison. Moreover, other witnesses will be summoned. By what Casimir has said, you

can judge what the other servants will say. This testimony will be sufficient to convict her of the robbery. As

for the poisoning, you heard Dr. Jodon. Can I depend upon him? Evidently, if I pay without haggling. Very

But all this did not reassure M. de Coralth. "The accusation will fall to the ground," said he, "as soon as the

"Because I know where it is, my dear friend. It is in the count's escritoire, but it won't be there any longer on

"A skilful fellow whom Madame Leon has found for me. Everything has been carefully arranged.

Tomorrow night at the latest Madame Leon will let this man into the Hotel de Chalusse by the garden gate,

which she has kept the key of. Vantrasson, as the man is called, knows the management of the house, and he

will break open the escritoire and take the vial away. You may say that there are seals upon the furniture,

placed there by the justice of the peace. That's true, but this man tells me that he can remove and replace them

in such a way as to defy detection; and as the lock has been forced once alreadythe day after the count's

The viscount remarked, with an ironical air: "All that is perfect; but the autopsy will reveal the falseness of

"Naturallybut an autopsy will require time, and that will suit my plans admirably. After eight or ten days'

solitary confinement and several rigid examinations, Mademoiselle Marguerite's energy and courage will

flag. What do you think she will reply to the man who says to her: 'I love you, and for your sake I will

attempt the impossible. Swear to become my wife and I will establish your innocence?'"

M. de Valorsay clapped his hands. "Bravo!" he exclaimed; "you have spoken the truth. Remember, now, that

your dark forebodings are only chimeras! Yes, she will swear it, and I know she is the woman to keep her

vow, even if she died of sorrow. And the very next day I will go to the examining magistrate and say to him:

'Marguerite a thief! Ah, what a frightful mistake. A robbery has been committed, it's true; but I know the real

culprita scoundrel who fancied that by destroying a single letter he would annihilate all traces of the

breach of fidelity he had committed. Fortunately, the Count de Chalusse distrusted this man, and proof of his

breach of trust is in existence. I have this proof in my hands.' And I will show a letter establishing the truth of

No forebodings clouded the marquis's joy; he saw no obstacles; it seemed to him as if he had already

triumphed. "And the day following," he resumed, "when Marguerite becomes my wife, I shall take from a

certain drawer a certain document, given to me by M. de Chalusse when I was on the point of becoming his

soninlaw, and in which he recognizes Marguerite as his daughter, and makes her his sole legatee. And this

document is perfectly en regle, and unattackable. Maumejan, who has examined it, guarantees that the value

of the count's estate cannot be less than ten millions. Five will go to Madame d'Argeles, or her son Wilkie, as

their share of the property. The remaining five will be mine. Come, confess that the plan is admirable!"

"Admirable, undoubtedly; but terribly complicated. When there are so many wheels within wheels, one of

"Besides, you have I don't know how many accomplicesMaumejan, the doctor, Madame Leon, and

Vantrasson, not counting myself. Will all these people perform their duties satisfactorily?"

"Madame d'Argeles is about to leave Paris. If Fortunat is troublesome I will purchase his silence; Maumejan

But M. de Coralth had kept his strongest argument until the last. "And Pascal Ferailleur?" said he. "You have

No; M. de Valorsay had not forgotten him. You do not forget the man you have ruined and dishonored. Still,

it was in a careless tone that ill accorded with his state of mind that the marquis replied: "The poor devil must

The viscount shook his head. "That's what I've in vain been trying to convince myself of," said he. "Do you

know that Pascal was virtually expelled from the Palais de Justice, and that his name has been struck off the

list of advocates? If he hasn't blown his brains out, it is only because he hopes to prove his innocence. Ah! if

He stopped short for the door had suddenly opened. The interruption made the marquis frown, but anger gave

way to anxiety when he perceived Madame Leon, who entered the room out of breath and extremely red in

"There wasn't a cab to be had!" she groaned. "Just my luck. I came on foot, and ran the whole way. I'm utterly

M. de Valorsay had turned very pale. "Defer your complaints until another time," he said, harshly. "What has

The estimable woman raised her hands to heaven, as she plaintively replied: "There is so much to tell? First,

Mademoiselle Marguerite has written two letters, but I have failed to discover to whom they were sent.

Secondly, she remained for more than an hour yesterday evening in the drawingroom with the General's

son, Lieutenant Gustave, and, on parting, they shook hands like a couple of friends, and said, 'It is agreed.'"

"One moment and you'll see. This morning Mademoiselle went out with Madame de Fondege to call on the

Baroness Trigault. I do not know what took place there, but there must have been a terrible scene; for they

brought Mademoiselle Marguerite back unconscious, in one of the baron's carriages."

"And last, but not least," resumed Madame Leon, "on returning home this evening at about five o'clock, I

fancied I saw Mademoiselle Marguerite leave the house and go up the Rue Pigalle. I had thought she was ill

and in bed, and I said to myself, 'This is very strange.' So I hastened after her. It was indeed she. Of course, I

followed her. And what did I see? Why, Mademoiselle paused to talk with a vagabond, clad in a blouse. They

exchanged notes, and Mademoiselle Marguerite returned home. And here I am. She must certainly suspect

If M. de Valorsay were frightened, he did not show it. "Many thanks for your zeal, my dear lady," he replied,

"but all this is a mere nothing. Return home at once; you will receive my instructions tomorrow."

Mademoiselle Marguerite had been greatly surprised on the occasion of her visit to M. Fortunat when she

saw Victor Chupin suddenly step forward and eagerly exclaim: "I shall be unworthy of the name I bear if I do

It is true that M. Fortunat's clerk did not appear to the best advantage on this occasion. In order to watch M.

de Coralth, he had again arrayed himself in his castoff clothes, and with his blouse and his wornout shoes,

his "knockers" and his glazed cap, he looked the vagabond to perfection. Still, strange as it may seem,

Mademoiselle Marguerite did not once doubt the devotion of this strange auxiliary. Without an instant's

Chupin felt at least a head taller as he heard this beautiful young girl speak to him in a voice as clear and as

sonorous as crystal. "Ah! you are right to trust me," he rejoined, striking his chest with his clinched hand, "for

"I am wondering if you would consent to do what I wish. It would be a very good plan, but if it displeases

"To see you every day, so as to tell you what I've done, and to obtain such directions as I may require. I'm

well aware that I can't go to M. de Fondege's door and ask to speak to you; but there are other ways of seeing

each other. For instance, every evening at five oclock precisely, I might pass along the Rue Pigalle, and

warn you of my presence by such a signal as this: 'Piouit!'" So saying he gave vent to the peculiar call, half

whistle, half ejaculation, which is familiar to the Parisian workingclasses. "Then," he resumed, "you might

come down and I would tell you the news; besides, I might often help you by doing errands."

Mademoiselle Marguerite reflected for a moment, and then bowing her head, she replied:

"What you suggest is quite practicable. On and after tomorrow evening I will watch for you; and if I don't

come down at the end of half an hour, you will know that I am unavoidably detained."

Chupin ought to have been satisfied. But no, he had still another request to make; and instinct, supplying the

lack of education, told him that it was a delicate one. Indeed, he dared not present his petition; but his

embarrassment was so evident, and he twisted his poor cap so despairingly, that at last the young girl gently

He still hesitated, but eventually, mustering all his courage, he replied: "Well, yes, mademoiselle. I've never

seen Monsieur Ferailleur. Is he tall or short, light or dark, stout or thin? I do not know. I might stand face to

face with him without being able to say, 'It's he.' But it would be quite a different thing if I only had a

A crimson flush spread over Mademoiselle Marguerite's face. Still she answered, unaffectedly, "I will give

"Then I shall be all right!" exclaimed Chupin. "Have no fears, mademoiselle, we shall outwit these

So far a silent witness of this scene, M. Fortunat now felt it his duty to interfere. He was not particularly

pleased by his clerk's suddenly increased importance; and yet it mattered little to him, for his only object was

to revenge himself on Valorsay. "Victor is a capable and trustworthy young fellow, mademoiselle," he

declared; "he has grown up under my training, and I think you will find him a faithful servant."

A "have you finished, you old liar?" rose to Chupin's lips, but respect for Mademoiselle Marguerite prevented

him from uttering the words. "Then everything is decided," she said, pleasantly. And with a smile she offered

If he had yielded to his first impulse he would have thrown himself on his knees and kissed this hand of hers,

the whitest and most beautiful he had ever seen. As it was, he only ventured to touch it with his fingertips,

and yet he changed color two or three times. "What a woman!" he exclaimed, when she had left them. "A

perfect queen! A man would willingly allow himself to be chopped in pieces for her sake; and she's as good

and as clever as she's handsome. Did you notice, monsieur, that she did not offer to pay me. She understood

that I offered to work for her for my own pleasure, for my own satisfaction and honor. Heavens! how I should

Chupin was so fascinated that he wished no reward for his toil! This was so astonishing that M. Fortunat

remained for a moment speechless with surprise. "Have you gone mad, Victor?" he inquired at last.

"Mad! I?not at all; I'm only becoming" He stopped short. He was going to add: "an honest man." But

it is scarcely proper to talk about the rope in the hangman's house, and there are certain words which should

never be pronounced in the presence of certain people. Chupin knew this, and so he quickly resumed: "When

I become rich, when I'm a great banker, and have a host of clerks who spend their time in counting my gold

behind a grating, I should like to have a wife of my own like that. But I must be off about my business now,

The foregoing conversation will explain how it happened that Madame Leon chanced to surprise her dear

young lady in close conversation with a vagabond clad in a blouse. Victor Chupin was not a person to make

promises and then leave them unfulfilled. Though he was usually unimpressionable, like all who lead a

precarious existence, still, when his emotions were once aroused, they did not spend themselves in empty

protestations. It became his fixed determination to find Pascal Ferailleur, and the difficulties of the task in no

wise weakened his resolution. His starting point was that Pascal had lived in the Rue d'Ulm, and had

suddenly gone off with his mother, with the apparent intention of sailing for America. This was all he knew

positively, and everything else was mere conjecture. Still Mademoiselle Marguerite had convinced him that

instead of leaving Paris, Pascal was really still there, only waiting for an opportunity to establish his

innocence, and to wreak his vengeance upon M. de Coralth and the Marquis de Valorsay. On the other hand,

with such a slight basis to depend upon, was it not almost madness to hope to discover a man who had such

strong reasons for concealing himself? Chupin did not think so in fact, when he declared his determination to

On leaving M. Fortunat's office, he hastened straight to the Rue d'Ulm, at the top of his speed. The concierge

of the house where Pascal had formerly resided was by no means a polite individual. He was the very same

man who had answered Mademoiselle Marguerite's questions so rudely; but Chupin had a way of conciliating

even the most crabbish doorkeeper, and of drawing from him such information as he desired. He learned that

at nine o'clock on the sixteenth of October Madame Ferailleur, after seeing her trunks securely strapped on to

a cab had entered the vehicle, ordering the driver to take her to the Railway Station in the Place du Havre!

Chupin wished to ascertain the number of the cab, but the concierge could not give it. He mentioned,

however, that this cab had been procured by Madame Ferailleur's servant woman, who lived only a few

steps from the house. A moment later Chupin was knocking at this woman's door. She was a very worthy

person, and bitterly regretted the misfortunes which had befallen her former employers. She confirmed the

doorkeeper's story, but unfortunately she, too, had quite forgotten the number of the vehicle. All she could

say was that she had hired it at the cab stand in the Rue Soufflot, and that the driver was a portly,

Chupin repaired at once to the Rue Soufflot, where he found the man in charge of the stand in the most

savage mood imaginable. He began by asking Chupin what right he had to question him, why he wished to

do so, and if he took him for a spy. He added that his duty only consisted in noting the arrivals and departures

of the drivers, and that he could give no information whatever. There was evidently nothing to be gained

from this ferocious personage; and yet Chupin bowed none the less politely as he left the little office. "This is

bad," he growled, as he walked away, for he was really at a loss what to do next; and if not discouraged, he

was at least extremely disconcerted and perplexed. Ah! if he had only had a card from the prefecture of police

in his pocket, or if he had been more imposing in appearance, he would have encountered no obstacles; he

might then have tracked this cab through the streets of Paris as easily as he could have followed a man

bearing a lighted lantern through the darkness. But poor and humble, without letters of recommendation, and

with no other auxiliaries than his own shrewdness and experience, he had a great deal to contend against.

Pausing in his walk, he had taken off his cap and was scratching his head furiously, when suddenly he

exclaimed: "What an ass I am!" in so loud a tone that several passersby turned to see who was applying this

Chupin had just remembered one of M. Isidore Fortunat's debtors, a man whom he often visited in the hope

of extorting some trifling amount from him, and who was employed in the Central office of the Paris Cab

Company. "If any one can help me out of this difficulty, it must be that fellow," he said to himself. "I hope I

However, he could not present himself at the office in the garb he then wore, and so, much against his will, he

went home and changed his clothes. Then he took a cab at his own expense, and drove with all possible speed

to the main office of the Cab Company, in the Avenue de Segur. Nevertheless it was already ten o'clock when

he arrived there. He was more fortunate than he had dared to hope. The man he wanted had charge of a

certain department, and was compelled to return to the office every evening after dinner. He was there now.

He was a poor devil who, while receiving a salary of fifteen hundred francs a year, spent a couple of

thousand, and utilized his wits in defending his meagre salary from his creditors. On perceiving Chupin, he

But Chupin smiled his most genial smile. "What!" said he, "do you fancy I've come to collect money from

you here, and at this hour? You don't know me. I merely came to ask a favor of you."

The clerk's clouded face brightened. "Since that is the case, pray take a seat, and tell me how I can serve

"Very well. At nine o'clock in the evening, on the sixteenth of October, a lady living in the Rue d'Ulm sent to

the stand in the Rue Soufflot for a cab. Her baggage was placed upon it, and she went away no one knows

where. However, this lady is a relative of my employer, and he so much wishes to find her that he would

willingly give a hundred francs over and above the amount you owe him, to ascertain the number of the

vehicle. He pretends that you can give him this number if you choose; and it isn't an impossibility, is it?"

"On the contrary, nothing could be easier," replied the clerk, glad of an opportunity to explain the ingenious

"Then you shall see." So saying the clerk rose and went into the adjoining room, whence a moment later he

returned carrying a large green box. "This contains the October reports sent in every evening by the branch

offices," he remarked in explanation. He next opened the box, glanced over the documents it contained, and

joyfully exclaimed: "Here we have it. This is the report sent in by the superintendent of the cabstand in the

Rue Soumot on the 16th October. Here is a list of the vehicles that arrived or left from a quarter to nine

o'clock till a quarter past nine. Five cabs came in, but we need not trouble ourselves about them. Three went

out bearing the numbers 1781, 3025, and 2140. One of these three must have taken your employer's relative."

The clerk shrugged his shoulders. "What is the use of doing that?" he said, disdainfully. "Ah! you don't

understand the way in which we manage our business! The drivers are artful, but the company isn't a fool. By

expending a hundred and fifty thousand francs on its detective force every year, it knows what each cab is

doing at each hour of the day. I will now look for the reports sent in respecting these three drivers. One of the

This time the search was a considerably longer one, and Chupin was beginning to grow impatient, when the

clerk waved a soiled and crumpled sheet of paper triumphantly in the air, and cried: "What did I tell you?

This is the report concerning the driver of No. 2140. Listen: Friday, at ten minutes past nine, sent to the Rue

"I can't say, just at this moment; he's on duty now. But as he belongs to this division he will be back sooner or

"I will wait then; only as I've had no dinner, I'll go out and get a mouthful to eat. I can promise you that M.

Chupin was really very hungry, and so he rushed off to a little eatinghouse which he had remarked on his

way to the office. There for eighteen sous he dined, or rather supped, like a prince; and as he subsequently

treated himself to a cup of coffee and a glass of brandy, as a reward for his toil, some little time had elapsed

when he returned to the office. However, No. 2140 had not returned in his absence, so he stationed himself at

His patience was severely tried, for it was past midnight when Chupin saw the longlookedfor vehicle enter

the courtyard. The driver slowly descended from his box and then went into the cashier's office to pay over

his day's earnings, and hand in his report. Then he came out again evidently bound for home. As the

servantwoman had said, he was a stout, jovialfaced man, and he did not hesitate to accept a glass of "no

matter what" in a wine shop that was still open. Whether he believed the story that Chupin told to excuse his

questions or not, at all events he answered them very readily. He perfectly remembered having been sent to

the Rue d'Ulm, and spoke of his "fare" as a respectable looking old lady, enumerated the number of her

trunks, boxes, and packages, and even described their form. He had taken her to the railway station, stopping

at the entrance in the Rue d'Amsterdam; and when the porters inquired, as usual, "Where is this baggage to

Chupin felt decidedly crestfallen on hearing this. He had fancied that Madame Ferailleur had merely

announced her intention of driving to the Havre railway station so as to set possible spies on the wrong track,

and he would have willingly wagered anything, that after going a short distance she had given the cabman

different instructions. Not so, however, he had taken her straight to the station. Was Mademoiselle

Marguerite deceived then? Had Pascal really fled from his enemies without an attempt at resistance? Such a

course seemed impossible on his part. Thinking over all this, Chupin slept but little that night, and the next

morning, before five o'clock, he was wandering about the Rue d'Amsterdam peering into the wineshops in

search of some railway porter. It did not take him long to find one, and having done so, he made him the best

of friends in less than no time. Although this porter knew nothing about the matter himself, he took Chupin to

a comrade who remembered handling the baggage of an old lady bound for London, on the evening of the

sixteenth. However, this baggage was not put into the train after all; the old lady had left it in the

cloakroom, and the next day a fat woman of unprepossessing appearance had called for the things, and had

taken them away, after paying the charges for storage. This circumstance had been impressed on the porter's

mind by the fact that the woman had not given him a farthing gratuity, although he had been much more

obliging than the regulations required. However, when she went off, she remarked in a honeyed voice, but

with an exceedingly impudent air: "I'll repay you for your kindness, my lad. I keep a wineshop on the Route

d'Asnieres, and if you ever happen to pass that way with one of your comrades, come in, and I'll reward you

What had exasperated the porter almost beyond endurance, was the certainty he felt that she was mocking

him. "For she didn't give me her name or address, the old witch!" he growled. "She had better look out, if I

But Chupin had already gone off, unmoved by his informant's grievances. Now that he had discovered the

stratagem which Madame Ferailleur had employed to elude her pursuers, his conjectures were changed into

certainties. This information proved that Pascal WAS concealed somewhere in Paris; but where? If he could

only find out this woman who had called for the trunks, it would lead to the discovery of Madame Ferailleur

and her son hut how was he to ascertain the woman's whereabouts? She had said that she kept a wineshop

on the Route d'Asnieres. Was this true? Was it not more likely that this vague direction was only a fresh

This much was certain: Chupin, who knew every wineshop on the Route d'Asnieres, did not remember any

such powerful matron as the porter had described. He had not forgotten Madame Vantrasson. But to imagine

any bond of interest between Pascal and such a woman as she was, seemed absurd in the extreme. However,

as he found himself in such a plight and could not afford to let any chance escape, he repaired merely for

form's sake to the Vantrasson establishment. It had not changed in the least since the evening he visited it in

company with M. Fortunatbut seen in the full light of day, it appeared even more dingy and dilapidated.

Madame Vantrasson was not in her accustomed place, behind the counter, between her black cather latest

idoland the bottles from which she prepared her ratafia, now her supreme consolation here below. There

was no one in the shop but the landlord. Seated at a table, with a lighted candle near him, he was engaged in

an occupation which would have set Chupin's mind working if he had noticed it. Vantrasson had taken some

wax from a sealed bottle, and, after melting it at the flame of the candle, he let it drop slowly on to the table.

He then pressed a sou upon it, and when the wax had become sufficiently cool and stiff, he removed it from

the table without destroying the impression, by means of a thin bladed knife similar to those which glaziers

use. However, Chupin did not remark this singular employment. He was engaged in mentally ejaculating,

"Good! the old woman isn't here." And as his plan of campaign was already prepared, he entered without

As Vantrasson heard the door turn upon its hinges, he rose so awkwardly, or rather so skilfully, as to let all

his implements, wax, knife, and impressions, fall on the floor behind the counter. "What can I do to serve

This was a gleam of light. Chupin had not thought of the only hypothesis that could explain what seemed

inexplicable to him. However, he knew how to conceal his satisfaction, and so with an air of disappointment,

"I'll tell you how it is. I'm employed in the baggage room of the western railway station, and I wanted to

The landlord's features betrayed the vague perturbation of a person who can count the days by his mistakes,

"I thought so. Well, this is my errand: either the clerk forgot to ask her for her receipt, or else he lost it. He

can't find it anywhere. I came to ask your wife if she hadn't kept it. When she returns, please deliver my

The ruse was not particularly clever, but it was sufficiently so to deceive Vantrasson. "To whom am I to send

Imprudent youth! alas, he little suspected what a liberty M. Fortunat had taken with his name on the evening

he visited the Vantrassons. But on his side the landlord of the Model Lodging House had not forgotten the

name mentioned by the agent. He turned pale with anger on beholding his supposed creditor, and quickly

slipping between the visitor and the door, he said: "So your name is Victor Chupin?"

Chupin instinctively recoiled, convinced that he had betrayed himself by some blunder, but unable to

discover in what he had erred. "I did do something in that line formerly," he faltered.

Vantrasson doubted no longer. "So you confess that you are a vile scoundrel!" he exclaimed. "You confess

that you purchased an old promissory note of mine for fourpence, and then sent a man here to seize my

goods! Ah! you'd like to trample the poor under foot, would you! Very well. I have you now, and I'll settle

your account! Take that!" And so saying, he dealt his supposed creditor a terrible blow with his clinched fist

Fortunately, Chupin was very nimble. He did not lose his footing, but sprung over a table and used it as a

rampart to shield himself from his dangerous assailant. In the open field, he could easily have protected

himself; but here in this narrow space, and hemmed in a corner, he felt that despite this barrier he was lost.

"What a devil of a mess!" he thought, as with wonderful agility he avoided Vantrasson's fist, a fist that would

have felled an ox. He had an idea of calling for assistance. But would any one hear him? Would any one

reply? And if help came, would not the police be sure to hear of the broil? And if they did, would there not be

an investigation which would perhaps disturb Pascal's plans? Fearing to injure those whom he wished to

serve, he resolved to let himself be hacked to pieces rather than allow a cry to escape him; but he changed his

tactics, and instead of attempting to parry the blows as he had done before, he now only thought of gaining

He had almost reached it, not without suffering considerable injury, when it suddenly opened, and a young

man clad in black, with a smooth shaven face, entered the shop, and sternly exclaimed: "Why! what's all

The sight of the newcomer seemed to stupefy Vantrasson. "Ah! it is you, Monsieur Maumejan?" he faltered,

M. Maumejan seemed perfectly satisfied with this explanation; and in the indifferent tone of a man who is

delivering a message, the meaning of which he scarcely understood, he said: "A person who knows that your

wife is in my employ requested me to ask you if you would be ready to attend to that little matter she spoke

Chupin heard no more. He had hurried out, his clothes in disorder, and himself not a little hurt; but his delight

made him lose all thought of his injuries. "That's M. Ferailleur," he muttered, "I'm sure of it, and I'm going to

prove it." So saying he hid himself in the doorway of a vacant house a few paces distant from the

Then as soon as M. Maumejan emerged from the Model Lodging House, he followed him. The young man

with the clean shaven face walked up the Route d'Asnieres, turned to the right into the Route de la Revolte,

and at last paused before a house of humble aspect. At that moment Chupin darted toward him, and softly

The young man turned instinctively. Then seeing his mistake, and feeling that he had betrayed himself, he

sprang upon Chupin, and caught him by the wrists: "Scoundrel! who are you?" he exclaimed. "Who has hired

"Not so fast, m'sieur! Don't be so rough! You hurt me. I'm sent by Mademoiselle Marguerite!"

"O God! send Pascal to my aid," prayed Mademoiselle Marguerite, as she left M. Fortunat's house. Now she

understood the intrigue she had been the victim of; but, instead of reassuring her the agent had frightened her,

by revealing the Marquis de Valorsay's desperate plight. She realized what frenzied rage must fill this man's

heart as he felt himself gradually slipping from the heights of opulence, down into the depths of poverty and

crime. What might he not dare, in order to preserve even the semblance of grandeur for a year, or a month, or

a day longer! Had they measured the extent of his villainy? Would he even hesitate at murder? And the poor

girl asked herself with a shudder if Pascal were still living; and a vision of his bleeding corpse, lying lifeless

in some deserted street, rose before her. And who could tell what dangers threatened her personally? For,

though she knew the past, she could not read the future. What did M. de Valorsay's letter mean? and what

was the fate that he held in reserve for her, and that made him so sanguine of success? The impression

produced upon her mind was so terrible that for a moment she thought of hastening to the old justice of the

peace to ask for his protection and a refuge. But this weakness did not last long. Should she lose her energy?

Should her will fail her at the decisive moment? "No, a thousand times no!" she said to herself again and

again. "I will die if needs be, but I will die fighting!" And the nearer she approached the Rue Pigalle, the

more energetically she drove away her apprehension, and sought for an excuse calculated to satisfy any one

An unnecessary precaution. She found the house as when she left it, abandoned to the mercy of the

servantsthe strangers sent the evening before from the employment office. Important matters still kept the

General and his wife from home. The husband had to show his horses; and the wife was intent upon

shopping. As for Madame Leon, most of her time seemed to be taken up by the family of relatives she had so

suddenly discovered. Alone, free from all espionage, and wishing to ward off despondency by occupation,

Mademoiselle Marguerite was just beginning a letter to her friend the old magistrate, when a servant entered

and announced that her dressmaker was there and wished to speak with her. "Let her come in," replied

A lady who looked some forty years of age, plainly dressed, but of distinguished appearance, was thereupon

ushered into the room. Like any wellbred modiste, she bowed respectfully while the servant was present,

but as soon as he had left the room she approached Mademoiselle Marguerite and took hold of her hands:

"My dear young lady," said she, "I am the sisterinlaw of your old friend, the magistrate. Having an

important message to send to you, he was trying to find a person whom he could trust to play the part of a

dressmaker, as had been agreed upon between you, when I offered my services, thinking he could find no one

Tears glittered in Mademoiselle Marguerite's eyes. The slightest token of sympathy is so sweet to the heart of

"By not attempting to thank me at all, and by reading this letter as soon as possible.:

"MY DEAR CHILDAt last I am on the track of the thieves. By conferring with the people from whom M.

de Chalusse received the money a couple of days before his death, I have been fortunate enough to obtain

from them some minute details respecting the missing bonds, as well as the numbers of the banknotes which

were deposited in the escritoire. With this information, we cannot fail to prove the guilt of the culprits sooner

or later. You write me word that the Fondeges are spending money lavishly; try and find out the names of the

people they deal with, and communicate them to me. Once more, I tell you that I am sure of success.

"Well!" said the spurious dressmaker, when she saw that Marguerite had finished reading the letter. "What

"Tell him that he shall certainly have the information he requires tomorrow. Today, I can only give him

the name of the carriage builder, from whom M. de Fondege has purchased his new carriages."

Mademoiselle Marguerite did so, and her visitor who, as a woman, was delighted to find herself mixed up in

But it was no longer necessary to encourage Mademoiselle Marguerite. The assurance of being so effectually

helped, had already increased her courage an hundredfold. The future that had seemed so gloomy only a

moment before, had now suddenly brightened. By means of the negative in the keeping of the photographer,

Carjat, she had the Marquis de Valorsay in her power, and the magistrate, thanks to the numbers of the bank

notes, could soon prove the guilt of the Fondeges. The protection of Providence was made evident in an

unmistakable manner. Thus it was with a placid and almost smiling face that she successively greeted

Madame Leon, who returned home quite played out, then Madame de Fondege, who made her appearance

attended by two shop boys overladen with packages, and finally the General, who brought his son,

The lieutenant was a goodlooking fellow of twentyseven, or thereabouts, with laughing eyes and a heavy

mustache. He made a great clanking with his spurs, and wore the somewhat theatrical uniform of the 13th

Hussars rather ostentatiously. He bowed to Mademoiselle Marguerite with a smile that was too becoming to

be displeasing; and he offered her his arm with an air of triumph to lead her to the diningroom, as soon as

Seated opposite to him at table, the young girl could not refrain from furtively watching the man whom they

wished to compel her to marry. Never had she seen such intense selfcomplacency coupled with such utter

mediocrity. It was evident that he was doing his best to produce a favorable impression; but as the dinner

progressed, his conversation became rather venturesome. He gradually grew extremely animated; and three or

four adventures of garrison life which he persisted in relating despite his mother's frowns, were calculated to

convince his hearers that he was a great favorite with the fair sex. It was the good cheer that loosened his

tongue. There could be no possible doubt on that score; and, indeed, while drinking a glass of the Chateau

Laroze, to which Madame Leon had taken such a liking, he was indiscreet enough to declare that if his

mother had always kept house in this fashion, he should have been inclined to ask for more frequent leaves of

However, strange to say, after the coffee was served, the conversation languished till at last it died out almost

entirely. Madame de Fondege was the first to disappear on the pretext that some domestic affairs required her

attention. The General was the next to rise and go out, in order to smoke a cigar; and finally Madame Leon

made her escape without saying a word. So Mademoiselle Marguerite was left quite alone with Lieutenant

Gustave. It was evident enough to the young girl that this had been preconcerted; and she asked herself what

kind of an opinion M. and Madame de Fondege could have of her delicacy. The proceeding made her so

indignant that she was on the point of rising from the table and of retiring like the others, when reason

restrained her. She said to herself that perhaps she might gain some useful information from this young man,

His face was crimson, and he seemed by far the more embarrassed of the two. He sat with one elbow resting

on the table, and with his gaze persistently fixed upon a tiny glass half full of brandy which he held in his

hand, as if he hoped to gain some sublime inspiration from it. At last, after an interval of irksome silence, he

Any one but the complacent lieutenant would have been disconcerted by Mademoiselle Marguerite's dry

tone; but he did not even notice it. The effort that he was making in his intense desire to be eloquent and

persuasive absorbed the attention of all his faculties. "Then permit me to explain, mademoiselle," he resumed.

"We meet this evening for the first time, but our acquaintance is not the affair of a day. For I know not how

long my father and mother have continually been chanting your praises. 'Mademoiselle Marguerite does this;

Mademoiselle Marguerite does that.' They never cease talking of you, declaring that heart, wit, talent, beauty,

all womanly charms are united in your person. And they have never wearied of telling me that the man whom

you honored with your preference would be the happiest of mortals. However, so far I had no desire to marry,

and I distrusted them. In fact, I had conceived a most violent prejudice against you. Yes, upon my honor! I

felt sure that I should dislike you; but I have seen you and all is changed. As soon as my eyes fell upon you, I

experienced a powerful revulsion of feeling. I was never so smitten in my lifeand I said to myself,

Pale with anger, astonished and humiliated beyond measure, the young girl listened with her head lowered,

vainly trying to find words to express the feelings which disturbed her; but M. Gustave, misunderstanding her

silence, and congratulating himself upon the effect he had produced, grew bolder, and with the tenderest and

most impassioned inflection he could impart to his voice, continued: "Who could fail to be impressed as I

have been? How could one behold, without rapturous admiration, such beautiful eyes, such glorious black

hair, such smiling lips, such a graceful mien, such wonderful charms of person and of mind? How would it be

possible to listen, unmoved, to a voice which is clearer and purer than crystal? Ah! my mother's descriptions

fell far short of the truth. But how can one describe the perfections of an angel? To any one who has the

happiness or the misfortune of knowing you, there can only be one woman in the world!"

He had gradually approached her chair, and now extended his hand to take hold of Marguerite's, and probably

raise it to his lips. But she shrank from the contact as from redhot iron, and rising hurriedly, with her eyes

flashing, and her voice quivering with indignation: "Monsieur!" she exclaimed, "Monsieur!"

He was so surprised that he stood as if petrified, with his eyes wide open and his hand still extended. "Permit

meallow me to explain," he stammered. But she declined to listen. "Who has told you that you could

address such words to me with impunity?" she continued. "Your parents, I suppose; I daresay they told you to

be bold. And that is why they have left us, and why no servant has appeared. Ah! they make me pay dearly

for the hospitality they have given me!" As she spoke the tears started from her eyes and glistened on her

long lashes. "Whom did you fancy you were speaking to?" she added. "Would you have been so audacious if

The lieutenant started as if he had been lashed with a whip. "Ah! you are severe!" he exclaimed.

And a happy inspiration entering his mind, he continued: "A man does not insult a woman, mademoiselle,

when, while telling her that he loves her and thinks her beautiful, he offers her his name and life."

Mademoiselle Marguerite shrugged her shoulders ironically, and remained for a moment silent. She was very

proud, and her pride had been cruelly wounded; but reason told her that a continuation of this scene would

render a prolonged sojourn in the General's house impossible; and where could she go, without exciting

malevolent remarks? Whom could she ask an asylum of? Still this consideration alone would not have

sufficed to silence her. But she remembered that a quarrel and a rupture with the Fondeges would certainly

imperil the success of her plans. "So I will swallow even this affront," she said to herself; and then in a tone

of melancholy bitterness, she remarked, aloud: "A man cannot set a very high value on his name when he

An expression of intense surprise appeared on the lieutenant's face. "Is it possible?" he murmured.

"Your father has met me five or six times at the table of the Count de Chalusse, who was his friendbut

what does he know of me?" resumed Mademoiselle Marguerite. "That I came to the Hotel de Chalusse a year

ago, and that the count treated me like a daughterthat is all! Who I am, where I was reared, and how, and

what my past life has been, these are matters that M. de Fondege knows nothing whatever about."

"My parents told me that you were the daughter of the Count de Chalusse, mademoiselle."

"What proof have they of it? They ought to have told you that I was an unfortunate foundling, with no other

"They ought to have told you that I am poor, very poor, and that I should probably have been reduced to the

An incredulous smile curved the lieutenant's lips. He fancied that Mademoiselle Marguerite only wished to

prove his disinterestedness, and this thought restored his assurance. "Perhaps you are exaggerating a little,

"I am not exaggeratingI possess but ten thousand francs in the worldI swear it by all that I hold sacred."

"That would not even be the dowry required of an officer's wife by law," muttered the lieutenant.

Was his incredulity sincere or affected? What had his parents really told him? Had they confided everything

to him, and was he their accomplice? or had they told him nothing? All these questions flashed rapidly

through Marguerite's mind. "You suppose that I am rich, monsieur," she resumed at last. "I understand that

only too well. If I was, you ought to shun me as you would shun a criminal, for I could only be wealthy

"Yes, through a crime. After M. de Chalusse's death, two million francs that had been placed in his escritoire

for safe keeping, could not be found. Who stole the money? I myself have been accused of the theft. Your

father must have told you of this, as well as of the cloud of suspicion that is still hanging over me."

She paused, for the lieutenant had become whiter than his shirt. "Good God!" he exclaimed in a tone of

horror, as if a terrible light had suddenly broken upon his mind. He made a movement as if to leave the room,

but suddenly changing his mind, he bowed low before Mademoiselle Marguerite, and said, in a husky voice:

"Forgive me, mademoiselle, I did not know what I was doing. I have been misinformed. I have been beguiled

But still he lingered. "I am only a poor devil of a lieutenant," he resumed, "with no other fortune than my

epaulettes, no other prospects than an uncertain advancement. I have been foolish and thoughtless. I have

committed many acts of folly; but there is nothing in my past life for which I have cause to blush." He looked

fixedly at Mademoiselle Marguerite, as if he were striving to read her inmost soul; and in a solemn tone, that

contrasted strangely with his usual levity of manner, he added: "If the name I bear should ever be

compromised, my prospects would be blighted forever! The only course left for me would be to tender my

resignation. I will leave nothing undone to preserve my honor in the eyes of the world, and to right those who

Mademoiselle Marguerite trembled like a leaf. She now realized her terrible imprudence. He had divined

everything. As she remained silent, he continued wildly: "I entreat you. Do you wish me to beg you at your

Ah! it was a terrible sacrifice that he demanded of her. But how could she remain obdurate in the presence of

such intense anguish? "I will remain neutral," she replied, "that is all I can promise. Providence shall decide."

"Thank you," he said, sadly, suspecting that perhaps it was already too late"thank you." Then he turned to

go, and, in fact, he had already opened the door, when a forlorn hope brought him back to Mademoiselle

Marguerite, whose hand he took, timidly faltering, "We are friends, are we not?"

She did not withdraw her icy hand, and in a scarcely audible voice, she repeated: "We are friends?"

Convinced that he could obtain nothing more from her than her promised neutrality, the lieutenant thereupon

hastily left the room, and she sank back in her chair more dead than alive. "Great God! what is coming now?"

She thought she could understand the unfortunate young man's intentions, and she listened with a throbbing

heart, expecting to hear a stormy explanation between his parents and himself. In point of fact, she almost

immediately afterward heard the lieutenant inquire in a stern, imperious voice: "Where is my father?"

That was all. The outer door opened and closed again with extreme violence, and then Marguerite heard

It was, indeed, madness on the part of M. and Madame de Fondege not to have waited to learn the result of

this interview, planned by themselves, and upon which their very lives depended. But delirium seemed to

have seized them since, thanks to a still inexplicable crime, they had suddenly found themselves in

possession of an immense fortune. Perhaps in this wild pursuit of pleasure, in the haste they displayed to

satisfy their covetous longings, they hoped to forget or silence the threatening voice of conscience. Such was

Mademoiselle Marguerite's conclusion; but she was not long left to undisturbed meditation. By the

lieutenant's departure the restrictions which had been placed upon the servants' movements had evidently

Having with some little difficulty obtained a candle from one of these model servants, Mademoiselle

Marguerite now retired to her own room. In her anxiety, she forgot Madame Leon, but the latter had not

forgotten her; she was even now listening at the drawing room door, inconsolable to think that she had not

succeeded in hearing at least part of the conversation between the lieutenant and her dear young lady.

Marguerite had no wish to reflect over what had occurred. As she was determined to keep the promise which

Lieutenant Gustave had wrung from her, it mattered little whether she had committed a great mistake in

allowing him to discover her knowledge of his parent's guilt, and in listening to his entreaties. A secret

presentiment warned her that the punishment which would overtake the General and his wife would be none

the less terrible, despite her own forbearance, and that they would find their son more inexorable than the

The essential thing was to warn the old magistrate; and so in a couple of pages she summarized the scene of

the evening, feeling sure that she would find an opportunity to post her letter on the following day. This duty

accomplished, she took a book and went to bed, hoping to drive away her gloomy thoughts by reading. But

the hope was vain. Her eyes read the words, followed the lines and crossed the pages, but her mind utterly

refused to obey her will, and in spite of all her efforts persisted in turning to the shrewd youth who had

solemnly sworn to find Pascal for her. A little after midnight Madame de Fondege returned from the opera,

and at once proceeded to reprimand her maid for not having lighted a fire. The General returned some time

They have not seen their son," said Mademoiselle Marguerite to herself, and this anxiety, combined with

many others, tortured her so cruelly, that she did not fall asleep until near daybreak. Even then she did not

slumber long. It was scarcely halfpast seven when she was aroused by a strange commotion and a loud

sound of hammering. She was trying to imagine the cause of all this uproar, when Madame de Fondege,

already arrayed in a marvellous robe composed of three skirts and an enormous puff, entered the room. "I

have come to take you away, my dear child," she exclaimed. "The owner of the house has decided to make

some repairs, and the workmen have already invaded our apartments. The General has taken flight, let us

Without a word, the young girl hastened to obey, while Madame de Fondege expiated on the delightful drive

they would take together in the wonderful brougham which the General had purchased a couple of days

Accustomed to the superb equipages of the Chalusse establishment, Mademoiselle Marguerite did not

consider the muchlauded brougham at all remarkable. At the most, it was very showy, having apparently

been selected with a view to attracting as much attention as possible. Madame de Fondege was not in a mood

to consider an objection that morning. She was evidently in a nervous state of mind, extremely restless and

excited indeed, it seemed impossible for her to keep still. In default of something better to do, she visited at

least a dozen shops, asking to see everything, finding everything frightful, and purchasing without regard to

price. It might have been fancied that she wished to buy all Paris. About ten o'clock she dragged Marguerite

to Van Klopen's. Received as a habituee of the establishment, thanks to the numerous orders she had given

within the past few days, she was even allowed to enter the mysterious saloon in which the illustrious ruler of

Fashion served such of his clients as had a predilection for absinthe or madeira. On leaving the place, and

before entering the carriage again, Madame de Fondege turned to Marguerite and inquired: "Where shall we

go now? I have given the servants an 'outing' on account of the workmen, and we cannot breakfast at home.

Why can't we go to a restaurant, we two? Many of the most distinguished ladies are in the habit of doing so.

You will see how people will look at us! I am sure it will amuse you immensely."

Madame de Fondege was about to make an impatient reply, but she mastered the impulse, and in a tone of

hypocritical compassion, exclaimed: "Poor child! poor, dear child! that's true. I had forgotten. Well, such

being the case, we'll go and ask Baroness Trigault to give us our breakfast. You will see a lovely woman."

And addressing the coachman she instructed him to drive to the Trigault mansion in the Rue de la Ville

When Madame de Fondege's brougham drew up before the door, the baron was standing in the courtyard

with a cigar between his teeth, examining a pair of horses which had been sent him on approbation. He did

not like his wife's friend, and he usually avoided her. But precisely because he was acquainted with the

General's crime and Pascal's plans, he thought it politic to seem amiable. So, on recognizing Madame de

Fondege through the carriage window, he hastened forward with outstretched hand to assist her in alighting.

"Did you come to take breakfast with us?" he asked. "That would be a most delightful"

The remainder of the sentence died unuttered upon his lips. His face became crimson, and the cigar he was

holding slipped from his fingers. He had just perceived Mademoiselle Marguerite, and his consternation was

so apparent that Madame de Fondege could not fail to remark it; however, she attributed it to the girl's

remarkable beauty. "This is Mademoiselle de Chalusse, my dear baron," said she, "the daughter of the noble

Ah! it was not necessary to tell the baron who this young girl was; he knew it only too well. He was not

overcome for long; a thought of vengeance speedily flashed through his mind. It seemed to him that

Providence itself offered him the means of putting an end to an intolerable situation. Regaining his

selfcontrol by a powerful effort, he preceded Madame de Fondege through the magnificent apartments of

the mansion, lightly saying: "My wife is in her boudoir. She will be delighted to see you. But first of all, I

have a good secret to confide to you. So let me take this young lady to the baroness, and you and I can join

them in a moment!" Thereupon, without waiting for any rejoinder, he took Marguerite's arm and led her

toward the end of the hall. Then opening a door, he exclaimed in a mocking voice: "Madame Trigault, allow

me to present to you the daughter of the Count de Chalusse." And adding in a whisper: "This is your mother,

young girl," he pushed the astonished Marguerite into the room, closed the door, and returned to Madame de

Paler than her white muslin wrapper, the Baroness Trigault sprang from her chair. This was the woman who,

while her husband was braving death to win fortune for her, had been dazzled by the Count de Chalusse's

wealth, and who, later in life, when she was the richest of the rich, had sunk into the very depths of

degradationhad stooped, indeed, to a Coralth! The baroness had once been marvellously beautiful, and

even now, many murmurs of admiration greeted her when she dashed through the Champs Elysees in her

magnificent equipage, attired in one of those eccentric costumes which she alone dared to wear. She was a

type of the wife created by the customs of fashionable society; the woman who feels elated when her name

appears in the newspapers and in the chronicles of Parisian "high life"; who has no thought of her deserted

fireside, but is ever tormented by a terrible thirst for bustle and excitement; whose head is empty, and whose

heart is drythe woman who only exists for the world; and who is devoured by unappeasable covetousness,

and who, at times, envies an actress's liberty, and the notoriety of the leaders of the demi monde; the woman

who is always in quest of fresh excitement, and fails to find it; the woman who is blase, and prematurely old

Inaccessible to any emotion but vanity, the baroness had never shed a tear over her husband's sufferings. She

was sure of her absolute power over him. What did the rest matter? She even gloried in her knowledge that

she could make this manwho loved her in spite of everythingat one moment furious with rage or wild

with grief, and then an instant afterward plunge him into the rapture of a senseless ecstasy by a word, a smile,

or a caress. For such was her power, and she often exercised it mercilessly. Even after the frightful scene that

Pascal had witnessed, she had made another appeal to the baron, and he had been weak enough to give her

the thirty thousand francs which M. de Coralth needed to purchase his wife's silence.

However, this time the baroness trembled. Her usual shrewdness had not deserted her, and she perfectly

understood all that Marguerite's presence in that house portended. Since her husband brought this young

girlher daughterto her he must know everything, and have taken some fatal resolution. Had she, indeed,

exhausted the patience which she had fancied inexhaustible? She was not ignorant of the fact that her

husband had disposed of his immense fortune in a way that would enable him to say and prove that he was

insolvent whenever occasion required; and if he found courage to apply for a legal separation, what could she

hope to obtain from the courts? A bare living, almost nothing. In such a case, how could she exist? She would

be compelled to spend her last years in the same poverty that had made her youth so wretched. She saw

herselfah! what a frightful misfortuneturfed out of her princely home, and reduced to furnished

Mademoiselle Marguerite was no less startled and horrorstricken than Madame Trigault, and she stood

rooted to the spot, exactly where the baron had left her. Silent and motionless, they confronted each other for

a moment which seemed a century to both of them. The resemblancewhich had astonished Pascal could

not fail to strike them, for it was still more noticeable now that they stood face to face. But anything was

preferable to this torturing suspense, and so, summoning all her courage, the baroness broke the silence by

"What could I have to say to my mother?" continued Marguerite. "That I hate her? My courage would fail me

to do so. And yet, how can I think without bitterness of the woman who, after abandoning me herself,

endeavored to deprive me of my father's love and protection? I could have forgiven anything but that. Ah! I

have not always been so patient and resigned! The laws of our country do not forbid illigitimate children to

search for their parents, and more than once I have said to myself that I would discover my mother, and have

"In this you are greatly mistaken, madame. After the Count de Chalusse's death, a package of letters, a glove

The baroness started back as if a yawning chasm had suddenly opened at her feet. "My letters!" she

exclaimed. "Ah! wretched woman that I am, he kept them. It is all over! I am lost, for of course, they have

Madame Trigault tottered, as if she were about to fall. "Then it is only a reprieve," she moaned, "and I am

none the less ruined. Those cursed letters will necessarily be read, and all will be discovered. They will

see" The thought of what they would see endowed her with the energy of despair, and clutching hold of

Marguerite's wrists: "Listen!" said she, approaching so near that her hot breath scorched the girl's cheeks, "no

one must be allowed to see those letters!it must not be! I will tell you what they contain. I hated my

husband; I loved the Count de Chalusse madly, and he had sworn that he would marry me if ever I became a

widow. Do you understand now? The name of the poison I obtainedhow I proposed to administer it, and

what its effects would beall this is plainly written in my own handwriting and signedyes, signed with

my own name. The plot failed, but it was none the less real, positive, palpableand those letters are a proof

of it. But they shall never be readnonot if I am obliged to set fire to the Hotel de Chalusse with my own

Now the count's constant terror, the fear with which this woman had inspired him, were explained. He was an

accomplicehe also had written no doubt, and she had preserved his letters as he had preserved hers. Crime

Horrified beyond expression, Marguerite freed herself from Madame Trigault's grasp. "I swear to you,

madame, that everything any human being can do to save your letters shall be done by me," she exclaimed.

Moved by a far more powerful emotion than any she had ever known before, the baroness uttered an

exclamation of joy. "Ah! how good you are!" she exclaimed"how generous! how noble! You take your

revenge in giving me back life, honor, everythingfor you are my daughter; do you not know it? Did they

not tell you, before bringing you here, that I was the hated and unnatural mother who abandoned you?"

She advanced with tearful eyes and outstretched arms, but Marguerite sternly waved her back. "Spare

"Marguerite! Good God! you repulse me. After all you have promised to do for me, will you not forgive me?"

"I will try to forget, madame," replied the girl and she was already stepping toward the door when the

baroness threw herself at her feet, crying, in a heartrending tone: "Have pity, Marguerite, I am your mother.

But the young girl passed on. "My mother is dead, madame; I do not know you!" And she left the room

without even turning her head, without even glancing at the baroness, who had fallen upon the floor in a deep

Baron Trigault still held Madame de Fondege a prisoner in the hall. What did he say to her in justification of

the expedient he had improvised? His own agitation was so great that he scarcely knew, and it mattered but

little after all, for the good lady did not even pretend to listen to his apologies. Although by no means

overshrewd, she suspected some great mystery, some bit of scandal, perhaps, and her eyes never once

wandered from the door leading to the boudoir. At last this door opened and Mademoiselle Marguerite

reappeared. "Great heavens!" exclaimed Madame de Fondege; "what has happened to my poor child?"

For the unfortunate girl advanced with an automatic tread, her eyes fixed on vacancy, and her hands

outstretched, as if feeling her way. It indeed seemed to her as if the floor swayed to and fro under her feet, as

Alas! the poor girl was utterly overcome. "It is but a trifle," she faltered. But her eyes closed, her hands

clutched wildly for some support, and she would have fallen to the ground if the baron had not caught her in

his arms and carried her to a sofa. "Help!" cried Madame de Fondege, "help, she is dying!a physician!"

But there was no need of a physician. One of the maids came with some fresh water and a bottle of smelling

salts, and Marguerite soon recovered sufficiently to sit up, and cast a frightened glance around her, while she

mechanically passed her hand again and again over her cold forehead. "Do you feel better my darling?"

"Ah! you gave me a terrible fright; see how I tremble." But the worthy lady's fright was as nothing in

comparison with the curiosity that tortured her. It was so powerful, indeed, that she could not control it.

"I am subject to such attacks. I was very cold, and the heat of the room made me feel faint."

Although she could only speak with the greatest difficulty, the baron realized by her tone that she would

never reveal what had taken place, and his attitude and relief knew no bounds. "Don't tire the poor child," he

said to Madame de Fondege. "The best thing you can do would be to take her home and put her to bed."

I agree with you; but unfortunately, I have sent away my brougham with orders not to return for me until one

"Is that the only difficulty? If so, you shall have a carriage at once, my dear madame." So saying, the baron

Madame de Fondege was silent but furious. "He is actually putting me out of doors," she thought. "This is a

little too much! And why doesn't the baroness make her appearanceshe must certainly have heard my

voice? What does it all mean? However, I'm sure Marguerite will tell me when we are alone."

But Madame de Fondege was wrong, for she vainly plied the girl with questions all the way from the Rue de

la Ville l'Eveque to the Rue Pigalle. She could only obtain this unvarying and obstinate reply: "Nothing has

Never in her whole life had Madame de Fondege been so incensed. "The blockhead!" she mentally

She did not beat her, but on reaching the house she eagerly asked: "Do you feel strong enough to go up stairs

"Then I will leave you. You know Van Klopen expects me again at one o'clock precisely; and I have not

breakfasted yet. Remember that my servants are at your disposal, and don't hesitate to call them. You are at

It was not without considerable difficultynot without being compelled to stop and rest several times on her

way up stairs that Mademoiselle Marguerite succeeded in reaching the apartments of the Fondege family.

"M. Gustave has been here three times already; he was very angry when he found that there was no one at

homehe went on terribly. Besides, the workmen have turned everything topsyturvy."

However, Marguerite had already reached her own room, and thrown herself on the bed. She was suffering

terribly. Her brave spirit still retained its energy; but the flesh had succumbed. Every vein and artery throbbed

with violence, and while a chill seemed to come to her heart, her head burned as if it had been on fire. "My

Lord," she thought, "am I going to fall ill at the last moment, just when I have most need of all my strength?"

She tried to sleep, but was unable to do so. How could she free herself from the thought that haunted her? Her

mother! To think that such a woman was her mother! Was it not enough to make her die of sorrow and

shame? And yet this woman must be savedthe proofs of her crime must be annihilated with her letters.

Marguerite asked herself whether the old magistrate would have it in his power to help her in this respect.

Perhaps not, and then what could she do? She asked herself if she had not been too cruel, too severe. Guilty

or not, the baroness was still her mother. Had she the right to be pitiless, when by stretching out her hand she

Thus thinking, the young girl sat alone and forgotten in her little room. The hours went by, and daylight had

begun to wane, when suddenly a shrill whistle resounded in the street, under her windows. "Piouit." It came

upon her like an electric shock, and with a bound she sprang to her feet. For this cry was the signal that had

been agreed upon between herself and the young man who had so abruptly offered to help her on the occasion

of her visit to M. Fortunat's office. Was she mistaken? Nofor on listening she heard the cry resound a

This was no time for hesitation, and so she went downstairs at once. Hope sent new blood coursing through

her veins and endowed her with invincible energy. On reaching the streetdoor, she paused and looked

around her. At a short distance off she perceived a young fellow clad in a blouse, who was apparently

engaged in examining the goods displayed in a shop window. Despite his position, he hurriedly exclaimed:

Marguerite, obeyed him in breathless suspense. The young fellow was our friend Victor Chupin, now

somewhat the worse for his encounter with Vantrasson that same morning. His face was considerably

disfigured, and one of his eyes was black and swollen; nevertheless he was in a state of ecstatic happiness.

Happy, and yet anxious; for, as he preceded Mademoiselle Marguerite, he said to himself: "How shall I tell

her that I have succeeded? There must be no folly. If I tell her the news suddenly, she will most likely faint,

On reaching the Rue Boursault, he turned the corner, and paused, waiting for Mademoiselle Marguerite to

He did see it only too well; and his embarrassment increased to such a pitch that he began to scratch his head

furiously. At last he decided on a plan. "First of all, mademoiselle, brace yourself against the wall, and now

stand firm. Yes, like that. Now, are you all right? Well, I have found M. Ferailleur!"

Chupin's precaution was a wise one, for Marguerite tottered. Such a success, so quickly gained, was indeed

"So possible that I have a letter for you from M. Ferailleur in my pocket mademoiselle. Here it isI am to

She took the note he handed her, broke the seal with trembling hand, and read as follows:

"We are approaching the end, my dearest. One step more and we shall triumph. But I must see you today at

any risk. Leave the house this evening at eight o'clock. My mother will be waiting for you in a cab, at the

corner of the Rue Pigalle and the Rue Boursault. Come, and let no fear of arousing suspicions of the

"I will go!" replied Marguerite at once, careless of the obstacles that might impede the fulfilment of her

promise. For it was quite possible that serious difficulties might arise. Madame Leon, who had been invisible

since the morning, might suddenly reappear, or the General and his wife might return to dinner. And what

could Marguerite answer if they asked her where she wanted to go alone, and at such an hour of the evening?

And if they attempted to prevent her from keeping her appointment, how could she resist? All these were

weighty questions and yet she did not hesitate. Pascal had spoken, that sufficed, and she was determined to

obey him implicitly, cost what it might. If he advised such a step, it was because he deemed it best and

necessary; and she willingly submitted to the instructions of the man in whom she felt such unbounded

Having told Chupin that she might be relied upon for the evening, she was retracing her way home, when

suddenly the thought occurred to her that she ought not to neglect this opportunity to place a decisive weapon

in Pascal's hands. She was close to the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette and so without more ado she hurried to

the establishment of Carjat the photographer. He was fortunately disengaged, and she at once obtained from

him a proof of the compromising letter written by the Marquis de Valorsay to Madame Leon. She placed it

carefully in her pocket, thanked the photographer, and then hurried back to the Rue Pigalle to wait for the

hour appointed in Pascal's letter. Fortunately none of her unpleasant apprehensions were realized. The

dinnerhour came and passed, and still the house remained deserted. The workmen had gone off and the

laughter and chatter of the servants in the kitchen were the only sounds that broke the stillness. Faint for want

of foodfor she had taken no nourishment during the day Marguerite had considerable difficulty in

obtaining something to eat from the servants. At last, however, they gave her some soup and cold meat,

served on a corner of the bare table in the dining room. It was halfpast seven when she finished this frugal

meal. She waited a moment, and then fearing she might keep Madame Ferailleur waiting, she went down into

A cab was waiting at the corner of the Rue Boursault, as indicated. Its windows were lowered, and in the

shade one could discern the face and white hair of an elderly lady. Glancing behind her to assure herself that

she had not been followed, Marguerite eagerly approached the vehicle, whereupon a kindly voice exclaimed:

Marguerite obeyed, and the door was scarcely closed behind her before the driver had urged his horse into a

gallop. He had evidently received his instructions in advance, as well as the promise of a magnificent

Sitting side by side on the back seat, the old lady and the young girl remained silent, but this did not prevent

them from casting stealthy glances at each other, and striving to distinguish one another's features whenever

the vehicle passed in front of some brilliantly lighted shop. They had never met before, and their anxiety to

become acquainted was intense, for they each felt that the other would exert a decisive influence upon her

life. All of Madame Ferailleur's friends would undoubtedly have been surprised at the step she had taken, and

yet it was quite in accordance with her character. As long as she had entertained any hope of preventing this

marriage she had not hesitated to express and even exaggerate her objections and repugnance. But her point

of view was entirely changed when conquered by the strength of her son's passion, she at last yielded a

reluctant consent. The young girl who was destined to be her daughterinlaw at once became sacred in her

eyes; and it seemed to her an act of duty to watch over Marguerite, and shield her reputation. Having

considered the subject, she had decided that it was not proper for her son's betrothed to run about the streets

alone in the evening. Might it not compromise her honor? and later on might it not furnish venomous

Madame de Fondege with an opportunity to exercise her slanderous tongue? Thus the puritanical old lady had

come to fetch Marguerite, so that whenever occasion required she might be able to say: "I was there!"

As for Marguerite, after the trials of the day, she yielded without reserve to the feeling of rest and happiness

that now filled her heart. Again and again had Pascal spoken of his mother's prejudices and the inflexibility of

her principles. But he had also spoken of her dauntless energy, the nobility of her nature, and of her love and

devotion to him. With Marguerite, moreover, one considerationone which she would scarcely have

admitted, perhapsoutweighed all others: Madame Ferailleur was Pascal's mother. For that reason alone, if

for no other, she was prepared to worship her. How fervently she blessed this noble woman, who, a widow.

and ruined in fortune by an unprincipled scoundrel, had bravely toiled to educate her son, making him the

man whom Marguerite had freely chosen from among all others. She would have knelt before this grand but

simplehearted mother had she dared; she would have kissed her hands. And a poignant regret came to her

heart when she remembered her own mother, Baroness Trigault, and compared her with this matchless

Meanwhile the cab had passed the outer boulevards, and was now whirling along the Route d'Asnieres, as

fast as the horse could drag it. "We are almost there," remarked Madame Ferailleur, speaking for the first

Marguerite's response was inaudible, she was so overcome with emotion. The driver had just turned the

corner of the Route de la Revolte; and it was not long before he checked his panting horse. "Look,

Upon the threshold, bareheaded, and breathless with impatience and hope, stood a man who was counting the

seconds with the violent throbbings of his heart. He did not wait for the cab to stop, but springing to the door,

he opened it; and then, catching Marguerite in his arms, he carried her into the house with a cry of joy. She

had not even time to look around her, ere he had placed her in an armchair, and fallen on his knees before

her. "At last I see you again, my beloved Marguerite," he exclaimed. "You are mine nothing shall part us

They sobbed in each other's arms. They could bear adversity unmoved; but their composure deserted them in

this excess of happiness; and standing in the doorway, Madame Ferailleur felt the tears come to her eyes as

"How can I tell you all that I have suffered!" said Pascal, whose voice was hoarse with feeling. "The papers

have told you all the details, I suppose. How I was accused of cheating at cards; how the vile epithet 'thief'

was cast in my face; how they tried to search me; how my most intimate friends deserted me; how I was

virtually expelled from the Palais de Justice. All this is terrible, is it not? Ah, well! it is nothing in comparison

with the intense, unendurable anguish I experienced in thinking that you believed the infamous calumny

Marguerite rose to her feet. "You thought that!" she exclaimed. "You believed that I doubted you? I! Like

"I was mad, Marguerite, my only love, I was mad! But who would not have lost his senses under such

circumstances? It was the very day after this atrocious conspiracy. I had seen Madame Leon, and had trusted

her with a letter for you in which I entreated you to grant me five minutes' Conversation."

"I know that now; but then I was deceived. I went to the little garden gate to await your coming, but it was

Madame Leon who appeared. She brought me a note written in pencil and signed with your name, bidding

me an eternal farewell. And, fool that I was, I did not see that the note was a forgery!"

Mademoiselle Marguerite was amazed. The veil was now torn aside, and the truth revealed to her. Now she

remembered Madame Leon's embarrassment when she met her returning from the garden on the night

following the count's death. "Ah, well! Pascal," she said, "do you know what I was doing at almost the same

moment? Alarmed at having received no news from you, I hastened to the Rue d'Ulm, where I learned that

you had sold your furniture and started for America. Any other woman might have believed herself deserted

under such circumstances, but not I. I felt sure that you had not fled in ignominious fashion. I was convinced

that you had only concealed yourself for a time in order to strike your enemies more surely."

"Do not shame me, Marguerite. It is true that of us two I showed myself the weaker."

Lost in the rapture of the present moment, they had forgotten the past and the future, the agony they had

endured, the dangers that still threatened them, and even the existence of their enemies.

But Madame Ferailleur was watching. She pointed to the clock, and earnestly exclaimed: "Time is passing,

my son. Each moment that is wasted endangers our success. Should any suspicion bring Madame Vantrasson

"She cannot come upon us unawares, my dear mother. Chupin has promised not to lose sight of her. If she

stirs from her shop, he will hasten here and throw a stone against the shutters to warn us."

"You forget, Pascal." she insisted, "that Mademoiselle Marguerite must be at home again by ten o'clock, if

This was the voice of duty recalling Pascal to the stern realities of life. He slowly rose, conquered his

emotion, and, after reflecting for a moment, said: "First of all, Marguerite, I owe you the truth and an exact

statement of our situation. Circumstances have compelled me to act without consulting you. Have I done

right or wrong? You shall judge." And without stopping to listen to the girl's protestations, he rapidly

explained how he had managed to win M. de Valorsay's confidence, discover his plans, and become his

trusted accomplice. "This scoundrel's plan is very simple," he continued. "He is determined to marry you.

Why? Because, though you are not aware of it, you are rich, and the sole heiress to the fortune of the Count

de Chalusse, your father. This surprises you, does it not? Very well! listen to me. Deceived by the Marquis de

Valorsay, the Count de Chalusse had promised him your hand. These arrangements were nearly completed,

though you had not been informed of them. In fact, everything had been decided. At the outset, however, a

grave difficulty had presented itself. The marquis wished your father to acknowledge you before your

marriage, but this he refused to do. 'It would expose me to the most frightful dangers,' he declared. 'However,

I will recognize Marguerite as my daughter in my will, and, at the same time, leave all my property to her.'

But the marquis would not listen to this proposal. 'I don't doubt your good intentions, my dear count,' said he,'

but suppose this will should be contested, your property might pass into other hands.' This difficulty put a

stop to the proceedings for some time. The marquis asked for guarantees; the other refused to give them

until, at last, M. de Chalusse discovered an expedient which would satisfy both parties. He confided to M. de

Valorsay's keeping a will in which he recognized you as his daughter, and bequeathed you his entire fortune.

This document, the validity of which is unquestionable, has been carefully preserved by the marquis. He has

not spoken of its existence; and he would destroy it rather than restore it to you at present. But as soon as you

became his wife, he intended to produce it and thus obtain possession of the count's millions."

"Ah! the old justice of the peace was not mistaken," murmured Mademoiselle Marguerite.

Pascal did not hear her. All his faculties were absorbed in the attempt he was making to give a clear and

concise explanation, for he had much to say, and it was growing late. "As for the enormous sum you have

been accused of taking," he continued, "I know what has become of it; it is in the hands of M. de Fondege."

"The proof exists, and, like the will, it is in the hands of the Marquis de Valorsay."

"I have seen the proof, and it is overpowering, irrefutable! I have touched itI have held it in my hands. And

it explains everything which may have seemed strange and incomprehensible to you. The letter which M. de

Chalusse received on the day of his death was written by his sister. She asked in it for her share of the family

estate, threatening him with a terrible scandal if he refused to comply with her request. Had the count decided

to brave this scandal rather than yield? We have good reason to suppose so. However, this much is certain: he

had a terrible hatred, not so much for his sister, perhaps, as for the man who had seduced her, and afterward

married her, actuated by avaricious motives alone. He had sworn thousands of times that neither husband nor

wife should ever have a penny of the large fortune which really belonged to them. Believing that a lawsuit

was now inevitable, and wishing to conceal his wealth, he was greatly embarrassed by the large amount of

money he had on hand. What should he do with it? Where could he hide it? He finally decided to intrust it to

the keeping of M. de Fondege, who was known as an eccentric man, but whose honesty seemed to be above

suspicion. So, when he left home, on the afternoon of his illness, he took the package of banknotes and

bonds, which you had noticed in the escritoire that morning, away with him. We shall never know what

passed between your father and the Generalwe can only surmise. But what I do know, and what I shall be

able to prove, is that M. de Fondege accepted the trust, and that he gave an acknowledgment of it in the form

"'MY DEAR COUNT DE CHALUSSEI hereby acknowledge the receipt, on Thursday, October 15, 186,

of the sum of two millions, two hundred and fifty thousand francs, which I shall deposit, in my name, at the

Bank of France, subject to the orders of Mademoiselle Marguerite, your daughter, on the day she presents this

letter. And believe, my dear count, in the absolute devotion of your old comrade,

Mademoiselle Marguerite was thunderstruck. "Who can have furnished you with these particulars?" she

"The Marquis de Valorsay, my dearest; and I will explain how he was enabled to do so. M. de Fondege wrote

the address of his 'old comrade' on this letter, which was folded and sealed, but not enclosed in an envelope.

M. de Chalusse proposed to post it himself, so that the official stamp might authenticate its date. But on

reflection, he became uneasy. He felt that this tiny, perishable scrap of paper would be the only proof of the

deposit which he had confided to M. de Fondege's honor. This scrap might be lost, burned, or stolen. Then

what would happen? He had so often seen trustees betray the confidence of which they had seemed worthy.

So M. de Chalusse racked his brains to discover a means of protection from an improbable but possible

misfortune. He found it. Passing a stationer's shop, he went in, purchased one of those letterpresses which

merchants use in their correspondence, and, under pretext of trying it, took a copy of M. de Fondege's letter.

Having done this, he placed the copy in an envelope addressed to the Marquis de Valorsay, and, with his

heart relieved of all anxiety, posted it at the same time as the original letter. A few moments later he got into

Extraordinary as Pascal's explanations must have seemed to her, Marguerite did not doubt their accuracy in

the least. "Then it is the copy of this letter which you saw in the possession of the Marquis de Valorsay?"

"M. de Fondege alone can tell what has become of that. It is evident that he has somehow succeeded in

obtaining possession of it. Would he have dared to squander money as he has done if he had not been

convinced that there was no proof of his guilt in existence? Perhaps on hearing of the count's sudden death he

bribed the concierge at the Hotel de Chalusse to watch for this letter and return it to him. But on this subject I

have only conjectures to offer. If they wish you to marry their son, it is probably because it seems too hard

that you should be left in abject poverty while they are enjoying the fortune they have stolen from you. The

vilest scoundrels have their scruples. Besides, a marriage with their son would protect them against any

He was silent for a moment, and then more slowly resumed: "You see, Marguerite, we have clear, palpable,

and irrefutable proofs of YOUR innocence; but in my efforts to clear my own name of disgrace, I have been

far less fortunate. I have tried in vain to collect material proofs of the conspiracy against me. It is only by

proving the guilt of the Marquis de Valorsay and the Viscount de Coralth that I can establish my innocence,

Mademoiselle Marguerite's face brightened with supreme joy. "Then I can serve you, in my turn, my only

love," she exclaimed. "Ah! blessed be God who inspired me, and who thus rewards me for an hour of

courage. My poor father's plan also occurred to me, Pascal. Was it not strange? The material proof of your

innocence which you have sought for in vain, is in my possession, written and signed by the Marquis de

Valorsay. Like M. de Fondege, he believes that the letter which proves his guilt is annihilated. He burned it

himself, and yet it exists." So saying, she drew from her bosom one of the copies which she had received

Pascal eagerly perused the marvellous facsimile of the letter which the marquis had written to Madame Leon.

"Ah! this is the scoundrel's death warrant." he exclaimed, exultantly. And approaching Madame Ferailleur,

who still stood leaning against the door, silent and motionless: "Look, mother," he repeated, "look!"

And he pointed to this paragraph which was so convincing and so explicit, that the most exacting jury would

have asked for no further evidence. "I have formed a plan which will completely efface all remembrance of

that cursed P. F., in case any one could condescend to think of him, after the disgrace we fastened upon him

"Nor is this all," resumed Mademoiselle Marguerite. "There are other letters which will prove that this plot

was the marquis's work and which give the name of his accomplice, Coralth. And these letters are in the

possession of a man of dubious integrity, who was once the marquis's ally, but who has now become his

Marguerite felt that Madame Ferailleur's keen glance was riveted upon her. She intuitively divined what was

passing in the mind of the puritanical old lady, and realized that her whole future, and the happiness of her

entire wedded life, depended upon her conduct at that moment. So, desirous of making a full confession, she

hastily exclaimed: "My conduct may have seemed strange in a young girl, Pascal. A timid, inexperienced girl,

who had been carefully kept from all knowledge of life and evil, would have been crushed by such a burden

of disgrace, and could only have wept and prayed. I did weep and pray; but I also struggled and fought. In the

hour of peril I found myself endowed with some of the courage and energy which distinguished the poor

women of the people among whom I formerly earned my bread. The teachings and miseries of the past were

not lost to me!" And as simply as if she were telling the most natural thing in the world, she described the

struggle she had undertaken against the world, strong in her faith in Pascal and in his love.

"Ah, you are a noble and courageous girl!" exclaimed Madame Ferailleur. "You are worthy of my son, and

For some little time already the obstinate old lady had been struggling against the sympathetic emotion that

Unable to restrain herself any longer, she now threw both arms around Marguerite's neck, and drew her

toward her in a long embrace, murmuring: "Marguerite, my daughter! Ah! how unjust my prejudices were!"

It might be thought that Pascal was transported with joy on hearing this, but no: the lines of care on his

forehead deepened, as he said: "Happiness is so near! Why must a final test, another humiliation, separate us

But Marguerite now felt strong enough to meet even martyrdom with a smile. "Speak, Pascal!" said she,

He hesitated; there was grief in his eyes and his breath came quick and hard, as he resumed: "For your sake

and mine, we must conquer, at any price. This is the only reason that can justify the horrible expedient I have

to suggest. M. de Valorsay, as you know, has boasted of his power to overcome your resistance, and he really

believes that he possesses this power. Why I have not killed him again and again when he has been at my

mercy, I can scarcely understand. The only thing that gave me power to restrain myself was my desire for as

sure, as terrible, and as public a revenge as the humiliation he inflicted on me. His plan for your ruin is such

as only a scoundrel like himself could conceive. With the assistance of his vile tool, Coralth, he has formed a

league, offensive and defensive, with the son of the Count de Chalusse's sister, who is the only acknowledged

heir at this momenta young man destitute of heart and intelligence, and inordinately vain, but neither better

nor worse than many others who figure respectably in society. His name is Wilkie Gordon. The marquis has

acquired great influence over him, and has persuaded him that it is his duty to denounce you to the

authorities. He has, in short, accused you of defrauding the heirs of the Chalusse estate of two millions of

The girl shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. "As for the robbery, we have an answer to that," she answered,

But Pascal still looked gloomy. "The matter is more serious than you suppose," he replied. "They have found

a physiciana vile, cowardly scoundrelwho for a certain sum has consented to appear in support of the

"Yes; and this is not all. The count's escritoire contains the vial of medicine of which he drank a portion on

the day of his death. Well, tomorrow night, Madame Leon will open the garden gate of the Hotel de

Marguerite shuddered. Now she understood the fiendish cunning of the plot. "It might ruin me!" she

Pascal nodded affirmatively. "M. de Valorsay wishes you to consider yourself as irretrievably lost, and then

he intends to offer to save you on condition that you consent to marry him. I should say, however, that M.

Wilkie is ignorant of the atrocious projects he is abetting. They are known only to the marquis and M. de

Coralth; and it is I who, under the name of Maumejan, act as their adviser. It was to me that the marquis sent

M. Wilkie for assistance in drawing up this accusation. I myself wrote out the denunciation, which was as

terrible and as formidable as our bitterest enemy could possibly desire, combining, as it did, with perfidious

art, the reports of the valets and the suspicions of the physician, and establishing the connection between the

robbery and the murder. It finished by demanding a thorough investigation. And M. Wilkie copied and signed

Mademoiselle Marguerite sank halffainting into an armchair. "You have done this!" she faltered.

"Yes, it was necessary, absolutely necessary," repeated Pascal, "as you will see. Justice, which is a human

institution, and limited in its powers, cannot fathom motives, read thoughts, or interfere with plans, however

abominable they may be, or however near realization. Before it can interfere, the law must have material,

tangible proof, convincing to the senses. Until you are arrested, the crimes committed by M. de Valorsay, and

those associated with him, do not come within the reach of human justice; but as soon as you are in prison, I

can hasten to our friend the justice of the peace, and we shall go at once to the investigating magistrate and

explain everything. Now, when your innocence and the guilt of your accusers have been established, what do

you fancy the authorities will do? They will wait until your enemies declare themselves, in order to capture

them all at once, and prevent the escape of a single one. Tomorrow night some clever detectives will watch

the Hotel de Chalusse, and just as Madame Leon and the wretch with her think themselves sure of success,

they will be caught in the very act and arrested. When they are examined by a magistrate, who is conversant

with the whole affair, can they deny their guilt? No; certainly not. Acting upon their confession, the

authorities will force an entrance into Valorsay's house, where they will find your father's will and the receipt

given by M. de Fondegein a word, all the proofs of their guilt. And while this search is going on, all your

enemies, reassured by your arrest, will be at a grand soiree given by Baron Trigault. I shall be there as well."

Mademoiselle Marguerite had mastered her momentary weakness. She rose to her feet, and in a firm voice

"Ah! there was no other way. And yet I wished to see you, to learn if this course were too repugnant to you."

She interrupted him with a gesture. "When shall I be arrested?" she asked, quietly.

"Very well! I have only one request to make. The Fondeges have a son who has no hand in the affair, but who

will be more severely punished than his parents, if we do not spare them. Could you not"

Everything was soon arranged. Marguerite raised her forehead to Pascal for his parting kiss, and went away

accompanied by Madame Ferailleur, who escorted her to the corner of the Rue Boursault. The General and

his wife had returned home in advance of Marguerite. She found them sitting in the drawingroom, with

distorted faces and teeth chattering with fear. With them was a bearded man who, as soon as she appeared,

"You are Mademoiselle Marguerite, are you not? I arrest you in the name of the law. There is my warrant."

Money, which nowadays has taken the place of the good fairies of former times, had gratified M. Wilkie's

every longing in a single night. Without any period of transition, dreamlike as it were, he had passed from

what he called "straitened circumstances" to the splendid enjoyment of a princely fortune. Madame

d'Argeles's renunciation had been so correctly drawn up, that as soon as he presented his claims and displayed

his credentials he was placed in possession of the Chalusse estate. It is true that a few trifling difficulties

presented themselves. For instance, the old justice of the peace who had affixed the seals refused to remove

them from certain articles of furniture, especially from the late count's escritoire, without an order from the

court, and several days were needed to obtain this. But what did that matter to M. Wilkie? The house, with its

splendid receptionrooms, pictures, statuary and gardens, was at his disposal, and he installed himself therein

at once. Twenty horses neighed and stamped in his stables; there were at least a dozen carriages in the

coachhouse. He devoted his attention exclusively to the horses and vehicles; but acting upon the advice of

Casimir, who had become his valet and oracle, he retained all the former servants of the house, from

Bourigeau the concierge down to the humblest scullery maid. Still, he gave them to understand that this was

only a temporary arrangement. A man like himself, living in this progressive age, could scarcely be expected

to content himself with what had satisfied the Count de Chalusse. "For I have my plans," he remarked to

He repudiated his former friends. Costard and Serpillon, pretended viscounts though they were, were quite

beneath the notice of a GordonChalusse, as M. Wilkie styled himself on his visiting cards. However, he

purchased their share of Pompier de Nanterre, feeling convinced that this remarkable steeplechaser had a

brilliant future before him. He did not trouble himself to any great extent about his mother. Like every one

else, he knew that she had disappeared, but nothing further. On the other hand, the thought of his father, the

terrible chevalier d'industrie, hung over his joy like a pall; and each time the great entrance bell announced a

Tortured by this fear, he clung closely to the Marquis de Valorsay as if he felt that this distinguished friend

was a powerful support. Besides, people of rank and distinction naturally exercised a powerful attraction over

him, and he fancied he grew several inches taller when, in some public place, in the street, or a restaurant, he

was able to call out, "I say, Valorsay, my good friend," or, "Upon my word! my dear marquis!"

M. de Valorsay received these effusions graciously enough, although, in point of fact, he was terribly bored

by the platitudes of his new acquaintance. He intended to send him to Coventry later on, but just now M.

Wilkie was too useful to be ignored. So he had introduced him to his club, and was seen with him

everywherein the Bois, at the restaurants, and the theatres. At times, some of his friends inquired: "Who is

that queer little fellow?" with a touch of irony in their tone, but when the marquis carelessly answered: "A

poor devil who has just come into possession of a property worth twenty millions!" they became serious, and

requested the pleasure and honor of an introduction to this fortunate young man.

So M. de Valorsay had invited GordonChalusse to accompany him to Baron Trigault's approaching fete. It

was to be an entertainment for gentlemen only, a monster cardparty; but every one knew the wealthy baron,

and no doubt with a view of stimulating curiosity he had declared, and the Figaro had repeated, that he had a

great surprise in store for his guests. Oh! such a surprise! They could have no idea what it was! This fete was

to take place on the second day after Mademoiselle Marguerite's arrest; and on the appointed evening,

between nine and ten o'clock, M. de Valorsay and his friend Coralth sat together in the former's

smokingroom waiting for Wilkie to call for them, as had been agreed upon. They were both in the best of

spirits. The viscount's apprehensions had been entirely dispelled; and the marquis had quite forgotten the

twinges of pain in his injured limb. "Marguerite will only leave prison to marry me," said M. de Valorsay,

triumphantly; and he added: "What a willing tool this Wilkie is! A single word sufficed to make him give all

his servants leave of absence. The Hotel de Chalusse will be deserted, and Madame Leon and Vantrasson can

It was ten o'clock when M. Wilkie made his appearance. "Come, my good friends!" said he, "my carriage is

They started off at once, and five minutes later they were ushered into the presence of Baron Trigault, who

received M. Wilkie as if he had never seen him before. There was quite a crowd already. At least three or

four hundred people had assembled in the Baron's receptionrooms, and among them were several former

habitues of Madame d'Argeles's house; one could also espy M. de Fondege ferociously twirling his mustaches

as usual, together with Kami Bey, who was conspicuous by reason of his portly form and eternal red fez.

However, among these men, all noticeable for their studied elegance of attire and manner, and all of them

known to M. de Valorsay, there moved numerous others of very different appearance. Their waistcoats were

less open, and their clothes did not fit them as perfectly; on the other hand, there was something else than a

look of idiotic selfcomplacency on their faces. "Who can these people be?" whispered the marquis to M. de

Coralth. "They look like lawyers or magistrates." But although he said this he did not really believe it, and it

was without the slightest feeling of anxiety that he strolled from group to group, shaking hands with his

A strange rumor was in circulation among the guests. Many of them declaredwhere could they have heard

such a thing?that in consequence of a quarrel with her husband, Madame Trigault had left Paris the

evening before. They even went so far as to repeat her parting words to the Baron: "You will never see me

again," she had said. "You are amply avenged. Farewell!" However, the best informed among the guests, the

folks who were thoroughly acquainted with all the scandals of the day, declared the story false, and said that

if the baroness had really fled, handsome Viscount de Coralth would not appear so calm and smiling.

The report WAS true, however. But M. de Coralth did not trouble himself much about the baroness now. Had

he not got in his pocket M. Wilkie's signature insuring him upward of half a million? Standing near one of the

windows in the main receptionroom, between the Marquis de Valorsay and M. Wilkie, the brilliant viscount

was gayly chatting with them, when a footman, in a voice loud enough to interrupt all conversation, suddenly

It seemed such a perfectly natural thing to M. de Valorsay that Maumejan, as one of the baron's business

agents, should be received at his house, that he was not in the least disturbed. But M. de Coralth, having

heard the name, wished to see the man who had aided and advised the marquius so effectually. He abruptly

turned, and as he did so the words he would have spoken died upon his lips. He became livid, his eyes

seemed to start from their sockets, and it was with difficulty that he ejaculated: "He!"

M. de Valorsay did so, and to his utter amazement he perceived a numerous party in the rear of the man

announced under the name of Maumejan. First came Mademoiselle Marguerite, leaning on the arm of the

whitehaired magistrate, and then Madame Ferailleur; next M. Isidore Fortunat, and finally ChupinVictor

The marquis could no longer fail to understand the truth. He realized who Maumejan really was, and the

audacious comedy he had been duped by. He was so frightfully agitated that five or six persons sprang

forward exclaiming: "What is the matter, marquis? Are you ill?" But he made no reply. He felt that he was

caught in a trap, and he glanced wildly around him seeking for some loophole of escape.

However, the word of command had evidently been given. Suddenly all the guests scattered about the various

drawingrooms poured into the main hall, and the doors were closed. Then, with a solemnity of manner

which no one had ever seen him display before, Baron Trigault took the socalled Maumejan by the hand and

led him into the centre of the apartment opposite the lofty chimneypiece. "Gentlemen," he began, in a

commanding tone, "this is M. Pascal Ferailleur, the honorable man who was falsely accused of cheating at

Pascal was greatly agitated. The strangeness of the situation, the certainty of speedy and startling

rehabilitation, perhaps the joy of vengeance, the silence, which was so profound that he could hear his own

panting breath, and the many eyes riveted upon him, all combined to unnerve him. But only for a moment.

He swiftly conquered his weakness, and surveying his audience with flashing eyes, he explained, in a clear

and ringing voice, the shameful conspiracy to obtain possession of the count's millions, and the abominable

machinations by which Mademoiselle Marguerite and himself had been victimized. Then when he had

finished his explanations he added, in a still more commanding voice, "Now look; you can read the culprits'

guilt on their faces. One is the scoundrel known to you as the Viscount de Coralth, but Paul Violaine is his

true name. He was formerly an accomplice of the notorious Mascarot; he is a cowardly villain, for he is

married, and leaves his wife and children to die of starvation!" The Viscount de Coralth fairly bellowed with

rage. But Pascal did not heed him. "The other criminal is the Marquis de Valorsay," he added, in the same

ringing tone. There was, moreover, a third culprit who would have inspired mingled pity and disgust if any

one had noticed him shrinking into a corner, terrified and muttering: "It wasn't my fault, my wife compelled

Pascal did not mention his name. But it was not absolutely necessary he should do so, and besides, he

However, while the young lawyer was speaking, the marquis had summoned all his energy and assurance to

his aid. Desperate as his plight might be, he would not surrender. "This is an infamous conspiracy," he

exclaimed. "Baron, you shall atone for this. The man's an impostor!he lies!all that he says is false!"

But a clamor arose, drowning these protestations, and the most opprobrious epithets could be heard on every

"Don't try that dodge on us!" shouted Chupin. "Vantrasson and mother Leon have confessed everything."

"Who defrauded us all with Domingo?" cried several people; and, loud above all the others, KamiBey

bawled out: "To say nothing of the fact that the sale of your racing stud was a complete swindle!"

Meanwhile, Pascal's former friends and associates, his brother advocates and the magistrates who had

listened to his first efforts at the bar, crowded round him, pressing his hands, embracing him almost to

suffocation, censuring themselves for having suspected him, the very soul of honor, and pleading in

selfjustification the degenerate age in which we livean age in which we daily see those whom we had

considered immaculate suddenly yield to temptation. And a murmur of respectful admiration rose from the

throng when the excitement had subsided a little, and the guests had an opportunity to observe Mademoiselle

Marguerite, whose eyes sparkled more brightly than ever through her happy tears; and whose beauty acquired

The wretched Valorsay felt that all was overthat he was irretrievably lost. Seized by a blind fury like that

which impels a hunted animal to turn and face the hounds that pursue him, and bid them defiance, he

confronted the throng with his face distorted with passion, his eyes bloodshot, and foam upon his lips; he was

absolutely frightful in his cynicism, hatred, and scorn. "Ah! well, yes!" he exclaimed"yes, all that you have

just heard is true. I was sinking, and I tried to save myself as best I could. Beggars cannot be choosers; I

staked my all upon a single die. If I had won, you would have been at my feet; but I have lost and you spurn

me. Cowards! hypocrites! that you are, insult me if you like, but tell me how many among you all are

sufficiently pure and upright to have a right to despise me! Are there a hundred among you? are there even

A tempest of hisses momentarily drowned his voice, but as soon as the uproar had ceased, he resumed,

sneeringly: "Ah! the truth wounds you, my dear friends. Pray, don't pretend to be so distressingly virtuous! I

was ruinedthat is the long and short of it. But what man of you is not embarrassed? Who among you finds

his income sufficient? Which one of you is not encroaching upon his capital? And when you have come to

your last louis, you will do what I have done, or something worse. Do not deny it, for not one among you has

a more uncompromising conscience, more moral firmness, or more generous aspirations than I once

possessed. You are pursuing what I pursued. You desire what I desireda life of luxury, brief if it must be,

but happya life of gayety, wild excitement, and dissipation. You, too, have a passion for pleasure and

gambling, racehorses, and notorious women, a table always bountifully spread, glasses ever overflowing

with wine, all the delights of luxury, and everything that gratifies your vanity! But an abyss of shame awaits

you at the end of it all. I am in it now. I await you there, for there you will surely, necessarily, inevitably

come. Ah, ha! you will not then think my downfall so very strange. Let me pass! make way! if you please."

He advanced with his head haughtily erect, and would actually have made his escape if a frightened servant

had not at that moment appeared crying: "MonsieurMonsieur le Baron! a commissary of police is

The marquis's frenzied assurance deserted him. He turned even paler than he already was if that were

possible, and reeled like an ox but partially stunned by the butcher's hammer. Suddenly a desperate resolution

could be read in his eyes, the resolution of the condemned criminal, who, knowing that he cannot escape the

He hastily approached Baron Trigault, and asked in a husky voice: "Will you allow me to be arrested in your

It might have been supposed that the baron had expected this reproach, for without a word he led the marquis

and M. de Coralth to a little room at the end of the hall, pushed them inside, and closed the door again.

It was time he did so, for the commissary of police was already upon the threshold. "Which of you gentlemen

is the Marquis de Valorsay?" he asked. "Which of you is Paul Violaine, alias the Viscount de"

The sharp report of firearms suddenly interrupted him. Every one at once rushed to the little room, where the

wretched men had been conducted. There extended, face upward, on the floor, lay the Marquis de Valorsay,

with his brains oozing from his fractured skull, and his right hand still clutching a revolver. He was dead.

The open window, and a curtain rudely torn from its fastenings and secured to the balustrade, told how M. de

Coralth had made his escape. It was not till later that people learned what precautions the baron had taken. On

the table in that room he had laid two revolvers, and two packages containing ten thousand francs each. The

Pascal Ferailleur and Mademoiselle Marguerite de Chalusse were married at the church of Saint Etienne du

Mont, only a few steps from the Rue d'Ulm. Those who knew the mystery connected with the bride's

parentage were greatly astonished when they saw Baron Trigault act as a witness on this occasion, in

company with the venerable justice of the peace. But such was the fact, nevertheless. Treated more and more

outrageously by his daughter and her husband, separated from his wife, who had nearly lost her reason,

although her letters were saved, the baron has nowadays found affection and a home with Pascal and his wife.

He plays cards but seldom nowonly an occasional game of piquet with Madame Ferailleur, and he amuses

himself by making her start when she is too long in discarding, by ejaculating, in a stentorian voice: "We are

wasting precious time!" Sometimes they go out together, to the great astonishment of such as chance to meet

the puritanical old lady leaning on the baron's arm. She often goes to visit and console the widow Gordon,

formerly known as Lia d'Argeles, who now keeps an establishment near Montrouge, where she provides

poor, betrayed and forsaken girls with a home and employment. She has yet to receive any token of

remembrance from her son. As for her husband, she supposes he is dead or incarcerated in some prison.

It is to Madame Gordon that the Fondeges are often indebted for bread. Obliged to disgorge their plunder,

and left with no resources save the fifty francs a month allowed them by their son, who has been promoted to

the rank of captain, their poverty is necessarily extreme. Oh! those Fondeges! M. Fortunat only speaks of

them with horror. But he is loud in his praises of Madame Marguerite, who repaid him the forty thousand

francs he had advanced to M. de Valorsay. He speaks in the highest terms of Chupin also; but in this, he is

scarcely sincere, for Victor, who has been set up in business by Pascal, told him very plainly that he was

determined not to put his hand to any more dirty work, and that expression, "dirty work," rankles in M.

Chupin's resolution did not, however, prevent him from attending the trial of Vantrasson and Madame

Leonthe former of whom was sentenced to hard labor for life, and the latter to ten years' imprisonment.

Nothing is known concerning M. de Coralth; but his wife has disappeared, to the great disappointment of M.

Mouchon. As a dentist, Dr. Jodon is successful. As for M. Wilkie, you can learn anything you wish to know

concerning him in the newspapers, for his sayings, doings, and movements, are constantly being chronicled.

The reporters exhaust all the resources of their vocabulary in describing his horses, carriages, and stables, and

the gorgeous liveries of his servants. His changes of residence are always mentioned; his brilliant sayings are

quoted. He is a social success; he is admired, fondled, and flattered. He makes a great stir in the fashionable

worldin fact, he reigns over it like a king. After all, assurance is the winning card in the game of life!