FILE NO. 113

By Emile Gaboriau

I

In the Paris evening papers of Tuesday, February 28, 1866, under thehead of _Local Items_, the following announcement appeared:

"A daring robbery, committed against one of our most eminent bankers, M. Andre Fauvel, caused great excitement this morning throughout theneighborhood of Rue de Provence. 

"The thieves, who were as skilful as they were bold, succeeded inmaking an entrance to the bank, in forcing the lock of a safe that hasheretofore been considered impregnable, and in possessing themselvesof the enormous sum of three hundred and fifty thousand francs inbank-notes. 

"The police, immediately informed of the robbery, displayed theiraccustomed zeal, and their efforts have been crowned with success. Already, it is said, P. B. , a clerk in the bank, has been arrested, and there is every reason to hope that his accomplices will be speedilyovertaken by the hand of justice. "

For four days this robbery was the town talk of Paris. 

Then public attention was absorbed by later and equally interestingevents: an acrobat broke his leg at the circus; an actress made herdebut at a small theatre: and the _item_ of the 28th was soon forgotten. 

But for once the newspapers were--perhaps intentionally--wrong, or atleast inaccurate in their information. 

The sum of three hundred and fifty thousand francs certainly had beenstolen from M. Andre Fauvel's bank, but not in the manner described. 

A clerk had also been arrested on suspicion, but no decisive proof hadbeen found against him. This robbery of unusual importance remained, ifnot inexplicable, at least unexplained. 

The following are the facts as they were related with scrupulousexactness at the preliminary examination. 

II

The banking-house of Andre Fauvel, No. 87 Rue de Provence, is animportant establishment, and, owing to its large force of clerks, presents very much the appearance of a government department. 

On the ground-floor are the offices, with windows opening on the street, fortified by strong iron bars sufficiently large and close together todiscourage all burglarious attempts. 

A large glass door opens into a spacious vestibule where three or fouroffice-boys are always in waiting. 

On the right are the rooms to which the public is admitted, and fromwhich a narrow passage leads to the principal cash-room. 

The offices of the corresponding clerk, book-keeper, and generalaccounts are on the left. 

At the farther end is a small court on which open seven or eight littlewicket doors. These are kept closed, except on certain days when notesare due; and then they are indispensable. 

M. Fauvel's private office is on the first floor over the offices, andleads into his elegant private apartments. 

This private office communicates directly with the bank by means ofa narrow staircase, which opens into the room occupied by the headcashier. 

This room, which in the bank goes by the name of the "cash-office, " isproof against all attacks, no matter how skilfully planned; indeed, itcould almost withstand a regular siege, sheeted as it is like a monitor. 

The doors, and the partition where the wicket door is cut, are coveredwith thick sheets of iron; and a heavy grating protects the fireplace. 

Fastened in the wall by enormous iron clamps is a safe, a formidableand fantastic piece of furniture, calculated to fill with envy the poordevil who easily carries his fortune in a pocket-book. 

This safe, which is considered the masterpiece of the firm of Becquet, is six feet in height and four and a half in width, made entirely ofwrought iron, with triple sides, and divided into isolated compartmentsin case of fire. 

The safe is opened by an odd little key, which is, however, the leastimportant part of the mechanism. Five movable steel buttons, upon whichare engraved all the letters of the alphabet, constitute the real powerof this ingenious safe. 

Before inserting the key into the lock, the letters on the buttons mustbe in the exact position in which they were placed when the safe waslocked. 

In M. Fauvel's bank, as everywhere, the safe was always closed with aword that was changed from time to time. 

This word was known only to the head of the bank and the cashier, eachof whom had also a key to the safe. 

In a fortress like this, a person could deposit more diamonds than theDuke of Brunswick's, and sleep well assured of their safety. 

But one danger seemed to threaten, that of forgetting the secret wordwhich was the "Open sesame" of the safe. 

On the morning of the 28th of February, the bank-clerks were all busyat their various desks, about half-past nine o'clock, when a middle-agedman of dark complexion and military air, clad in deep mourning, appearedin the office adjoining the "safe, " and announced to the five or sixemployees present his desire to see the cashier. 

He was told that the cashier had not yet come, and his attention wascalled to a placard in the entry, which stated that the "cash-room" wasopened at ten o'clock. 

This reply seemed to disconcert and annoy the newcomer. 

"I expected, " he said, in a tone of cool impertinence, "to find someonehere ready to attend to my business. I explained the matter to M. Fauvelyesterday. I am Count Louis de Clameran, an iron-manufacturer at Oloron, and have come to draw three hundred thousand francs deposited in thisbank by my late brother, whose heir I am. It is surprising that nodirection was given about it. "

Neither the title of the noble manufacturer, nor his explanations, appeared to have the slightest effect upon the clerks. 

"The cashier has not yet arrived, " they repeated, "and we can do nothingfor you. "

"Then conduct me to M. Fauvel. "

There was a moment's hesitation; then a clerk named Cavaillon, who waswriting near a window, said:

"The chief is always out at this hour. "

"Then I will call again, " replied M. De Clameran. 

And he walked out, as he had entered, without saying "Good-morning, " oreven touching his hat. 

"Not very polite, that customer, " said little Cavaillon, "but he willsoon be settled, for here comes Prosper. "

Prosper Bertomy, head cashier of Fauvel's banking-house, was a tall, handsome man, of about thirty, with fair hair and large dark-blue eyes, fastidiously neat, and dressed in the height of fashion. 

He would have been very prepossessing but for a cold, reservedEnglish-like manner, and a certain air of self-sufficiency which spoiledhis naturally bright, open countenance. 

"Ah, here you are!" cried Cavaillon, "someone has just been asking foryou. "

"Who? An iron-manufacturer, was it not?"

"Exactly. "

"Well, he will come back again. Knowing that I would get here late thismorning, I made all my arrangements yesterday. "

Prosper had unlocked his office-door, and, as he finished speaking, entered, and closed it behind him. 

"Good!" exclaimed one of the clerks, "there is a man who never letsanything disturb him. The chief has quarrelled with him twenty times foralways coming too late, and his remonstrances have no more effect uponhim than a breath of wind. "

"And very right, too; he knows he can get anything he wants out of thechief. "

"Besides, how could he come any sooner? a man who sits up all night, andleads a fast life, doesn't feel like going to work early in the morning. Did you notice how very pale he looked when he came in?"

"He must have been playing heavily again. Couturier says he lost fifteenthousand francs at a sitting last week. "

"His work is none the worse done for all that, " interrupted Cavaillon. "If you were in his place--"

He stopped short. The cash-room door suddenly opened, and the cashierappeared before them with tottering step, and a wild, haggard look onhis ashy face. 

"Robbed!" he gasped out: "I have been robbed!"

Prosper's horrified expression, his hollow voice and trembling limbs, betrayed such fearful suffering that the clerks jumped up from theirdesks, and ran toward him. He almost dropped into their arms; he wassick and faint, and fell into a chair. 

His companions surrounded him, and begged him to explain himself. 

"Robbed?" they said; "where, how, by whom?"

Gradually, Prosper recovered himself. 

"All the money I had in the safe, " he said, "has been stolen. "

"All?"

"Yes, all; three packages, each containing one hundred notes of athousand francs, and one package of fifty thousand. The four packageswere wrapped in a sheet of paper, and tied together. "

With the rapidity of lightning, the news of the robbery spreadthroughout the banking-house, and the room was soon filled with curiouslisteners. 

"Tell us, Prosper, " said young Cavaillon, "did you find the safe brokenopen?"

"No; it is just as I left it. "

"Well then, how, why----"

"Yesterday I put three hundred and fifty thousand francs in the safe;and this morning they are gone. "

All were silent except one old clerk, who did not seem to share thegeneral consternation. 

"Don't distress yourself, M. Bertomy, " he said: "perhaps the chiefdisposed of the money. "

The unhappy cashier started up with a look of relief; he eagerly caughtat the idea. 

"Yes!" he exclaimed, "you are right: the chief must have taken it. "

But, after thinking a few minutes, he said in a tone of deepdiscouragement:

"No, that is impossible. During the five years that I have had charge ofthe safe, M. Fauvel has never opened it except in my presence. Severaltimes he has needed money, and has either waited until I came, or sentfor me, rather than touch it in my absence. "

"Well, " said Cavaillon, "before despairing, let us ascertain. "

But a messenger had already informed M. Fauvel of the disaster. 

As Cavaillon was about to go in quest of him, he entered the room. 

M. Andre Fauvel appeared to be a man of fifty, inclined to corpulency, of medium height, with iron-gray hair; and, like all hard workers, hehad a slight stoop. 

Never did he by a single action belie the kindly expression of his face. 

He had a frank air, a lively, intelligent eye, and large, red lips. 

Born in the neighborhood of Aix, he betrayed, when animated, a slightProvencal accent that gave a peculiar flavor to his genial humor. 

The news of the robbery had extremely agitated him, for his usuallyflorid face was now quite pale. 

"What is this I hear? what has happened?" he said to the clerks, whorespectfully stood aside when he entered the room. 

The sound of M. Fauvel's voice inspired the cashier with the factitiousenergy of a great crisis. The dreaded and decisive moment had come; hearose, and advanced toward his chief. 

"Monsieur, " he began, "having, as you know, a payment to make thismorning, I yesterday drew from the Bank of France three hundred andfifty thousand francs. "

"Why yesterday, monsieur?" interrupted the banker. "I think I have ahundred times ordered you to wait until the day of the payment. "

"I know it, monsieur, and I did wrong to disobey you. But the evil isdone. Yesterday evening I locked the money up: it has disappeared, andyet the safe has not been broken open. "

"You must be mad!" exclaimed M. Fauvel: "you are dreaming!"

These few words destroyed all hope; but the very horror of the situationgave Prosper, not the coolness of a matured resolution, but that sortof stupid, stolid indifference which often results from unexpectedcatastrophes. 

It was with apparent calmness that he replied:

"I am not mad; neither, unfortunately, am I dreaming: I am simplytelling the truth. "

This tranquillity at such a moment appeared to exasperate M. Fauvel. Heseized Prosper by the arm, and shook him roughly. 

"Speak!" he cried out. "Speak! who do you pretend to say opened thesafe? Answer me!"

"I cannot say. "

"No one but you and I knew the secret word. No one but you and myselfhad keys. "

This was a formal accusation; at least, all the auditors present sounderstood it. 

Yet Prosper's strange calmness never left him for an instant. He quietlyreleased himself from M. Fauvel's grasp, and very slowly said:

"In other words, monsieur, I am the only person who could have takenthis money. "

"Unhappy wretch!"

Prosper drew himself to his full height, and, looking M. Fauvel full inthe face, added:

"Or you!"

The banker made a threatening gesture; and there is no knowing whatwould have happened if they had not been interrupted by loud and angryvoices at the entry-door. 

A man insisted upon entering in spite of the protestations of theerrand-boys, and succeeded in forcing his way in. It was M. De Clameran. 

The clerks stood looking on, bewildered and motionless. The silence wasprofound, solemn. 

It was easy to see that some terrible question, a question of life ordeath, was being weighed by all these men. 

The iron-founder did not appear to observe anything unusual. Headvanced, and without lifting his hat said, in the same impertinenttone:

"It is after ten o'clock, gentlemen. "

No one answered; and M. De Clameran was about to continue, when, turningaround, he for the first time saw the banker, and walking up to himsaid:

"Well, monsieur, I congratulate myself upon finding you in at last. Ihave been here once before this morning, and found the cash-room notopened, the cashier not arrived, and you absent. "

"You are mistaken, monsieur, I was in my office. "

"At any rate, I was told you were out; that gentleman over there assuredme of the fact. "

And the iron-founder pointed out Cavaillon. 

"However, that is of little importance, " he went on to say. "I return, and this time not only the cash-room is closed, but I am refusedadmittance to the banking-house, and find myself compelled to force myway in. Be so good as to tell me whether I can have my money. "

M. Fauvel's flushed face turned pale with anger as he listened to thisinsolence; yet he controlled himself. 

"I would be obliged to you monsieur, for a short delay. "

"I thought you told me--"

"Yes, yesterday. But this morning, this very instant, I find I have beenrobbed of three hundred and fifty thousand francs. "

M. De Clameran bowed ironically, and said:

"Shall I have to wait long?"

"Long enough for me to send to the bank. "

Then turning his back on the iron-founder, M. Fauvel said to hiscashier:

"Write and send as quickly as possible to the bank an order for threehundred thousand francs. Let the messenger take a carriage. "

Prosper remained motionless. 

"Do you hear me?" said the banker angrily. 

The cashier trembled; he seemed as if trying to shake off a terriblenightmare. 

"It is useless to send, " he said in a measured tone; "we owe thisgentleman three hundred thousand francs, and we have less than onehundred thousand in the bank. "

M. De Clameran evidently expected this answer, for he muttered:

"Naturally. "

Although he pronounced this word, his voice, his manner, his faceclearly said:

"This comedy is well acted; but nevertheless it is a comedy, and I don'tintend to be duped by it. "

Alas! After Prosper's answer, and the iron-founder's coarsely expressedopinion, the clerks knew not what to think. 

The fact was, that Paris had just been startled by several financialcrashes. The thirst for speculation caused the oldest and most reliablehouses to totter. Men of the most unimpeachable honor had to sacrificetheir pride, and go from door to door imploring aid. 

Credit, that rare bird of security and peace, rested with none, butstood with upraised wings, ready to fly off at the first rumor ofsuspicion. 

Therefore this idea of a comedy arranged beforehand between the bankerand his cashier might readily occur to the minds of people who, if notsuspicious, were at least aware of all the expedients resorted toby speculators in order to gain time, which with them often meantsalvation. 

M. Fauvel had had too much experience not to instantly divine theimpression produced by Prosper's answer; he read the most mortifyingdoubt on the faces around him. 

"Oh! don't be alarmed, monsieur, " said he to M. De Clameran, "this househas other resources. Be kind enough to await my return. "

He left the room, went up the narrow steps leading to his study, andin a few minutes returned, holding in his hand a letter and a bundle ofsecurities. 

"Here, quick, Couturier!" he said to one of his clerks, "take mycarriage, which is waiting at the door, and go with monsieur to M. DeRothschild's. Hand him this letter and these securities; in exchange, you will receive three hundred thousand francs, which you will hand tothis gentleman. "

The iron-founder was visibly disappointed; he seemed desirous ofapologizing for his impertinence. 

"I assure you, monsieur, that I had no intention of giving offence. Ourrelations, for some years, have been such that I hope--"

"Enough, monsieur, " interrupted the banker, "I desire no apologies. Inbusiness, friendship counts for nothing. I owe you money: I am not readyto pay: you are pressing: you have a perfect right to demand what isyour own. Follow my clerk: he will pay you your money. "

Then he turned to his clerks who stood curiously gazing on, and said:

"As for you, gentlemen, be kind enough to resume your desks. "

In an instant the room was cleared of everyone except the clerks whobelonged there; and they sat at their desks with their noses almosttouching the paper before them, as if too absorbed in their work tothink of anything else. 

Still excited by the events so rapidly succeeding each other, M. Andre Fauvel walked up and down the room with quick, nervous steps, occasionally uttering some low exclamation. 

Prosper remained leaning against the door, with pale face and fixedeyes, looking as if he had lost the faculty of thinking. 

Finally the banker, after a long silence, stopped short before Prosper;he had determined upon the line of conduct he would pursue. 

"We must have an explanation, " he said. "Let us go into your office. "

The cashier mechanically obeyed without a word; and his chief followedhim, taking the precaution to close the door after him. 

The cash-room bore no evidences of a successful burglary. Everything wasin perfect order; not even a paper was misplaced. 

The safe was open, and on the top shelf lay several rouleaus of gold, overlooked or disdained by the thieves. 

M. Fauvel, without troubling himself to examine anything, took a seat, and ordered his cashier to do the same. He had entirely recovered hisequanimity, and his countenance wore its usual kind expression. 

"Now that we are alone, Prosper, " he said, "have you nothing to tellme?"

The cashier started, as if surprised at the question. "Nothing, monsieur, that I have not already told you. "

"What, nothing? Do you persist in asserting a fable so absurd andridiculous that no one can possibly believe it? It is folly! Confide inme: it is your only chance of salvation. I am your employer, it is true;but I am before and above all your friend, your best and truest friend. I cannot forget that in this very room, fifteen years ago, you wereintrusted to me by your father; and ever since that day have I had causeto congratulate myself on possessing so faithful and efficient aclerk. Yes, it is fifteen years since you came to me. I was then justcommencing the foundation of my fortune. You have seen it graduallygrow, step by step, from almost nothing to its present height. As mywealth increased, I endeavored to better your condition; you, who, although so young, are the oldest of my clerks. At each inventory of myfortune, I increased your salary. "

Never had Prosper heard him express himself in so feeling and paternal amanner. Prosper was silent with astonishment. 

"Answer, " pursued M. Fauvel: "have I not always been like a father toyou? From the first day, my house has been open to you; you were treatedas a member of my family; Madeleine and my sons looked upon you as abrother. But you grew weary of this peaceful life. One day, a year ago, you suddenly began to shun us; and since then----"

The memories of the past thus evoked by the banker seemed too much forthe unhappy cashier; he buried his face in his hands, and wept bitterly. 

"A man can confide everything to his father without fear of beingharshly judged, " resumed M. Fauvel. "A father not only pardons, heforgets. Do I not know the terrible temptations that beset a young manin a city like Paris? There are some inordinate desires before which thefirmest principles must give way, and which so pervert our moral senseas to render us incapable of judging between right and wrong. Speak, Prosper, Speak!"

"What do you wish me to say?"

"The truth. When an honorable man yields, in an hour of weakness, totemptation, his first step toward atonement is confession. Say to me, Yes, I have been tempted, dazzled: the sight of these piles of goldturned my brain. I am young: I have passions. "

"I?" murmured Prosper. "I?"

"Poor boy, " said the banker, sadly; "do you think I am ignorant of thelife you have been leading since you left my roof a year ago? Can younot understand that all your fellow-clerks are jealous of you? that theydo not forgive you for earning twelve thousand francs a year? Never haveyou committed a piece of folly without my being immediately informed ofit by an anonymous letter. I could tell the exact number of nightsyou have spent at the gaming-table, and the amount of money you havesquandered. Oh, envy has good eyes and a quick ear! I have greatcontempt for these cowardly denunciations, but was forced not only toheed them, but to make inquiries myself. It is only right that I shouldknow what sort of a life is led by the man to whom I intrust my fortuneand my honor. "

Prosper seemed about to protest against this last speech. 

"Yes, my honor, " insisted M. Fauvel, in a voice that a sense ofhumiliation rendered still more vibrating: "yes, my credit might havebeen compromised to-day by this M. De Clameran. Do you know how muchI shall lose by paying him this money? And suppose I had not had thesecurities which I have sacrificed? you did not know I possessed them. "

The banker paused, as if hoping for a confession, which, however, didnot come. 

"Come, Prosper, have courage, be frank. I will go upstairs. You willlook again in the safe: I am sure that in your agitation you did notsearch thoroughly. This evening I will return; and I am confident that, during the day, you will have found, if not the three hundred and fiftythousand francs, at least the greater portion of it; and to-morrowneither you nor I will remember anything about this false alarm. "

M. Fauvel had risen, and was about to leave the room, when Prosperarose, and seized him by the arm. 

"Your generosity is useless, monsieur, " he said, bitterly; "havingtaken nothing, I can restore nothing. I have searched carefully; thebank-notes have been stolen. "

"But by whom, poor fool? By whom?"

"By all that is sacred, I swear that it was not by me. "

The banker's face turned crimson. "Miserable wretch!" cried he, "do youmean to say that I took the money?"

Prosper bowed his head, and did not answer. 

"Ah! it is thus, then, " said M. Fauvel, unable to contain himself anylonger. "And you dare--. Then, between you and me, M. Prosper Bertomy, justice shall decide. God is my witness that I have done all I could tosave you. You will have yourself to thank for what follows. I have sentfor the commissary of police: he must be waiting in my study. Shall Icall him down?"

Prosper, with the fearful resignation of a man who abandons himself, replied, in a stifled voice:

"Do as you will. "

The banker was near the door, which he opened, and, after giving thecashier a last searching look, said to an office-boy:

"Anselme, ask the commissary of police to step down. "

III

If there is one man in the world whom no event can move or surprise, whois always on his guard against deceptive appearances, and is capableof admitting everything and explaining everything, it certainly is aParisian commissary of police. 

While the judge, from his lofty place, applies the code to the factssubmitted to him, the commissary of police observes and watches allthe odious circumstances that the law cannot reach. He is perforce theconfidant of disgraceful details, domestic crimes, and tolerated vices. 

If, when he entered upon his office, he had any illusions, before theend of a year they were all dissipated. 

If he does not absolutely despise the human race, it is because often, side by side with abominations indulged in with impunity, he discoverssublime generosities which remain unrewarded. 

He sees impudent scoundrels filching public respect; and he consoleshimself by thinking of the modest, obscure heroes whom he has alsoencountered. 

So often have his previsions been deceived, that he has reached a stateof complete scepticism. He believes in nothing, neither in evil nor inabsolute good; not more in virtue than in vice. 

His experience has forced him to come to the sad conclusion that notmen, but events, are worth considering. 

The commissary sent for by M. Fauvel soon made his appearance. 

It was with a calm air, if not one of perfect indifference, that heentered the office. 

He was followed by a short man dressed in a full suit of black, whichwas slightly relieved by a crumpled collar. 

The banker, scarcely bowing to him, said:

"Doubtless, monsieur, you have been apprised of the painful circumstancewhich compels me to have recourse to your assistance?"

"It is about a robbery, I believe. "

"Yes; an infamous and mysterious robbery committed in this office, from the safe you see open there, of which my cashier" (he pointed toProsper) "alone possesses the key and the word. "

This declaration seemed to arouse the unfortunate cashier from his dullstupor. 

"Excuse me, monsieur, " he said to the commissary in a low tone. "Mychief also has the word and the key. "

"Of course, that is understood. "

The commissary at once drew his own conclusions. 

Evidently these two men accused each other. 

From their own statements, one or the other was guilty. 

One was the head of an important bank: the other was a simple cashier. 

One was the chief: the other was the clerk. 

But the commissary of police was too well skilled in concealing hisimpressions to betray his thoughts by any outward sign. Not a muscle ofhis face moved. 

But he became more grave, and alternately watched the cashier and M. Fauvel, as if trying to draw some profitable conclusion from theirbehavior. 

Prosper was very pale and dejected. He had dropped into a seat, and hisarms hung inert on either side of the chair. 

The banker, on the contrary, remained standing with flashing eyes andcrimson face, expressing himself with extraordinary violence. 

"And the importance of the theft is immense, " continued M. Fauvel; "theyhave taken a fortune, three hundred and fifty thousand francs. Thisrobbery might have had the most disastrous consequences. In timeslike these, the want of this sum might compromise the credit of thewealthiest banking-house in Paris. "

"I believe so, if notes fall due. "

"Well, monsieur, I had this very day a heavy payment to make. "

"Ah, really!"

There was no mistaking the commissary's tone; a suspicion, the first, had evidently entered his mind. 

The banker understood it; he started, and said, quickly:

"I met the demand, but at the cost of a disagreeable sacrifice. I oughtto add further that, if my orders had been obeyed, the three hundred andfifty thousand francs would not have been in. "

"How is that?"

"I never desire to have large sums of money in my house over-night. Mycashier had positive orders to wait always until the last moment beforedrawing money from the Bank of France. I above all forbade him to leavemoney in the safe over-night. "

"You hear this?" said the commissary to Prosper. 

"Yes, monsieur, " replied the cashier, "M. Fauvel's statement is quitecorrect. "

After this explanation, the suspicions of the commissary, instead ofbeing strengthened, were dissipated. 

"Well, " he said, "a robbery has been perpetrated, but by whom? Did therobber enter from without?"

The banker hesitated a moment. 

"I think not, " he said at last. 

"And I am certain he did not, " said Prosper. 

The commissary expected and was prepared for those answers; but it didnot suit his purpose to follow them up immediately. 

"However, " said he, "we must make ourselves sure of it. " Turning towardhis companion:

"M. Fanferlot, " he said, "go and see if you cannot discover some tracesthat may have escaped the attention of these gentlemen. "

M. Fanferlot, nicknamed the Squirrel, was indebted to his prodigiousagility for this title, of which he was not a little proud. Slim andinsignificant in appearance he might, in spite of his iron muscles, betaken for a bailiff's under clerk, as he walked along buttoned up to thechin in his thin black overcoat. He had one of those faces that impressus disagreeably--an odiously turned-up nose, thin lips, and little, restless black eyes. 

Fanferlot, who had been on the police force for five years, burned todistinguish himself, to make for himself a name. He was ambitious. Alas!he was unsuccessful, lacking opportunity--or genius. 

Already, before the commissary spoke to him, he had ferreted everywhere;studied the doors, sounded the partitions, examined the wicket, andstirred up the ashes in the fireplace. 

"I cannot imagine, " said he, "how a stranger could have effected anentrance here. "

He walked around the office. 

"Is this door closed at night?" he inquired. 

"It is always locked. "

"And who keeps the key?"

"The office-boy, to whom I always give it in charge before leaving thebank, " said Prosper. 

"This boy, " said M. Fauvel, "sleeps in the outer room on asofa-bedstead, which he unfolds at night, and folds up in the morning. "

"Is he here now?" inquired the commissary. 

"Yes, monsieur, " answered the banker. 

He opened the door and called:

"Anselme!"

This boy was the favorite servant of M. Fauvel, and had lived with himfor ten years. He knew that he would not be suspected; but the idea ofbeing connected in any way with a robbery is terrible, and he enteredthe room trembling like a leaf. 

"Did you sleep in the next room last night?" asked the commissary. 

"Yes, monsieur, as usual. "

"At what hour did you go to bed?"

"About half-past ten; I had spent the evening at a cafe near by, withmonsieur's valet. "

"Did you hear no noise during the night?"

"Not a sound; and still I sleep so lightly, that, if monsieur comes downto the cash-room when I am asleep, I am instantly awakened by the soundof his footsteps. "

"Monsieur Fauvel often comes to the cash-room at night, does he?"

"No, monsieur; very seldom. "

"Did he come last night?"

"No, monsieur, I am very certain he did not; for I was kept awake nearlyall night by the strong coffee I had drunk with the valet. "

"That will do; you can retire, " said the commissary. 

When Anselme had left the room, Fanferlot resumed his search. He openedthe door of the private staircase. 

"Where do these stairs lead to?" he asked. 

"To my private office, " replied M. Fauvel. 

"Is not that the room whither I was conducted when I first came?"inquired the commissary. 

"The same. "

"I would like to see it, " said Fanferlot, "and examine the entrances toit. "

"Nothing is more easy, " said M. Fauvel, eagerly; "follow me, gentlemen, and you come too, Prosper. "

M. Fauvel's private office consisted of two rooms; the waiting-room, sumptuously furnished and beautifully decorated, and the study where hetransacted business. The furniture in this room was composed of a largeoffice-desk, several leather-covered chairs, and, on either side of thefireplace, a secretary and a book-shelf. 

These two rooms had only three doors; one opened on the privatestairway, another into the banker's bedroom, and the third into the mainvestibule. It was through this last door that the banker's clients andvisitors were admitted. 

M. Fanferlot examined the study at a glance. He seemed puzzled, likea man who had flattered himself with the hope of discovering someindication, and had found nothing. 

"Let us see the adjoining room, " he said. 

He passed into the waiting-room, followed by the banker and thecommissary of police. 

Prosper remained alone in the study. 

Despite the disordered state of his mind, he could not but perceive thathis situation was momentarily becoming more serious. 

He had demanded and accepted the contest with his chief; the strugglehad commenced; and now it no longer depended upon his own will to arrestthe consequences of his action. 

They were about to engage in a bitter conflict, utilizing all weapons, until one of the two should succumb, the loss of honor being the cost ofdefeat. 

In the eyes of justice, who would be the innocent man?

Alas! the unfortunate cashier saw only too clearly that the chanceswere terribly unequal, and was overwhelmed with the sense of his owninferiority. 

Never had he thought that his chief would carry out his threats; for, in a contest of this nature, M. Fauvel would have as much to risk as hiscashier, and more to lose. 

He was sitting near the fireplace, absorbed in the most gloomyforebodings, when the banker's chamber-door suddenly opened, and abeautiful girl appeared on the threshold. 

She was tall and slender; a loose morning gown, confined at the waistby a simple black ribbon, betrayed to advantage the graceful elegance ofher figure. Her black eyes were large and soft; her complexion hadthe creamy pallor of a white camellia; and her beautiful dark hair, carelessly held together by a tortoise-shell comb, fell in a profusionof soft curls upon her exquisite neck. She was Madeleine, M. Fauvel'sniece, of whom he had spoken not long before. 

Seeing Prosper in the study, where probably she expected to find heruncle alone, she could not refrain from an exclamation of surprise. 

"Ah!"

Prosper started up as if he had received an electric shock. His eyes, a moment before so dull and heavy, now sparkled with joy as if he hadcaught a glimpse of a messenger of hope. 

"Madeleine, " he gasped, "Madeleine!"

The young girl was blushing crimson. She seemed about to hastilyretreat, and stepped back; but, Prosper having advanced toward her, shewas overcome by a sentiment stronger than her will, and extended herhand, which he seized and pressed with much agitation. 

They stood thus face to face, but with averted looks, as if they darednot let their eyes meet for fear of betraying their feelings; havingmuch to say, and not knowing how to begin, they stood silent. 

Finally Madeleine murmured, in a scarcely audible voice:

"You, Prosper--you!"

These words broke the spell. The cashier dropped the white hand which heheld, and answered bitterly:

"Yes, this is Prosper, the companion of your childhood, suspected, accused of the most disgraceful theft; Prosper, whom your uncle hasjust delivered up to justice, and who, before the day is over, will bearrested, and thrown into prison. "

Madeleine, with a terrified gesture, cried in a tone of anguish:

"Good heavens! Prosper, what are you saying?"

"What, mademoiselle! do you not know what has happened? Have not youraunt and cousins told you?"

"They have told me nothing. I have scarcely seen my cousins thismorning; and my aunt is so ill that I felt uneasy, and came to telluncle. But for Heaven's sake speak: tell me the cause of your distress. "

Prosper hesitated. Perhaps it occurred to him to open his heart toMadeleine, of revealing to her his most secret thoughts. A remembranceof the past chilled his confidence. He sadly shook his head, andreplied:

"Thanks, mademoiselle, for this proof of interest, the last, doubtless, that I shall ever receive from you; but allow me, by being silent, tospare you distress, and myself the mortification of blushing beforeyou. "

Madeleine interrupted him imperiously:

"I insist upon knowing. "

"Alas, mademoiselle!" answered Prosper, "you will only too soon learn mymisfortune and disgrace; then, yes, then you will applaud yourself forwhat you have done. "

She became more urgent; instead of commanding, she entreated; butProsper was inflexible. 

"Your uncle is in the adjoining room, mademoiselle, with the commissaryof police and a detective. They will soon return. I entreat you toretire that they may not find you here. "

As he spoke he gently pushed her through the door, and closed it uponher. 

It was time, for the next moment the commissary and Monsieur Fauvelentered. They had visited the main entrance and waiting-room, and hadheard nothing of what had passed in the study. 

But Fanferlot had heard for them. 

This excellent bloodhound had not lost sight of the cashier. He said tohimself, "Now that my young gentleman believes himself to be alone, his face will betray him. I shall detect a smile or a wink that willenlighten me. "

Leaving M. Fauvel and the commissary to pursue their investigations, heposted himself to watch. He saw the door open, and Madeleine appear uponthe threshold; he lost not a single word or gesture of the rapid scenewhich had passed. 

It mattered little that every word of this scene was an enigma. M. Fanferlot was skilful enough to complete the sentences he did notunderstand. 

As yet he only had a suspicion; but a mere suspicion is better thannothing; it is a point to start from. So prompt was he in building aplan upon the slightest incident that he thought he saw in the past ofthese people, who were utter strangers to him, glimpses of a domesticdrama. 

If the commissary of police is a sceptic, the detective has faith; hebelieves in evil. 

"I understand the case now, " said he to himself. "This man loves theyoung lady, who is really very pretty; and, as he is quite handsome, I suppose his love is reciprocated. This love-affair vexes the banker, who, not knowing how to get rid of the importunate lover by fair means, has to resort to foul, and plans this imaginary robbery, which is veryingenious. "

Thus to M. Fanferlot's mind, the banker had simply robbed himself, andthe innocent cashier was the victim of an odious machination. 

But this conviction was, at present, of little service to Prosper. 

Fanferlot, the ambitious, who had determined to obtain renown in hisprofession, decided to keep his conjectures to himself. 

"I will let the others go their way, and I'll go mine, " he said. "When, by dint of close watching and patient investigation I shall havecollected proof sufficient to insure certain conviction, I will unmaskthe scoundrel. "

He was radiant. He had at last found the crime, so long looked for, which would make him celebrated. Nothing was wanting, neither the odiouscircumstances, nor the mystery, nor even the romantic and sentimentalelement represented by Prosper and Madeleine. 

Success seemed difficult, almost impossible; but Fanferlot, theSquirrel, had great confidence in his own genius for investigation. 

Meanwhile, the search upstairs completed, M. Fauvel and the commissaryreturned to the room where Prosper was waiting for them. 

The commissary, who had seemed so calm when he first came, now lookedgrave and perplexed. The moment for taking a decisive part had come, yetit was evident that he hesitated. 

"You see, gentlemen, " he began, "our search has only confirmed our firstsuspicion. "

M. Fauvel and Prosper bowed assentingly. 

"And what do you think, M. Fanferlot?" continued the commissary. 

Fanferlot did not answer. 

Occupied in studying the safe-lock, he manifested signs of a livelysurprise. Evidently he had just made an important discovery. 

M. Fauvel, Prosper, and the commissary rose, and surrounded him. 

"Have you discovered any trace?" said the banker, eagerly. 

Fanferlot turned around with a vexed air. He reproached himself for nothaving concealed his impressions. 

"Oh!" said he, carelessly, "I have discovered nothing of importance. "

"But we should like to know, " said Prosper. 

"I have merely convinced myself that this safe has been recently openedor shut, I know not which, with great violence and haste. "

"Why so?" asked the commissary, becoming attentive. 

"Look, monsieur, at this scratch near the lock. "

The commissary stooped down, and carefully examined the safe; he sawa light scratch several inches long that had removed the outer coat ofvarnish. 

"I see the scratch, " said he, "but what does that prove?"

"Oh, nothing at all!" said Fanferlot. "I just now told you it was of noimportance. "

Fanferlot said this, but it was not his real opinion. 

This scratch, undeniably fresh, had for him a signification that escapedthe others. He said to himself, "This confirms my suspicions. If thecashier had stolen millions, there was no occasion for his being ina hurry; whereas the banker, creeping down in the dead of night withcat-like footsteps, for fear of awakening the boy in the ante-room, in order to rifle his own money-safe, had every reason to tremble, tohurry, to hastily withdraw the key, which, slipping along the lock, scratched off the varnish. "

Resolved to unravel by himself the tangled thread of this mystery, thedetective determined to keep his conjectures to himself; for the samereason he was silent as to the interview which he had overheard betweenMadeleine and Prosper. 

He hastened to withdraw attention from the scratch upon the lock. 

"To conclude, " he said, addressing the commissary, "I am convinced thatno one outside of the bank could have obtained access to this room. Thesafe, moreover, is intact. No suspicious pressure has been used on themovable buttons. I can assert that the lock has not been tampered withby burglar's tools or false keys. Those who opened the safe knew theword, and possessed the key. "

This formal affirmation of a man whom he knew to be skilful ended thehesitation of the commissary. 

"That being the case, " he replied, "I must request a few moments'conversation with M. Fauvel. "

"I am at your service, " said the banker. 

Prosper foresaw the result of this conversation. He quietly placed hishat on the table, to show that he had no intention of attempting toescape, and passed into the adjoining room. 

Fanferlot also went out, but not before the commissary had made him asign, and received one in return. 

This sign signified, "You are responsible for this man. "

The detective needed no admonition to make him keep a strict watch. Hissuspicions were too vague, his desire for success was too ardent, forhim to lose sight of Prosper an instant. 

Closely following the cashier, he seated himself in a dark corner of theroom, and, pretending to be sleepy, he fixed himself in a comfortableposition for taking a nap, gaped until his jaw-bone seemed about to bedislocated, then closed his eyes, and kept perfectly quiet. 

Prosper took a seat at the desk of an absent clerk. The others wereburning to know the result of the investigation; their eyes shone withcuriosity, but they dared not ask a question. 

Unable to refrain himself any longer, little Cavaillon, Prosper'sdefender, ventured to say:

"Well, who stole the money?"

Prosper shrugged his shoulders. 

"Nobody knows, " he replied. 

Was this conscious innocence or hardened recklessness? The clerksobserved with bewildered surprise that Prosper had resumed his usualmanner, that sort of icy haughtiness that kept people at a distance, andmade him so unpopular in the bank. 

Save the death-like pallor of his face, and the dark circles aroundhis swollen eyes, he bore no traces of the pitiable agitation he hadexhibited a short time before. 

Never would a stranger entering the room have supposed that this youngman idly lounging in a chair, and toying with a pencil, was restingunder an accusation of robbery, and was about to be arrested. 

He soon stopped playing with the pencil, and drew toward him a sheet ofpaper upon which he hastily wrote a few lines. 

"Ah, ha!" thought Fanferlot the Squirrel, whose hearing and sight werewonderfully good in spite of his profound sleep, "eh! eh! he makes hislittle confidential communication on paper, I see; now we will discoversomething positive. "

His note written, Prosper folded it carefully into the smallest possiblesize, and after furtively glancing toward the detective, who remainedmotionless in his corner, threw it across the desk to little Cavaillonwith this one word:

"Gypsy!"

All this was so quickly and skilfully done that Fanferlot wasconfounded, and began to feel a little uneasy. 

"The devil take him!" said he to himself; "for a suffering innocent thisyoung dandy has more pluck and nerve than many of my oldest customers. This, however, shows the result of education!"

Yes: innocent or guilty, Prosper must have been endowed with greatself-control and power of dissimulation to affect this presence of mindat a time when his honor, his future happiness, all that he held dear inlife, were at stake. And he was only thirty years old. 

Either from natural deference, or from the hope of gaining some ray oflight by a private conversation, the commissary determined to speak tothe banker before acting decisively. 

"There is not a shadow of doubt, monsieur, " he said, as soon as theywere alone, "this young man has robbed you. It would be a gross neglectof duty if I did not secure his person. The law will decide whether heshall be released, or sent to prison. "

The declaration seemed to distress the banker. 

He sank into a chair, and murmured:

"Poor Prosper!"

Seeing the astonished look of his listener, he added:

"Until to-day, monsieur, I have always had the most implicit faith inhis honesty, and would have unhesitatingly confided my fortune to hiskeeping. Almost on my knees have I besought and implored him to confessthat in a moment of desperation he had taken the money, promising himpardon and forgetfulness; but I could not move him. I have lovedhim; and even now, in spite of the trouble and humiliation that he isbringing upon me, I cannot bring myself to feel harshly toward him. "

The commissary looked as if he did not understand. 

"What do you mean by humiliation, monsieur?"

"What!" said M. Fauvel, excitedly; "is not justice the same for all?Because I am the head of a bank, and he only a clerk, does it followthat my word is more to be relied upon than his? Why could I not haverobbed myself? Such things have been done. They will ask me for facts;and I shall be compelled to expose the exact situation of my house, explain my affairs, disclose the secret and method of my operations. "

"It is true, monsieur, that you will be called upon for someexplanation; but your well-known integrity--"

"Alas! He was honest, too. His integrity has never been doubted. Who would have been suspected this morning if I had not been able toinstantly produce a hundred thousand crowns? Who would be suspected if Icould not prove that my assets exceed my liabilities by more than threemillions?"

To a strictly honorable man, the thought, the possibility of suspiciontarnishing his fair name, is cruel suffering. The banker suffered, andthe commissary of police saw it, and felt for him. 

"Be calm, monsieur, " said he; "before the end of a week justicewill have collected sufficient proof to establish the guilt of thisunfortunate man, whom we may now recall. "

Prosper entered with Fanferlot, whom they had much trouble to awaken, and with the most stolid indifference listened to the announcement ofhis arrest. 

In response, he calmly said:

"I swear that I am innocent. "

M. Fauvel, much more disturbed and excited than his cashier, made a lastattempt. 

"It is not too late yet, poor boy, " he said: "for Heaven's sakereflect----"

Prosper did not appear to hear him. He drew from his pocket a small key, which he laid on the table, and said:

"Here is the key of your safe, monsieur. I hope for my sake that youwill some day be convinced of my innocence; and I hope for your sakethat the conviction will not come too late. "

Then, as everyone was silent, he resumed:

"Before leaving I hand over to you the books, papers, and accountsnecessary for my successor. I must at the same time inform you that, without speaking of the stolen three hundred and fifty thousand francs, I leave a deficit in cash. "

"A deficit!" This ominous word from the lips of a cashier fell like abombshell upon the ears of Prosper's hearers. 

His declaration was interpreted in divers ways. 

"A deficit!" thought the commissary: "how, after this, can his guilt bedoubted? Before stealing this whole contents of the safe, he has kepthis hand in by occasional small thefts. "

"A deficit!" said the detective to himself, "now, no doubt, the veryinnocence of this poor devil gives his conduct an appearance of greatdepravity; were he guilty, he would have replaced the first money by aportion of the second. "

The grave importance of Prosper's statement was considerably diminishedby the explanation he proceeded to make. 

"There is a deficit of three thousand five hundred francs on my cashaccount, which has been disposed of in the following manner: twothousand taken by myself in advance on my salary; fifteen hundredadvanced to several of my fellow-clerks. This is the last day of themonth; to-morrow the salaries will be paid, consequently--"

The commissary interrupted him:

"Were you authorized to draw money whenever you wished to advance theclerks' pay?"

"No; but I knew that M. Fauvel would not have refused me permission tooblige my friends in the bank. What I did is done everywhere; I havesimply followed my predecessor's example. "

The banker made a sign of assent. 

"As regards that spent by myself, " continued the cashier, "I had a sortof right to it, all of my savings being deposited in this bank; aboutfifteen thousand francs. "

"That is true, " said M. Fauvel; "M. Bertomy has at least that amount ondeposit. "

This last question settled, the commissary's errand was over, and hisreport might now be made. He announced his intention of leaving, andordered to cashier to prepare to follow him. 

Usually, this moment when stern reality stares us in the face, whenour individuality is lost and we feel that we are being deprived of ourliberty, this moment is terrible. 

At this fatal command, "Follow me, " which brings before our eyes theyawning prison gates, the most hardened sinner feels his courage fail, and abjectly begs for mercy. 

But Prosper lost none of that studied phlegm which the commissary ofpolice secretly pronounced consummate impudence. 

Slowly, with as much careless ease as if going to breakfast with afriend, he smoothed his hair, drew on his overcoat and gloves, and said, politely:

"I am ready to accompany you, monsieur. "

The commissary folded up his pocket-book, and bowed to M. Fauvel, sayingto Prosper:

"Come!"

They left the room, and with a distressed face, and eyes filled withtears that he could not restrain, the banker stood watching theirretreating forms. 

"Good Heaven!" he exclaimed: "gladly would I give twice that sum toregain my old confidence in poor Prosper, and be able to keep him withme!"

The quick-eared Fanferlot overheard these words, and prompted tosuspicion, and ever disposed to impute to others the deep astutenesspeculiar to himself, was convinced they had been uttered for hisbenefit. 

He had remained behind the others under pretext of looking for animaginary umbrella, and, as he reluctantly departed, said he would callin again to see if it had been found. 

It was Fanferlot's task to escort Prosper to prison; but, as they wereabout starting, he asked the commissary to leave him at liberty topursue another course, a request which his superior granted. 

Fanferlot had resolved to obtain possession of Prosper's note, which heknew to be in Cavaillon's pocket. 

To obtain this written proof, which must be an important one, appearedthe easiest thing in the world. He had simply to arrest Cavaillon, frighten him, demand the letter, and, if necessary, take it by force. 

But to what would this disturbance lead? To nothing unless it were anincomplete and doubtful result. 

Fanferlot was convinced that the note was intended, not for the youngclerk, but for a third person. 

If exasperated, Cavaillon might refuse to divulge who this person was, who after all might not bear the name "Gypsy" given by the cashier. And, even if he did answer his questions, would he not lie?

After a mature reflection, Fanferlot decided that it would besuperfluous to ask for a secret when it could be surprised. To quietlyfollow Cavaillon, and keep close watch on him until he caught him in thevery act of handing over the letter, was but play for the detective. 

This method of proceeding, moreover, was much more in keeping with thecharacter of Fanferlot, who, being naturally soft and stealthy, deemedit due to his profession to avoid all disturbance or anything resemblingevidence. 

Fanferlot's plan was settled when he reached the vestibule. 

He began talking with an office-boy, and, after a few apparently idlequestions, had discovered that the Fauvel bank had no outlet on the Ruede la Victoire, and that consequently all the clerks were obliged topass in and out through the main entrance on the Rue de Provence. 

From this moment the task he had undertaken no longer presented a shadowof difficulty. He rapidly crossed the street, and took up his positionunder a gateway. 

His post of observation was admirably chosen; not only could he seeeveryone who entered and came out of the bank, but also commanded a viewof all the windows, and by standing on tiptoe could look through thegrating, and see Cavaillon bending over his desk. 

Fanferlot waited a long time, but did not wax impatient, for he hadoften had to remain on watch entire days and nights at a time, with muchless important objects in view than the present one. Besides, his mindwas busily occupied in estimating the value of his discoveries, weighinghis chances, and, like Perrette with her pot of milk, building thefoundation of his fortune upon present success. 

Finally, about one o'clock, he saw Cavaillon rise from his desk, changehis coat, and take down his hat. 

"Very good!" he exclaimed, "my man is coming out; I must keep my eyesopen. "

The next moment Cavaillon appeared at the door of the bank; butbefore stepping on the pavement he looked up and down the street in anundecided manner. 

"Can he suspect anything?" thought Fanferlot. 

No, the young clerk suspected nothing; only having a commission toexecute, and fearing his absence would be observed, he was debating withhimself which would be the shortest road for him to take. 

He soon decided, entered the Faubourg Montmartre, and walked up the RueNotre Dame de Lorette so rapidly, utterly regardless of the grumblingpassers-by whom he elbowed out of his way, that Fanferlot found itdifficult to keep him in sight. 

Reaching the Rue Chaptal, Cavaillon suddenly stopped, and entered thehouse numbered 39. 

He had scarcely taken three steps in the narrow corridor when he felt atouch on his shoulder, and turning abruptly, found himself face to facewith Fanferlot. 

He recognized him at once, and turning very pale he shrank back, andlooked around for means of escape. 

But the detective, anticipating the attempt, barred the passage-way. Cavaillon saw that he was fairly caught. 

"What do you want with me?" he asked in a voice tremulous with fright. 

Fanferlot was distinguished among his confreres for his exquisitesuavity and unequalled urbanity. Even with his prisoners he was theperfection of courtesy, and never was known to handcuff a man withoutfirst obsequiously apologizing for being compelled to do so. 

"You will be kind enough, my dear monsieur, " he said, "to excuse thegreat liberty I take; but I really am under the necessity of asking youfor a little information. "

"Information! From me, monsieur?"

"From you, my dear monsieur; from M. Eugene Cavaillon. "

"But I do not know you. "

"Ah, yes; you remember seeing me this morning. It is only about atrifling matter, and you will overwhelm me with obligations if you willdo me the honor to accept my arm, and step outside for a moment. "

What could Cavaillon do? He took Fanferlot's arm, and went out with him. 

The Rue Chaptal is not one of those noisy thoroughfares wherefoot-passengers are in perpetual danger of being run over by numberlessvehicles dashing to and fro; there were but two or three shops, and fromthe corner of Rue Fontaine occupied by an apothecary, to the entrance ofthe Rue Leonie, extended a high, gloomy wall, broken here and there by asmall window which lighted the carpenters' shops behind. 

It was one of those streets where you could talk at your ease, withouthaving to step from the sidewalk every moment. So Fanferlot andCavaillon were in no danger of being disturbed by passers-by. 

"What I wished to say is, my dear monsieur, " began the detective, "thatM. Prosper Bertomy threw you a note this morning. "

Cavaillon vaguely foresaw that he was to be questioned about this note, and instantly put himself on his guard. 

"You are mistaken, " he said, blushing to his ears. 

"Excuse me, monsieur, for presuming to contradict you, but I am quitecertain of what I say. "

"I assure you that Prosper never gave me anything. "

"Pray, monsieur, do not persist in a denial; you will compel me to provethat four clerks saw him throw you a note written in pencil and closelyfolded. "

Cavaillon saw the folly of further contradicting a man so well informed;so he changed his tactics, and said:

"It is true Prosper gave me a note this morning; but it was intended forme alone, and after reading it I tore it up, and threw the pieces in thefire. "

This might be the truth. Fanferlot feared so; but how could he assurehimself of the fact? He remembered that the most palpable tricks oftensucceed the best, and trusting to his star, he said at hazard:

"Permit me to observe that this statement is not correct; the note wasintrusted to you to give to Gypsy. "

A despairing gesture from Cavaillon apprised the detective that he wasnot mistaken; he breathed again. 

"I swear to you, monsieur, " began the young man. 

"Do not swear, monsieur, " interrupted Fanferlot; "all the oaths in theworld would be useless. You not only preserved the note, but you cameto this house for the purpose of giving it to Gypsy, and it is in yourpocket now. "

"No, monsieur, no!"

Fanferlot paid no attention to this denial, but continued in hisgentlest tone:

"And I am sure you will be kind enough to give it to me; believe me, nothing but the most absolute necessity--"

"Never!" exclaimed Cavaillon; and, believing the moment favorable, hesuddenly attempted to jerk his arm from under Fanferlot's, and escape. 

But his efforts were vain; the detective's strength was equal to hissuavity. 

"Don't hurt yourself, young man, " he said, "but take my advice, andquietly give up the letter. "

"I have not got it. "

"Very well; see, you reduce me to painful extremities. If you persistin being so obstinate, I shall call two policemen, who will take you byeach arm, and escort you to the commissary of police; and, once there, Ishall be under the painful necessity of searching your pockets, whetheryou will or not. "

Cavaillon was devoted to Prosper, and willing to make any sacrificein his behalf; but he clearly saw that it was worse than useless tostruggle any longer, as he would have no time to destroy the note. Todeliver it under force was no betrayal; but he cursed his powerlessness, and almost wept with rage. 

"I am in your power, " he said, and then suddenly drew from hispocket-book the unlucky note, and gave it to the detective. 

Fanferlot trembled with pleasure as he unfolded the paper; yet, faithfulto his habits of fastidious politeness, before reading it, he bowed toCavaillon, and said:

"You will permit me, will you not, monsieur?" Then he read as follows:

"DEAR NINA--If you love me, follow my instructions instantly, withouta moment's hesitation, without asking any questions. On the receipt ofthis note, take everything you have in the house, absolutely everything, and establish yourself in furnished rooms at the other end of Paris. Donot appear in public, but conceal yourself as much as possible. My lifemay depend on your obedience. 

"I am accused of an immense robbery, and am about to be arrested. Takewith you five hundred francs which you will find in the secretary. 

"Leave your address with Cavaillon, who will explain what I have nottime to tell. Be hopeful, whatever happens. Good-by. PROSPER. "

Had Cavaillon been less bewildered, he would have seen blankdisappointment depicted on the detective's face after the perusal of thenote. 

Fanferlot had cherished the hope that he was about to possess a veryimportant document, which would clearly prove the guilt or innocence ofProsper; whereas he had only seized a love-letter written by a man whowas evidently more anxious about the welfare of the woman he loved thanabout his own. 

Vainly did he puzzle over the letter, hoping to discover some hiddenmeaning; twist the words as he would, they proved nothing for or againstthe writer. 

The two words "absolutely everything" were underscored, it is true; butthey could be interpreted in so many ways. 

The detective, however, determined not to drop the matter here. 

"This Mme. Nina Gypsy is doubtless a friend of M. Prosper Bertomy?"

"She is his particular friend. "

"Ah, I understand; and she lives here at No. 39?"

"You know it well enough, as you saw me go in there. "

"I suspected it to be the house, monsieur; now tell me whether theapartments she occupies are rented in her name. "

"No. Prosper rents them. "

"Exactly; and on which floor, if you please?"

"On the first. "

During this colloquy, Fanferlot had folded up the note, and slipped itinto his pocket. 

"A thousand thanks, monsieur, for the information; and, in return, Iwill relieve you of the trouble of executing your commission. "

"Monsieur!"

"Yes: with your permission, I will myself take this note to Mme. NinaGypsy. "

Cavaillon began to remonstrate; but Fanferlot cut him short by saying:

"I will also venture to give you a piece of advice. Return quietly toyour business, and have nothing more to do with this affair. "

"But Prosper is a good friend of mine, and has saved me from ruin morethan once. "

"Only the more reason for your keeping quiet. You cannot be of theslightest assistance to him, and I can tell you that you may be ofgreat injury. As you are known to be his devoted friend, of course yourabsence at this time will be remarked upon. Any steps that you take inthis matter will receive the worst interpretation. "

"Prosper is innocent, I am sure. "

Fanferlot was of the same opinion, but he had no idea of betraying hisprivate thoughts; and yet for the success of his investigations it wasnecessary to impress the importance of prudence and discretion upon theyoung man. He would have told him to keep silent concerning what hadpassed between them, but he dared not. 

"What you say may be true, " he said. "I hope it is, for the sake of M. Bertomy, and on your own account too; for, if he is guilty, you willcertainly be very much annoyed, and perhaps suspected of complicity, asyou are well known to be intimate with him. "

Cavaillon was overcome. 

"Now you had best take my advice, monsieur, and return to your business, and--. Good-morning, monsieur. "

The poor fellow obeyed. Slowly and with swelling heart he returnedto the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette. He asked himself how he could serveProsper, warn Mme. Gypsy, and, above all, have his revenge upon thisodious detective, who had just made him suffer cruel humiliation. 

He had no sooner turned the corner of the street, than Fanferlot enteredNo. 39, gave his name to the porter as Prosper Bertomy, went upstairs, and knocked at the first door he came to. 

It was opened by a youthful footman, dressed in the most fancifullivery. 

"Is Mme. Gypsy at home?"

The groom hesitated; seeing this, Fanferlot showed his note, and said:

"M. Prosper told me to hand this note to madame, and wait for ananswer. "

"Walk in, and I will let madame know you are here. "

The name of Prosper produced its effect. Fanferlot was ushered intoa little room furnished in blue and gold silk damask. Heavy curtainsdarkened the windows, and hung in front of the doors. The floor wascovered with a blue velvet carpet. 

"Our cashier was certainly well lodged, " murmured the detective. 

But he had no time to purse his inventory. One of the door-curtains waspushed aside, and Mme. Nina Gypsy stood before him. 

Mme. Gypsy was quite young, small, and graceful, with a brown or rathergold-colored quadroon complexion, with the hands and feet of a child. 

Long curling silk lashes softened the piercing brilliancy of her largeblack eyes; her lips were full, and her teeth were very white. 

She had not yet made her toilet, but wore a velvet dressing-wrapper, which did not conceal the lace ruffles beneath. But she had already beenunder the hands of a hairdresser. 

Her hair was curled and frizzed high on her forehead, and confined bynarrow bands of red velvet; her back hair was rolled in an immense coil, and held by a beautiful gold comb. 

She was ravishing. Her beauty was so startling that the dazzleddetective was speechless with admiration. 

"Well, " he said to himself, as he remembered the noble, severe beauty ofMadeleine, whom he had seen a few hours previous, "our young gentlemancertainly has good taste--very good taste--two perfect beauties!"

While he thus reflected, perfectly bewildered, and wondering howhe could begin the conversation, Mme. Gypsy eyed him with the mostdisdainful surprise; she was waiting for this shabby little man in athreadbare coat and greasy hat to explain his presence in her daintyparlor. 

She had many creditors, and was recalling them, and wondering which onehad dared send this man to wipe his dusty boots on her velvet carpets. 

After scrutinizing him from head to foot with undisguised contempt, shesaid, haughtily:

"What do you want?"

Anyone but Fanferlot would have been offended at her insolent manner;but he only noticed it to gain some notion of the young woman'sdisposition. 

"She is bad-tempered, " he thought, "and is uneducated. "

While he was speculating upon her merits, Mme. Nina impatiently tappedher little foot, and waited for an answer; finally she said:

"Why don't you speak? What do you want here?"

"I am charged, my dear madame, " he answered in his softest tone, "by M. Bertomy, to give you this note. "

"From Prosper! You know him, then?"

"I have that honor, madame; indeed, I may be so bold as to claim him asa friend. "

"Monsieur! _You_ a friend of Prosper!" exclaimed Mme. Gypsy in ascornful tone, as if her pride were wounded. 

Fanferlot did not condescend to notice this offensive exclamation. Hewas ambitious, and contempt failed to irritate him. 

"I said a friend of his, madame, and there are few people who would havethe courage to claim friendship for him now. "

Mme. Gypsy was struck by the words and manner of Fanferlot. 

"I never could guess riddles, " she said, tartly: "will you be kindenough to explain what you mean?"

The detective slowly drew Prosper's note from his pocket, and, with abow, presented it to Mme. Gypsy. 

"Read, madame, " he said. 

She certainly anticipated no misfortune; although her sight wasexcellent, she stopped to fasten a tiny gold eyeglass on her nose, thencarelessly opened the note. 

At a glance she read its contents. 

She turned very red, then very pale; she trembled as if with a nervouschill; her limbs seemed to give way, and she tottered so that Fanferlot, thinking she was about to fall, extended his arms to catch her. 

Useless precaution! Mme. Gypsy was one of those women whose inertlistlessness conceals indomitable energy; fragile-looking creatureswhose powers of endurance and resistance are unlimited; cat-like intheir soft grace and delicacy, especially cat-like in their nerves andmuscles of steel. 

The dizziness caused by the shock she had received quickly passed off. She tottered, but did not fall, and stood up looking stronger thanever; seizing the wrist of the detective, she held it as if her delicatelittle hand were a vice, and cried out:

"Explain yourself! what does all this mean? Do you know anything aboutthe contents of this note?"

Although Fanferlot betrayed courage in daily contending with the mostdangerous rascals, he was positively terrified by Mme. Gypsy. 

"Alas!" he murmured. 

"Prosper is to be arrested, accused of being a thief?"

"Yes, madame, he is accused of taking three hundred and fifty thousandfrancs from the bank-safe. "

"It is false, infamous, absurd!" she cried. She had dropped Fanferlot'shand; and her fury, like that of a spoiled child, found vent in violentactions. She tore her web-like handkerchief, and the magnificent lace onher gown, to shreds. 

"Prosper steal!" she cried; "what a stupid idea! Why should he steal? Ishe not rich?"

"M. Bertomy is not rich, madame; he has nothing but his salary. "

The answer seemed to confound Mme. Gypsy. 

"But, " she insisted, "I have always seen him have plenty of money; notrich--then----"

She dared not finish; but her eye met Fanferlot's, and they understoodeach other. 

Mme. Nina's look meant:

"He committed this robbery in order to gratify my extravagant whims. "

Fanferlot's glance answered:

"Very likely, madame. "

A few minutes' reflection convinced Nina that her first impressionwas the correct one. Doubt fled after hovering for an instant over heragitated mind. 

"No!" she cried, "I regret to say that Prosper would never have stolenone cent for me. One can understand a man robbing a bank to obtain meansof bestowing pleasure and luxury upon the woman he loves; but Prosperdoes not love me, he never has loved me. "

"Oh, fair lady!" protested the gallant and insinuating Fanferlot, "yousurely cannot mean what you say. "

Her beautiful eyes filled with tears, as she sadly shook her head, andsaid:

"I mean exactly what I say. It is only too true. He is ready to gratifymy every wish, you may say; what does that prove? Nothing. I am toowell convinced that he does not love me. I know what love is. Once I wasbeloved by an affectionate, true-hearted man; and my own sufferings ofthe last year make me know how miserable I must have made him by my coldreturn. Alas! we must suffer ourselves before we can feel for others. No, I am nothing to Prosper; he would not care if--"

"But then, madame, why--"

"Ah, yes, " interrupted Nina, "why? you will be very wise if you cananswer me. For a year have I vainly sought an answer to this question, so sad to me. I, a woman, cannot answer it; and I defy you to do so. Youcannot discover the thoughts of a man so thoroughly master of himselfthat never is a single thought passing in his mind to be detected uponhis countenance. I have watched him as only a woman can watch the manupon whom her fate depends, but it has always been in vain. He is kindand indulgent; but he does not betray himself, never will he commithimself. Ignorant people call him weak, yielding: I tell you thatfair-haired man is a rod of iron painted like a reed!"

Carried away by the violence of her feelings, Mme. Nina betrayed herinmost thoughts. She was without distrust, never suspecting that thestranger listening to her was other than a friend of Prosper. 

As for Fanferlot, he congratulated himself upon his success. No one buta woman could have drawn him so excellent a portrait; in a moment ofexcitement she had given him the most valuable information; he nowknew the nature of the man with whom he had to deal, which in aninvestigation like that he was pursuing is the principal point. 

"You know that M. Bertomy gambles, " he ventured to say, "and gambling isapt to lead a man--"

Mme. Gypsy shrugged her shoulders, and interrupted him:

"Yes, he plays, " she said, "but he is not a gambler. I have seen himlose and gain large sums without betraying the slightest agitation. Heplays as he drinks, as he sups, as he falls in love--without passion, without enthusiasm, without pleasure. Sometimes he frightens me; heseems to drag about a body without a soul. Ah, I am not happy! Neverhave I been able to overcome his indifference, and indifference sogreat, so reckless, that I often think it must be despair; nothing willconvince me that he has not some terrible secret, some great misfortuneweighing upon his mind, and making life a burden. "

"Then he has never spoken to you of his past?"

"Why should he tell me? Did you not hear me? I tell you he does not loveme!"

Mme. Nina was overcome by thoughts of the past, and tears silentlycoursed down her cheeks. 

But her despair was only momentary. She started up, and, her eyessparkling with generous resolution, she cried out:

"But I love him, and I will save him! I will see his chief, themiserable wretch who dares to accuse him. I will haunt the judges, andI will prove that he is innocent. Come, monsieur, let us start, and Ipromise you that before sunset he shall be free, or I shall be in prisonwith him. "

Mme. Gypsy's project was certainly laudable, and prompted by the noblestsentiments; but unfortunately it was impracticable. 

Moreover, it would be going counter to the plans of the detective. 

Although he had resolved to reserve to himself all the difficultiesas well as the benefits of this inquiry, Fanferlot saw clearly thathe could not conceal the existence of Mme. Nina from the judge ofinstruction. She would necessarily be brought into the case, and soughtfor. But he did not wish her to take any steps of her own accord. Heproposed to have her appear when and how he judged proper, so that hemight gain for himself the merit of having discovered her. 

His first step was to endeavor to calm the young woman's excitement. Hethought it easy to prove to her that the least interference in favor ofProsper would be a piece of folly. 

"What will you gain by acting thus, my dear madame?" he asked. "Nothing. I can assure you that you have not the least chance of success. Rememberthat you will seriously compromise yourself. Who knows if you will notbe suspected as M. Bertomy's accomplice?"

But this alarming perspective, which had frightened Cavaillon intofoolishly giving up a letter which he might so easily have retained, only stimulated Gypsy's enthusiasm. Man calculates, while woman followsthe inspirations of her heart. Our most devoted friend, if a man, hesitates and draws back: if a woman, rushes undauntedly forward, regardless of the danger. 

"What matters the risk?" she exclaimed. "I don't believe any dangerexists; but, if it does, so much the better: it will be all the more tomy credit. I am sure Prosper is innocent; but, if he should be guilty, Iwish to share the punishment which awaits him. "

Mme. Gypsy's persistence was becoming alarming. She hastily drew aroundher a cashmere shawl, and, putting on her hat, declared that she wasready to walk from one end of Paris to the other, in search of thejudge. 

"Come, monsieur, " she said with feverish impatience. "Are you not comingwith me?"

Fanferlot was perplexed. Happily he always had several strings to hisbow. 

Personal considerations having no hold upon this impulsive nature, heresolved to appeal to her interest in Prosper. 

"I am at your command, fair lady, " he said; "let us go if you desireit; only permit me, while there is yet time, to say that we are veryprobably going to do great injury to M. Bertomy. "

"In what way, if you please?"

"Because we are taking a step that he expressly forbade in his letter;we are surprising him--giving him no warning. "

Nina scornfully tossed her head, and replied:

"There are some people who must be saved without warning, and againsttheir will. I know Prosper: he is just the man to let himself bemurdered without a struggle, without speaking a word--to give himself upthrough sheer recklessness and despair. "

"Excuse me, madame, " interrupted the detective: "M. Bertomy has byno means the appearance of a man who has given up in despair. On thecontrary, I think he has already laid his plan of defence. By showingyourself, when he advised you to remain in concealment, you will be verylikely to make vain his most careful precautions. "

Mme. Gypsy was silently weighing the value of Fanferlot's objections. Finally she said:

"I cannot remain here inactive, without attempting to contribute insome way to his safety. Can you not understand that this floor burns myfeet?"

Evidently, if she was not absolutely convinced, her resolution wasshaken. Fanferlot saw that he was gaining ground, and this certainty, making him more at ease, gave weight to his eloquence. 

"You have it in your power, madame, " he said, "to render a great serviceto the man you love. "

"In what way, monsieur, in what way?"

"Obey him, my child, " said Fanferlot, in a paternal manner. 

Mme. Gypsy evidently expected very different advice. 

"Obey, " she murmured, "obey!"

"It is your duty, " said Fanferlot with grave dignity, "it is your sacredduty. "

She still hesitated; and he took from the table Prosper's note, whichshe had laid there, then continued:

"What! M. Bertomy at the most trying moment, when he is about to bearrested, stops to point out your line of conduct; and you would rendervain this wise precaution! What does he say to you? Let us read overthis note, which is like the testament of his liberty. He says, 'If youlove me, I entreat you, obey. ' And you hesitate to obey. Then you do notlove him. Can you not understand, unhappy child, that M. Bertomy has hisreasons, terrible, imperious reasons, for your remaining in obscurityfor the present?"

Fanferlot understood these reasons the moment he put his foot in thesumptuous apartment of the Rue Chaptal; and, if he did not expose themnow, it was because he kept them as a good general keeps his reserve, for the purpose of deciding the victory. 

Mme. Gypsy was intelligent enough to divine these reasons. 

"Reasons for my hiding! Prosper wishes, then, to keep everyone inignorance of our intimacy. "

She remained thoughtful for a moment; then a ray of light seemed tocross her mind, and she cried:

"Oh, I understand now! Fool that I was for not seeing it before! Mypresence here, where I have been for a year, would be an overwhelmingcharge against him. An inventory of my possessions would be taken--of mydresses, my laces, my jewels--and my luxury would be brought against himas a crime. He would be asked to tell where he obtained so much money tolavish all these elegancies on me. "

The detective bowed, and said:

"That is true, madame. "

"Then I must fly, monsieur, at once. Who knows that the police are notalready warned, and may appear at any moment?"

"Oh, " said Fanferlot with easy assurance, "you have plenty of time; thepolice are not so very prompt. "

"No matter!"

And, leaving the detective alone in the parlor, Mme. Nina hastilyran into her bedroom, and calling her maid, her cook, and her littlefootman, ordered them to empty her bureau and chests of their contents, and assisted them to stuff her best clothing and jewels into her trunks. 

Suddenly she rushed back to Fanferlot and said:

"Everything will be ready to start in a few minutes, but where am I togo?"

"Did not M. Bertomy say, my dear lady, to the other end of Paris? To ahotel, or furnished apartments. "

"But I don't know where to find any. "

Fanferlot seemed to be reflecting; but he had great difficulty inconcealing his delight at a sudden idea that flashed upon him; hislittle black eyes fairly danced with joy. 

"I know of a hotel, " he said at last, "but it might not suit you. It isnot elegantly furnished like this room. "

"Would I be comfortable there?"

"Upon my recommendation you would be treated like a queen, and, aboveall, concealed. "

"Where is it?"

"On the other side of the river, Quai Saint Michel, the Archangel, keptby Mme. Alexandre. "

Mme. Nina was never long making up her mind. 

"Here are pen and paper; write your recommendation. "

He rapidly wrote, and handed her the letter. 

"With these three lines, madame, you can make Mme. Alexandre do anythingyou wish. "

"Very good. Now, how am I to let Cavaillon know my address? It was hewho should have brought me Prosper's letter. "

"He was unable to come, madame, " interrupted the detective, "but I willgive him your address. "

Mme. Gypsy was about to send for a carriage, but Fanferlot said he wasin a hurry, and would send her one. He seemed to be in luck that day;for a cab was passing the door, and he hailed it. 

"Wait here, " he said to the driver, after telling him that he was adetective, "for a little brunette who is coming down with some trunks. If she tells you to drive her to Quai Saint Michel, crack your whip; ifshe gives you any other address, get down from your seat, and arrangeyour harness. I will keep in sight. "

He stepped across the street, and stood in the door of a wine-store. He had not long to wait. In a few minutes the loud cracking of a whipapprised him that Mme. Nina had started for the Archangel. 

"Aha, " said he, gayly, "I told _her_, at any rate. "

IV

At the same hour that Mme. Nina Gypsy was seeking refuge at theArchangel, so highly recommended by Fanferlot the Squirrel, ProsperBertomy was being entered on the jailer's book at the police office. 

Since the moment when he had resumed his habitual composure, he had notfaltered. 

Vainly did the people around him watch for a suspicious expression, orany sign of giving way under the danger of his situation. 

His face was like marble. 

One would have supposed him insensible to the horrors of his condition, had not his heavy breathing, and the beads of perspiration standing onhis brow, betrayed the intense agony he was suffering. 

At the police office, where he had to wait two hours while thecommissary went to receive orders from higher authorities, he enteredinto conversation with the two bailiffs who had charge of him. 

At twelve o'clock he said he was hungry, and sent to a restaurant nearby for his breakfast, which he ate with a good appetite; he also dranknearly a bottle of wine. 

While he was thus occupied, several clerks from the prefecture, whohave to transact business daily with the commissary of police, curiouslywatched him. They all formed the same opinion, and admiringly said toeach other:

"Well, he is made of strong material, he is!"

"Yes, my dandy looks too lamb-like to be left to his own devices. Heought to have a strong escort. "

When he was told that a coach was waiting for him at the door, he atonce got up; but, before going out, he requested permission to light acigar, which was granted. 

A flower-girl stood just by the door, with her stand filled with allvarieties of flowers. He stopped and bought a bunch of violets. Thegirl, seeing that he was arrested, said, by way of thanks:

"Good luck to you, my poor gentleman!"

He appeared touched by this mark of interest, and replied:

"Thanks, my good woman, but 'tis a long time since I have had any. "

It was magnificent weather, a bright spring morning. As the coach wentalong Rue Montmartre, Prosper kept his head out of the window, at thesame time smilingly complaining at being imprisoned on such a lovelyday, when everything outside was so sunny and pleasant. 

"It is singular, " he said, "I never felt so great a desire to take awalk. "

One of the bailiffs, a large, jovial, red-faced man, received thisremark with a hearty burst of laughter, and said:

"I understand. "

To the court clerk, while he was going through the formalities of thecommitment, Prosper replied with haughty brevity to the indispensablequestions asked him. 

But when he was ordered to empty his pockets on the table, and theybegan to search him, his eyes flashed with indignation, and a singletear dropped upon his flushed cheek. In an instant he had recovered hisstony calmness, and stood up motionless, with his arms raised in the airso that the rough creatures about him could more conveniently ransackhim from head to foot, to assure themselves that he had no suspiciousobject hid under his clothes. 

The search would have, perhaps, been carried to the most ignominiouslengths, but for the intervention of a middle-aged man of ratherdistinguished appearance, who wore a white cravat and gold spectacles, and was sitting quite at home by the fire. 

He started with surprise, and seemed much agitated, when he saw Prosperbrought in by the bailiffs; he stepped forward, and seemed about tospeak to him, then suddenly changed his mind, and sat down again. 

In spite of his own troubles, Prosper could not help seeing that thisman kept his eyes fastened upon him. Did he know him? Vainly did he tryto recollect having met him before. 

This man, treated with all the deference due to a chief, was no less apersonage than M. Lecoq, a celebrated member of the detective corps. 

When the men who were searching Prosper were about to take off hisboots, saying that a knife might be concealed in them. M. Lecoq wavedthem aside with an air of authority, and said:

"You have done enough. "

He was obeyed. All the formalities being ended, the unfortunate cashierwas taken to a narrow cell; the heavily barred door was swung to andlocked upon him; he breathed freely; at last he was alone. 

Yes, he believed himself to be alone. He was ignorant that a prison ismade of glass, that the accused is like a miserable insect under themicroscope of an entomologist. He knew not that the walls have stretchedears and watchful eyes. 

He was so sure of being alone that he at once gave vent to hissuppressed feelings, and, dropping his mask of impassibility, burstinto a flood of tears. His long-restrained anger now flashed out like asmouldering fire. 

In a paroxysm of rage he uttered imprecations and curses. He dashedhimself against the prison-walls like a wild beast in a cage. 

Prosper Bertomy was not the man he appeared to be. 

This haughty, correct gentleman had ardent passions and a fierytemperament. 

One day, when he was about twenty-four years of age, he had becomesuddenly fired by ambition. While all of his desires were repressed, imprisoned in his low estate, like an athlete in a strait-jacket, seeingaround him all these rich people with whom money assumed the place ofthe wand in the fairy-tale, he envied their lot. 

He studied the beginnings of these financial princes, and found that atthe starting-point they possessed far less than himself. 

How, then, had they succeeded? By force of energy, industry, andassurance. 

He determined to imitate and excel them. 

From this day, with a force of will much less rare than we think, heimposed silence upon his instincts. He reformed not his morals, but hismanners; and so strictly did he conform to the rules of decorum, thathe was regarded as a model of propriety by those who knew him, and hadfaith in his character; and his capabilities and ambition inspired theprophecy that he would be successful in attaining eminence and wealth. 

And the end of all was this: imprisoned for robbery; that is, ruined!

For he did not attempt to deceive himself. He knew that, guilty orinnocent, a man once suspected is as ineffaceably branded as theshoulder of a galley-slave. 

Therefore what was the use of struggling? What benefit was a triumphwhich could not wash out the stain?

When the jailer brought him his supper, he found him lying on hispallet, with his face buried in the pillow, weeping bitterly. 

Ah, he was not hungry now! Now that he was alone, he fed upon his ownbitter thoughts. He sank from a state of frenzy into one of stupefyingdespair, and vainly did he endeavor to clear his confused mind, andaccount for the dark cloud gathering about him; no loop-hole for escapedid he discover. 

The night was long and terrible, and for the first time he had nothingto count the hours by, as they slowly dragged on, but the measured treadof the patrol who came to relieve the sentinels. He was wretched. 

At dawn he dropped into a sleep, a heavy, oppressive sleep, which wasmore wearisome than refreshing; from which he was startled by the roughvoice of the jailer. 

"Come, monsieur, " he said, "it is time for you to appear before thejudge of instruction. "

He jumped up at once, and, without stopping to repair his disorderedtoilet, said:

"Come on, quick!"

The constable remarked, as they walked along:

"You are very fortunate in having your case brought before an honestman. "

He was right. 

Endowed with remarkable penetration, firm, unbiased, equally free fromfalse pity and excessive severity, M. Patrigent possessed in an eminentdegree all the qualities necessary for the delicate and difficult officeof judge of instruction. 

Perhaps he was wanting in the feverish activity which is sometimesnecessary for coming to a quick and just decision; but he possessedunwearying patience, which nothing could discourage. He would cheerfullydevote years to the examination of a case; he was even now engaged on acase of Belgian bank-notes, of which he did not collect all the threads, and solve the mystery, until after four years' investigation. 

Thus it was always to his office that they brought the endless lawsuits, half-finished inquests, and tangled cases. 

This was the man before whom they were taking Prosper; and they weretaking him by a difficult road. 

He was escorted along a corridor, through a room full of policemen, downa narrow flight of steps, across a kind of cellar, and then up a steepstaircase which seemed to have no terminus. 

Finally he reached a long narrow galley, upon which opened many doors, bearing different numbers. 

The custodian of the unhappy cashier stopped before one of these doors, and said:

"Here we are; here your fate will be decided. "

At this remark, uttered in a tone of deep commiseration, Prosper couldnot refrain from shuddering. 

It was only too true, that on the other side of this door was a man uponwhose decision his freedom depended. 

Summoning all his courage, he turned the door-knob, and was about toenter when the constable stopped him. 

"Don't be in such haste, " he said; "you must sit down here, and waittill your turn comes; then you will be called. "

The wretched man obeyed, and his keeper took a seat beside him. 

Nothing is more terrible and lugubrious than this gallery of the judgesof instruction. 

Stretching the whole length of the wall is a wooden bench blackened byconstant use. This bench has for the last ten years been daily occupiedby all the murderers, thieves, and suspicious characters of theDepartment of the Seine. 

Sooner or later, fatally, as filth rushes to a sewer, does crimereach this gallery, this dreadful gallery with one door opening on thegalleys, the other on the scaffold. This place was vulgarly and pithilydenominated by a certain magistrate as the great public wash-house ofall the dirty linen in Paris. 

When Prosper reached the gallery it was full of people. The bench wasalmost entirely occupied. Beside him, so close as to touch his shoulder, sat a man with a sinister countenance, dressed in rags. 

Before each door, which belonged to a judge of instruction, stood groupsof witnesses talking in an undertone. 

Policemen were constantly coming and going with prisoners. Sometimes, above the noise of their heavy boots, tramping along the flagstones, could be heard a woman's stifled sobs, and looking around you wouldsee some poor mother or wife with her face buried in her handkerchief, weeping bitterly. 

At short intervals a door would open and shut, and a bailiff call out aname or number. 

This stifling atmosphere, and the sight of so much misery, made thecashier ill and faint; he was feeling as if another five minutes' stayamong these wretched creatures would make him deathly sick, when alittle old man dressed in black, wearing the insignia of his office, asteel chain, cried out:

"Prosper Bertomy!"

The unhappy man arose, and, without knowing how, found himself in theoffice of the judge of instruction. 

For a moment he was blinded. He had come out of a dark room; and the onein which he now found himself had a window directly opposite the door, so that a flood of light fell suddenly upon him. 

This office, like all those on the gallery, was of a very ordinaryappearance, small and dingy. 

The wall was covered with cheap dark green paper, and on the floor was ahideous brown carpet, very much worn. 

Opposite the door was a large desk, filled with bundles of law-papers, behind which was seated the judge, facing those who entered, so that hisface remained in the shade, while that of the prisoner or witness whomhe questioned was in a glare of light. 

At the right, before a little table, sat a clerk writing, theindispensable auxiliary of the judge. 

But Prosper observed none of these details: his whole attention wasconcentrated upon the arbiter of his fate, and as he closely examinedhis face he was convinced that the jailer was right in calling him anhonorable man. 

M. Patrigent's homely face, with its irregular outline and short redwhiskers, lit up by a pair of bright, intelligent eyes, and a kindlyexpression, was calculated to impress one favorably at first sight. 

"Take a seat, " he said to Prosper. 

This little attention was gratefully welcomed by the prisoner, for hehad expected to be treated with harsh contempt. He looked upon it as agood sign, and his mind felt a slight relief. 

M. Patrigent turned toward the clerk, and said:

"We will begin now, Sigault; pay attention. "

"What is your name?" he then asked, looking at Prosper. 

"Auguste Prosper Bertomy. "

"How old are you?"

"I shall be thirty the 5th of next May. "

"What is your profession?"

"I am--that is, I was--cashier in M. Andre Fauvel's bank. "

The judge stopped to consult a little memorandum lying on his desk. Prosper, who followed attentively his every movement, began to behopeful, saying to himself that never would a man so unprejudiced havethe cruelty to send him to prison again. 

After finding what he looked for, M. Patrigent resumed the examination. 

"Where do you live?"

"At No. 39, Rue Chaptal, for the last four years. Before that time Ilived at No. 7, Boulevard des Batignolles. "

"Where were you born?"

"At Beaucaire in the Department of the Gard. "

"Are your parents living?"

"My mother died two years ago; my father is still living. "

"Does he live in Paris?"

"No, monsieur: he lives at Beaucaire with my sister, who married one ofthe engineers of the Southern Canal. "

It was in broken tones that Prosper answered these last questions. There are moments in the life of a man when home memories encourageand console him; there are also moments when he would be thankful to bewithout a single tie, and bitterly regrets that he is not alone in theworld. 

M. Patrigent observed the prisoner's emotion, when he spoke of hisparents. 

"What is your father's calling?" he continued. 

"He was formerly superintendent of the bridges and canals; then hewas employed on the Southern Canal, with my brother-in-law; now he hasretired from business. "

There was a moment's silence. The judge had turned his chair around, sothat, although his head was apparently averted, he had a good view ofthe workings of Prosper's face. 

"Well, " he said, abruptly, "you are accused of having robbed M. Fauvelof three hundred and fifty thousand francs. "

During the last twenty-four hours the wretched young man had had time tofamiliarize himself with the terrible idea of this accusation; and yet, uttered as it was in this formal, brief tone, it seemed to strike himwith a horror which rendered him incapable of opening his lips. 

"What have you to answer?" asked the judge. 

"That I am innocent, monsieur; I swear that I am innocent!"

"I hope you are, " said M. Patrigent, "and you may count upon me toassist you to the extent of my ability in proving your innocence. Youmust have defence, some facts to state; have you not?"

"Ah, monsieur, what can I say, when I cannot understand this dreadfulbusiness myself? I can only refer you to my past life. "

The judge interrupted him:

"Let us be specific; the robbery was committed under circumstances thatprevent suspicion from falling upon anyone but M. Fauvel and yourself. Do you suspect anyone else?"

"No, monsieur. "

"You declare yourself to be innocent, therefore the guilty party must beM. Fauvel. "

Prosper remained silent. 

"Have you, " persisted the judge, "any cause for believing that M. Fauvelrobbed himself?"

The prisoner preserved a rigid silence. 

"I see, monsieur, " said the judge, "that you need time for reflection. Listen to the reading of your examination, and after signing it you willreturn to prison. "

The unhappy man was overcome. The last ray of hope was gone. He heardnothing of what Sigault read, and he signed the paper without looking atit. 

He tottered as he left the judge's office, so that the keeper was forcedto support him. 

"I fear your case looks dark, monsieur, " said the man, "but don't bedisheartened; keep up your courage. "

Courage! Prosper had not a spark of it when he returned to his cell; buthis heart was filled with anger and resentment. 

He had determined that he would defend himself before the judge, thathe would prove his innocence; and he had not had time to do so. Hereproached himself bitterly for having trusted to the judge's benevolentface. 

"What a farce, " he angrily exclaimed, "to call that an examination!"

It was not really an examination, but a mere formality. 

In summoning Prosper, M. Patrigent obeyed Article 93 of the CriminalCode, which says, "Every suspected person under arrest must be examinedwithin twenty-four hours. "

But it is not in twenty-four hours, especially in a case like this, withno evidence or material proof, that a judge can collect the materialsfor an examination. 

To triumph over the obstinate defence of a prisoner who shuts himself upin absolute denial as if in a fortress, valid proofs are needed. Theseweapons M. Patrigent was busily preparing. If Prosper had remained alittle longer in the gallery, he would have seen the same bailiff whohad called him come out to the judge's office, and cry out:

"Number three. "

The witness, who was awaiting his turn, and answered the call for numberthree, was M. Fauvel. 

The banker was no longer the same man. Yesterday he was kind and affablein his manner: now, as he entered the judge's room, he seemed irritated. Reflection, which usually brings calmness and a desire to pardon, brought him anger and a thirst for vengeance. 

The inevitable questions which commence every examination had scarcelybeen addressed to him before his impetuous temper gained the mastery, and he burst forth in invectives against Prosper. 

M. Patrigent was obliged to impose silence upon him, reminding him ofwhat was due to himself, no matter what wrongs he had suffered at thehands of his clerk. 

Although he had very slightly examined Prosper, the judge was nowscrupulously attentive and particular in having every question answered. Prosper's examination had been a mere formality, the stating and provinga fact. Now it related to collecting the attendant circumstances andthe most trifling particulars, so as to group them together, and reach ajust conclusion. 

"Let us proceed in order, " said the judge, "and pray confine yourselfto answering my questions. Did you ever suspect your cashier of beingdishonest?"

"Certainly not. Yet there were reasons which should have made mehesitate to trust him with my funds. "

"What reasons?"

"M. Bertomy played cards. I have known of his spending whole nights atthe gaming table, and losing immense sums of money. He was intimate withan unprincipled set. Once he was mixed up with one of my clients, M. DeClameran, in a scandalous gambling affair which took place at the houseof some disreputable woman, and wound up by being tried before thepolice court. "

For some minutes the banker continued to revile Prosper. 

"You must confess, monsieur, " interrupted the judge, "that you were veryimprudent, if not culpable, to have intrusted your safe to such a man. "

"Ah, monsieur, Prosper was not always thus. Until the past year he wasa model of goodness. He lived in my house as one of my family; he spentall of his evenings with us, and was the bosom friend of my eldest sonLucien. One day, he suddenly left us, and never came to the house again. Yet I had every reason to believe him attached to my niece Madeleine. "

M. Patrigent had a peculiar manner of contracting his brows when hethought he had discovered some new proof. He now did this, and said:

"Might not this admiration for the young lady have been the cause of M. Bertomy's estrangement?"

"How so?" said the banker with surprise. "I was willing to bestowMadeleine upon him, and, to be frank, was astonished that he did not askfor her hand. My niece would be a good match for any man, and he shouldhave considered himself fortunate to obtain her. She is beautiful, andher dowry will be half a million. "

"Then you can see no motive for your cashier's conduct?"

"It is impossible for me to account for it. I have, however, alwayssupposed that Prosper was led astray by a young man whom he met at myhouse about this time, M. Raoul de Lagors. "

"Ah! and who is this young man?"

"A relative of my wife; a very attractive, intelligent young man, somewhat wild, but rich enough to pay for his follies. "

The judge wrote the name Lagors at the bottom of an already long list onhis memorandum. 

"Now, " he said, "we are coming to the point. You are sure that the theftwas not committed by anyone in your house?"

"Quite sure, monsieur. "

"You always kept your key?"

"I generally carried it about on my person; and, whenever I left it athome, I put it in the secretary drawer in my chamber. "

"Where was it the evening of the robbery?"

"In my secretary. "

"But then--"

"Excuse me for interrupting you, " said M. Fauvel, "and to permit me totell you that, to a safe like mine, the key is of no importance. In thefirst place, one is obliged to know the word upon which the five movablebuttons turn. With the word one can open it without the key; but withoutthe word--"

"And you never told this word to anyone?"

"To no one, monsieur, and sometimes I would have been puzzled to knowmyself with what word the safe had been closed. Prosper would change itwhen he chose, and, if he had not informed me of the change, would haveto come and open it for me. "

"Had you forgotten it on the day of the theft?"

"No: the word had been changed the day before; and its peculiaritystruck me. "

"What was it?"

"Gypsy, g, y, p, s, y, " said the banker, spelling the name. 

M. Patrigent wrote down this name. 

"One more question, monsieur: were you at home the evening before therobbery?"

"No; I dined and spent the evening with a friend; when I returned home, about one o'clock, my wife had retired, and I went to bed immediately. "

"And you were ignorant of the amount of money in the safe?"

"Absolutely. In conformity with my positive orders, I could only supposethat a small sum had been left there over-night; I stated this fact tothe commissary in M. Bertomy's presence, and he acknowledged it to bethe case. "

"Perfectly correct, monsieur: the commissary's report proves it. " M. Patrigent was for a time silent. To him everything depended upon thisone fact, that the banker was unaware of the three hundred and fiftythousand francs being in the safe, and Prosper had disobeyed ordersby placing them there over-night; hence the conclusion was very easilydrawn. 

Seeing that his examination was over, the banker thought that he wouldrelieve his mind of what was weighing upon it. 

"I believe myself above suspicion, monsieur, " he began, "and yet I cannever rest easy until Bertomy's guilt has been clearly proved. Calumnyprefers attacking a successful man: I may be calumniated: three hundredand fifty thousand francs is a fortune capable of tempting even arich man. I would be obliged if you would have the condition of mybanking-house examined. This examination will prove that I could haveno interest in robbing my own safe. The prosperous condition of myaffairs--"

"That is sufficient, monsieur. "

M. Patrigent was well informed of the high standing of the banker, andknew almost as much of his affairs as did M. Fauvel himself. 

He asked him to sign his testimony, and then escorted him to the door ofhis office, a rare favor on his part. 

When M. Fauvel had left the room, Sigault indulged in a remark. 

"This seems to be a very cloudy case, " he said; "if the cashier isshrewd and firm, it will be difficult to convict him. "

"Perhaps it will, " said the judge, "but let us hear the other witnessesbefore deciding. "

The person who answered to the call for number four was Lucien, M. Fauvel's eldest son. 

He was a tall, handsome young man of twenty-two. To the judge'squestions he replied that he was very fond of Prosper, was once veryintimate with him, and had always regarded him as a strictly honorableman, incapable of doing anything unbecoming a gentleman. 

He declared that he could not imagine what fatal circumstances couldhave induced Prosper to commit a theft. He knew he played cards, but notto the extent that was reported. He had never known him to indulge inexpenses beyond his means. 

In regard to his cousin Madeleine, he replied:

"I always thought that Prosper was in love with Madeleine, and, untilyesterday, I was certain he would marry her, knowing that my fatherwould not oppose their marriage. I have always attributed thediscontinuance of Prosper's visits to a quarrel with my cousin, butsupposed they would end by becoming reconciled. "

This information, more than that of M. Fauvel, threw light uponProsper's past life, but did not apparently reveal any evidence whichcould be used in the present state of affairs. 

Lucien signed his deposition, and withdrew. 

Cavaillon's turn for examination came next. The poor fellow was in apitiable state of mind when he appeared before the judge. 

Having, as a great secret, confided to a friend his adventure with thedetective, and being jeered at for his cowardice in giving up the note, he felt great remorse, and passed the night in reproaching himself forhaving ruined Prosper. 

He endeavored to repair, as well as he could, what he called histreason. 

He did not exactly accuse M. Fauvel, but he courageously declared thathe was the cashier's friend, and that he was as sure of his innocence ashe was of his own. 

Unfortunately, besides his having no proofs to strengthen hisassertions, these were deprived of any value by his violent professionsof friendship for the accused. 

After Cavaillon, six or eight clerks of the Fauvel bank successivelydefiled in the judge's office; but their depositions were nearly allinsignificant. 

One of them, however, stated a fact which the judge carefully noted. He said he knew that Prosper had speculated on the Bourse through themedium of M. Raoul de Lagors, and had gained immense sums. 

Five o'clock struck before the list of witnesses summoned for the daywas exhausted. But the task of M. Patrigent was not yet finished. Herang for his bailiff, who instantly appeared, and said to him:

"Go at once, and bring Fanferlot here. "

It was some time before the detective answered the summons. Having meta colleague on the gallery, he thought it his duty to treat him to adrink; and the bailiff had found it necessary to bring him from thelittle inn at the corner. 

"How is it that you keep people waiting?" said the judge, when heentered bowing and scraping. Fanferlot bowed more profoundly still. 

Despite his smiling face, he was very uneasy. To prosecute the Bertomycase alone, it required a double play that might be discovered at anymoment; to manage at once the cause of justice and his own ambition, heran great risks, the least of which was the losing of his place. 

"I have a great deal to do, " he said, to excuse himself, "and have notwasted any time. "

And he began to give a detailed account of his movements. He wasembarrassed, for he spoke with all sorts of restrictions, picking outwhat was to be said, and avoiding what was to be left unsaid. Thus hegave the history of Cavaillon's letter, which he handed to the judge;but he did not breathe a word of Madeleine. On the other hand, he gavebiographical details, very minute indeed, of Prosper and Mme. Gypsy, which he had collected from various quarters during the day. 

As he progressed the conviction of M. Patrigent was strengthened. 

"This young man is evidently guilty, " he said. Fanferlot did not reply;his opinion was different, but he was delighted that the judge wason the wrong track, thinking that his own glory would thereby be thegreater when he discovered the real culprit. True, this grand discoverywas as far off as it had ever been; but Fanferlot was hopeful. 

After hearing all he had to tell, the judge dismissed Fanferlot, tellinghim to return the next day. 

"Above all, " he said, as Fanferlot left the room, "do not lose sight ofthe girl Gypsy; she must know where the money is, and can put us on thetrack. "

Fanferlot smiled cunningly. 

"You may rest easy about that, monsieur; the lady is in good hands. "

Left to himself, although the evening was far advanced, M. Patrigentcontinued to busy himself with the case, and to arrange that the rest ofthe depositions should be made. 

This case had actually taken possession of his mind; it was, at the sametime, puzzling and attractive. It seemed to be surrounded by a cloud ofmystery, and he determined to penetrate and dispel it. 

The next morning he was in his office much earlier than usual. On thisday he examined Mme. Gypsy, recalled Cavaillon, and sent again for M. Fauvel. For several days he displayed the same activity. 

Of all the witnesses summoned, only two failed to appear. 

One was the office-boy sent by Prosper to bring the money from the citybank; he was ill from a fall. 

The other was M. Raoul de Lagors. 

But their absence did not prevent the file of papers relating toProsper's case from daily increasing; and on the ensuing Monday, fivedays after the robbery, M. Patrigent thought he held in his hands enoughmoral proof to crush the accused. 

V

While his whole past was the object of the most minute investigations, Prosper was in prison, in a secret cell. 

The two first days had not appeared very long. 

He had requested, and been granted, some sheets of paper, numbered, which he was obliged to account for; and he wrote, with a sort of rage, plans of defence and a narrative of justification. 

The third day he began to be uneasy at not seeing anyone except thecondemned prisoners who were employed to serve those confined in secretcells, and the jailer who brought him his food. 

"Am I not to be examined again?" he would ask. 

"Your turn is coming, " the jailer invariably answered. 

Time passed; and the wretched man, tortured by the sufferings ofsolitary confinement which quickly breaks the spirit, sank into thedepths of despair. 

"Am I to stay here forever?" he moaned. 

No, he was not forgotten; for on Monday morning, at one o'clock, an hourwhen the jailer never came, he heard the heavy bolt of his cell pushedback. 

He ran toward the door. 

But the sight of a gray-headed man standing on the sill rooted him tothe spot. 

"Father, " he gasped, "father!"

"Your father, yes!"

Prosper's astonishment at seeing his father was instantly succeeded by afeeling of great joy. 

A father is one friend upon whom we can always rely. In the hour ofneed, when all else fails, we remember this man upon whose knees we satwhen children, and who soothed our sorrows; and although he can in noway assist us, his presence alone comforts and strengthens. 

Without reflecting, Prosper, impelled by tender feeling, was about tothrow himself on his father's bosom. 

M. Bertomy harshly repulsed him. 

"Do not approach me!" he exclaimed. 

He then advanced into the cell, and closed the door. The father and sonwere alone together, Prosper heart-broken, crushed; M. Bertomy angry, almost threatening. 

Cast off by this last friend, by his father, the miserable young manseemed to be stupefied with pain and disappointment. 

"You too!" he bitterly cried. "You, you believe me guilty? Oh, father!"

"Spare yourself this shameful comedy, " interrupted M. Bertomy: "I knowall. "

"But I am innocent, father; I swear it by the sacred memory of mymother. "

"Unhappy wretch, " cried M. Bertomy, "do not blaspheme!"

He seemed overcome by tender thoughts of the past, and in a weak, brokenvoice, he added:

"Your mother is dead, Prosper, and little did I think that the day wouldcome when I could thank God for having taken her from me. Your crimewould have killed her, would have broken her heart!"

After a painful silence, Prosper said:

"You overwhelm me, father, and at the moment when I need all my courage;when I am the victim of an odious plot. "

"Victim!" cried M. Bertomy, "victim! Dare you utter your insinuationsagainst the honorable man who has taken care of you, loaded you withbenefits, and had insured you a brilliant future! It is enough for youto have robbed him; do not calumniate him. "

"For pity's sake, father, let me speak!"

"I suppose you would deny your benefactor's kindness. Yet you were atone time so sure of his affection, that you wrote me to hold myself inreadiness to come to Paris and ask M. Fauvel for the hand of his niece. Was that a lie too?"

"No, " said Prosper in a choked voice, "no. "

"That was a year ago; you then loved Mlle. Madeleine; at least you wroteto me that you--"

"Father, I love her now, more than ever; I have never ceased to loveher. "

M. Bertomy made a gesture of contemptuous pity. 

"Indeed!" he cried, "and the thought of the pure, innocent girl whom youloved did not prevent your entering upon a path of sin. You loved her:how dared you, then, without blushing, approach her presence afterassociating with the shameless creatures with whom you were sointimate?"

"For Heaven's sake, let me explain by what fatality Madeleine--"

"Enough, monsieur, enough. I told you that I know everything. I saw M. Fauvel yesterday; this morning I saw the judge, and 'tis to his kindnessthat I am indebted for this interview. Do you know what mortificationI suffered before being allowed to see you? I was searched and made toempty all of my pockets, on suspicion of bringing you arms!"

Prosper ceased to justify himself, but in a helpless, hopeless way, dropped down upon a seat. 

"I have seen your apartments, and at once recognized the proofs of yourcrime. I saw silk curtains hanging before every window and door, andthe walls covered with pictures. In my father's house the walls werewhitewashed; and there was but one arm-chair in the whole house, andthat was my mother's. Our luxury was our honesty. You are the firstmember of our family who has possessed Aubusson carpets; though, to besure, you are the first thief of our blood. "

At this last insult Prosper's face flushed crimson, but he remainedsilent and immovable. 

"But luxury is necessary now, " continued M. Bertomy, becoming moreexcited and angry as he went on, "luxury must be had at any price. Youmust have the insolent opulence and display of an upstart, without beingan upstart. You must support worthless women who wear satin slipperslined with swan's-down, like those I saw in your rooms, and keepservants in livery--and you steal! And bankers no longer trust theirsafe-keys with anybody; and every day honest families are disgraced bythe discovery of some new piece of villainy. "

M. Bertomy suddenly stopped. He saw that his son was not in a conditionto hear any more reproaches. 

"But I will say no more, " he said. "I came here not to reproach, butto, if possible, save the honor of our name, to prevent it from beingpublished in the papers bearing the names of thieves and murderers. Stand up and listen to me!"

At the imperious tone of his father, Prosper arose. So many successiveblows had reduced him to a state of torpor. 

"First of all, " began M. Bertomy, "how much have you remaining of thestolen three hundred and fifty thousand francs?"

"Once more, father, " replied the unfortunate man in a tone of hopelessresignation, "once more I swear I am innocent. "

"So I supposed you would say. Then our family will have to repair theinjury you have done M. Fauvel. "

"What do you mean?"

"The day he heard of your crime, your brother-in-law brought me yoursister's dowry, seventy thousand francs. I succeeded in collecting ahundred and forty thousand francs more. This makes two hundred and tenthousand francs which I have brought with me to give to M. Fauvel. "

This threat aroused Prosper from his torpor. 

"You shall do nothing of the kind!" he cried with unrestrainedindignation. 

"I will do so before the sun goes down this day. M. Fauvel will grant metime to pay the rest. My pension is fifteen hundred francs. I can liveupon five hundred, and am strong enough to go to work again; and yourbrother-in-law--"

M. Bertomy stopped short, frightened at the expression of his son'sface. His features were contracted with such furious rage that he wasscarcely recognizable, and his eyes glared like a maniac's. 

"You dare not disgrace me thus!" he cried; "you have no right to do it. You are free to disbelieve me yourself, but you have no right for takinga step that would be a confession of guilt, and ruin me forever. Whoand what convinces you of my guilt? When cold justice hesitates, you, my father, hesitate not, but, more pitiless than the law, condemn meunheard!"

"I only do my duty. "

"Which means that I stand on the edge of a precipice, and you push meover. Do you call that your duty? What! between strangers who accuse me, and myself who swear that I am innocent, you do not hesitate? Why? Isit because I am your son? Our honor is at stake, it is true; but that isonly the more reason why you should sustain me, and assist me to defendmyself. "

Prosper's earnest, truthful manner was enough to unsettle the firmestconvictions, and make doubt penetrate the most stubborn mind. 

"Yet, " said M. Bertomy in a hesitating tone, "everything seems to accuseyou. "

"Ah, father, you do not know that I was suddenly banished fromMadeleine's presence; that I was compelled to avoid her. I becamedesperate, and tried to forget my sorrow in dissipation. I soughtoblivion, and found shame and disgust. Oh, Madeleine, Madeleine!"

He was overcome with emotion; but in a few minutes he started up withrenewed violence in his voice and manner. 

"Everything is against me!" he exclaimed, "but no matter. I will justifymyself or perish in the attempt. Human justice is liable to error;although innocent, I may be convicted: so be it. I will undergo mypenalty; but people are not kept galley-slaves forever. "

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, father, that I am now another man. My life, henceforth, has anobject, vengeance! I am the victim of a vile plot. As long as I have adrop of blood in my veins, I will seek its author. And I will certainlyfind him; and then bitterly shall he expiate all of my cruel suffering. The blow came from the house of Fauvel, and I will live to prove it. "

"Take care: your anger makes you say things that you will repenthereafter. "

"Yes, I see, you are going to descant upon the probity of M. AndreFauvel. You will tell me that all the virtues have taken refuge in thebosom of this patriarchal family. What do you know about it? Would thisbe the first instance in which the most shameful secrets are concealedbeneath the fairest appearances? Why did Madeleine suddenly forbid me tothink of her? Why has she exiled me, when she suffers as much from ourseparation as I myself, when she still loves me? For she does love me. Iam sure of it. I have proofs of it. "

The jailer came to say that the time allotted to M. Bertomy had expired, and that he must leave the cell. 

A thousand conflicting emotions seemed to rend the old man's heart. 

Suppose Prosper were telling the truth: how great would be his remorse, if he had added to his already great weight of sorrow and trouble! Andwho could prove that he was not sincere?

The voice of this son, of whom he had always been so proud, had arousedall his paternal affection, so violently repressed. Ah, were he guilty, and guilty of a worse crime, still he was his son, his only son!

His countenance lost its severity, and his eyes filled with tears. 

He had resolved to leave, as he had entered, stern and angry: he hadnot the cruel courage. His heart was breaking. He opened his arms, andpressed Prosper to his heart. 

"Oh, my son!" he murmured. "God grant you have spoken the truth!"

Prosper was triumphant: he had almost convinced his father of hisinnocence. But he had not time to rejoice over this victory. 

The cell-door again opened, and the jailer's gruff voice once morecalled out:

"It is time for you to appear before the court. "

He instantly obeyed the order. 

But his step was no longer unsteady, as a few days previous: a completechange had taken place within him. He walked with a firm step, headerect, and the fire of resolution in his eye. 

He knew the way now, and he walked a little ahead of the constable whoescorted him. 

As he was passing through the room full of policemen, he met the manwith gold spectacles, who had watched him so intently the day he wassearched. 

"Courage, M. Prosper Bertomy, " he said: "if you are innocent, there arethose who will help you. "

Prosper started with surprise, and was about to reply, when the mandisappeared. 

"Who is that gentleman?" he asked of the policeman. 

"Is it possible that you don't know him?" replied the policeman withsurprise. "Why, it is M. Lecoq, of the police service. "

"You say his name is Lecoq?"

"You might as well say 'monsieur, '" said the offended policeman; "itwould not burn your mouth. M. Lecoq is a man who knows everything thathe wants to know, without its ever being told to him. If you had hadhim, instead of that smooth-tongued imbecile Fanferlot, your case wouldhave been settled long ago. Nobody is allowed to waste time when he hascommand. But he seems to be a friend of yours. "

"I never saw him until the first day I came here. "

"You can't swear to that, because no one can boast of knowing thereal face of M. Lecoq. It is one thing to-day, and another to-morrow;sometimes he is a dark man, sometimes a fair one, sometimes quite young, and then an octogenarian: why, not seldom he even deceives me. I beginto talk to a stranger, paf! the first thing I know, it is M. Lecoq!Anybody on the face of the earth might be he. If I were told that youwere he, I should say, 'It is very likely. ' Ah! he can convert himselfinto any shape and form he chooses. He is a wonderful man!"

The constable would have continued forever his praises of M. Lecoq, hadnot the sight of the judge's door put an end to them. 

This time, Prosper was not kept waiting on the wooden bench: the judge, on the contrary, was waiting for him. 

M. Patrigent, who was a profound observer of human nature, had contrivedthe interview between M. Bertomy and his son. 

He was sure that between the father, a man of such stubborn honor, andthe son, accused of theft, an affecting scene would take place, and thisscene would completely unman Prosper, and make him confess. 

He determined to send for him as soon as the interview was over, whileall his nerves were vibrating with terrible emotions: he would tell thetruth, to relieve his troubled, despairing mind. 

His surprise was great to see the cashier's bearing; resolute withoutobstinacy, firm and assured without defiance. 

"Well, " he said, "have you reflected?"

"Not being guilty, monsieur, I had nothing to reflect upon. "

"Ah, I see the prison has not been a good counsellor; you forget thatsincerity and repentance are the first things necessary to obtain theindulgence of the law. "

"I crave no indulgence, monsieur. "

M. Patrigent looked vexed, and said:

"What would you say if I told you what had become of the three hundredand fifty thousand francs?"

Prosper shook his head sadly. 

"If it were known, monsieur, I would not be here, but at liberty. "

This device had often been used by the judge, and generally succeeded;but, with a man so thoroughly master of himself, there was small chanceof success. It had been used at a venture, and failed. 

"Then you persist in accusing M. Fauvel?"

"Him, or someone else. "

"Excuse me: no one else, since he alone knew the word. Had he anyinterest in robbing himself?"

"I can think of none. "

"Well, now I will tell you what interest you had in robbing him. "

M. Patrigent spoke as a man who was convinced of the facts he was aboutto state; but his assurance was all assumed. 

He had relied upon crushing, at a blow, a despairing wretched man, andwas nonplussed by seeing him appear as determined upon resistance. 

"Will you be good enough to tell me, " he said, in a vexed tone, "howmuch you have spent during the last year?"

Prosper did not find it necessary to stop to reflect and calculate. 

"Yes, monsieur, " he answered, unhesitatingly: "circumstances made itnecessary for me to preserve the greatest order in my wild career; Ispent about fifty thousand francs. "

"Where did you obtain them?"

"In the first place, twelve thousand francs were left to me by mymother. I received from M. Fauvel fourteen thousand francs, as mysalary, and share of the profits. By speculating in stocks, I gainedeight thousand francs. The rest I borrowed, and intend repaying out ofthe fifteen thousand francs which I have deposited in M. Fauvel's bank. "

The account was clear, exact, and could be easily proved; it must be atrue one. 

"Who lent you the money?"

"M. Raoul de Lagors. "

This witness had left Paris the day of the robbery, and could not befound; so, for the time being, M. Patrigent was compelled to rely uponProsper's word. 

"Well, " he said, "I will not press this point; but tell me why, in spiteof the formal order of M. Fauvel, you drew the money from the Bank ofFrance the night before, instead of waiting till the morning of thepayment?"

"Because M. De Clameran had informed me that it would be agreeable, necessary even, for him to have his money early in the morning. He willtestify to that fact, if you summon him; and I knew that I should reachmy office late. "

"Then M. De Clameran is a friend of yours?"

"By no means. I have always felt repelled by him; but he is the intimatefriend of M. Lagors. "

While Sigault was writing down these answers, M. Patrigent was rackinghis brain to imagine what could have occurred between M. Bertomy and hisson, to cause this transformation in Prosper. 

"One more thing, " said the judge: "how did you spend the evening, thenight before the crime?"

"When I left my office, at five o'clock, I took the St. -Germain train, and went to Vesinet, M. De Lagors's country seat, to carry him fifteenhundred francs which he had asked for; and, finding him not at home, Ileft it with his servant. "

"Did he tell you that M. De Lagors was going away?"

"No, monsieur. I did not know that he had left Paris. "

"Where did you go when you left Vesinet?"

"I returned to Paris, and dined at a restaurant with a friend. "

"And then?"

Prosper hesitated. 

"You are silent, " said M. Patrigent; "then I shall tell you how youemployed your time. You returned to your rooms in the Rue Chaptal, dressed yourself, and attended a _soiree_ given by one of those womenwho style themselves dramatic artistes, and who are a disgrace tothe stage; who receive a hundred crowns a year, and yet keep theircarriages, at Mlle. Wilson's. "

"You are right, monsieur. "

"There is heavy playing at Wilson's?"

"Sometimes. "

"You are in the habit of visiting places of this sort. Were you notconnected in some way with a scandalous adventure which took place atthe house of a woman named Crescenzi?"

"I was summoned to testify, having witnessed a theft. "

"Gambling generally leads to stealing. And did you not play baccarat atWilson's, and lose eighteen hundred francs?"

"Excuse me, monsieur, only eleven hundred. "

"Very well. In the morning you paid a note of a thousand francs. "

"Yes, monsieur. "

"Moreover, there remained in your desk five hundred francs, and you hadfour hundred in your purse when you were arrested. So that altogether, in twenty-four hours, four thousand five hundred francs--"

Prosper was not discountenanced, but stupefied. 

Not being aware of the powerful means of investigation possessed by thelaw, he wondered how in so short a time the judge could have obtainedsuch accurate information. 

"Your statement is correct, monsieur, " he said finally. 

"Where did all this money come from? The evening before you had solittle that you were obliged to defer the payment of a small bill. "

"The day to which you allude, I sold through an agent some bonds I had, about three thousand francs; besides, I took from the safe two thousandfrancs in advance on my salary. "

The prisoner had given clear answers to all the questions put to him, and M. Patrigent thought he would attack him on a new point. 

"You say you have no wish to conceal any of your actions; then why didyou write this note to one of your companions?" Here he held up themysterious note. 

This time the blow struck. Prosper's eyes dropped before the inquiringlook of the judge. 

"I thought, " he stammered, "I wished--"

"You wished to screen this woman?"

"Yes, monsieur; I did. I knew that a man in my condition, accused ofa robbery, has every fault, every weakness he has ever indulged in, charged against him as a great crime. "

"Which means that you knew that the presence of a woman at your housewould tell very much against you, and that justice would not excuse thisscandalous defiance of public morality. A man who respects himself solittle as to associate with a worthless woman, does not elevate her tohis standard, but he descends to her base level. "

"Monsieur!"

"I suppose you know who the woman is, whom you permit to bear the honestname borne by your mother?"

"Mme. Gypsy was a governess when I first knew her. She was born atOporto, and came to France with a Portuguese family. "

"Her name is not Gypsy; she has never been a governess, and she is not aPortuguese. "

Prosper began to protest against this statement; but M. Patrigentshrugged his shoulders, and began looking over a large file of papers onhis desk. 

"Ah, here it is, " he said, "listen: Palmyre Chocareille, born at Parisin 1840, daughter of James Chocareille, undertaker's assistant, and ofCaroline Piedlent, his wife. "

Prosper looked vexed and impatient; he did not know that the judge wasreading him this report to convince him that nothing can escape thepolice. 

"Palmyre Chocareille, " he continued, "at twelve years of age wasapprenticed to a shoemaker, and remained with him until she was sixteen. Traces of her for one year are lost. At the age of seventeen she ishired as a servant by a grocer on the Rue St. Denis, named Dombas, andremains there three months. She lives out during this same year, 1857, at eight different places. In 1858 she entered the store of afan-merchant in Choiseul Alley. "

As he read, the judge watched Prosper's face to observe the effect ofthese revelations. 

"Toward the close of 1858 she was employed as a servant by Madame Munes, and accompanied her to Lisbon. How long she remained in Lisbon, andwhat she did while she remained there, is not reported. But in 1861 shereturned to Paris, and was sentenced to three months' imprisonment forassault and battery. Ah, she returned from Portugal with the name ofNina Gypsy. "

"But I assure you, monsieur, " Prosper began. 

"Yes, I understand; this history is less romantic, doubtless, than theone related to you; but then it has the merit of being true. We losesight of Palmyre Chocareille, called Gypsy, upon her release fromprison, but we meet her again six months later, having made theacquaintance of a travelling agent named Caldas, who became infatuatedwith her beauty, and furnished her a house near the Bastille. Sheassumed his name for some time, then she deserted him to devote herselfto you. Did you ever hear of this Caldas?"

"Never, monsieur. "

"This foolish man so deeply loved this creature that her desertion drovehim almost insane from grief. He was a very resolute man, and publiclyswore that he would kill his rival if he ever found him. The currentreport afterward was, that he committed suicide. He certainly soldthe furniture of the House occupied by Chocareille, and suddenlydisappeared. All the efforts made to discover him proved fruitless. "

The judge stopped a moment as if to give Prosper time for reflection, and then slowly said:

"And this is the woman whom you made your companion, the woman for whomyou robbed the bank!"

Once more M. Patrigent was on the wrong track, owing to Fanferlot'sincomplete information. 

He had hoped that Prosper would betray himself by uttering somepassionate retort when thus wounded to the quick; but he remainedimpassible. Of all the judge said to him his mind dwelt upon only oneword--Caldas, the name of the poor travelling agent who had killedhimself. 

"At any rate, " insisted M. Patrigent, "you will confess that this girlhas caused your ruin. "

"I cannot confess that, monsieur, for it is not true. "

"Yet she is the occasion of your extravagance. Listen. " The judge heredrew a bill from the file of papers. "During December you paid herdressmaker, Van Klopen, for two walking dresses, nine hundred francs;one evening dress, seven hundred francs; one domino, trimmed with lace, four hundred francs. "

"I spent this money cheerfully, but nevertheless I was not especiallyattached to her. "

M. Patrigent shrugged his shoulders. 

"You cannot deny the evidence, " said he. "I suppose you will also saythat it was not for this girl's sake you ceased spending your eveningsat M. Fauvel's?"

"I swear that she was not the cause of my ceasing to visit M. Fauvel'sfamily. "

"Then why did you cease, suddenly, your attentions to a young lady whomyou confidently expected to marry, and whose hand you had written toyour father to demand for you?"

"I had reasons which I cannot reveal, " answered Prosper with emotion. 

The judge breathed freely; at last he had discovered a vulnerable pointin the prisoner's armor. 

"Did Mlle. Madeleine banish you?"

Prosper was silent, and seemed agitated. 

"Speak, " said M. Patrigent; "I must tell you that this circumstance isone of the most important in your case. "

"Whatever the cost may be, on this subject I am compelled to keepsilence. "

"Beware of what you do; justice will not be satisfied with scruples ofconscience. "

M. Patrigent waited for an answer. None came. 

"You persist in your obstinacy, do you? Well, we will go on to the nextquestion. You have, during the last year, spent fifty thousand francs. Your resources are at an end, and your credit is exhausted; to continueyour mode of life was impossible. What did you intend to do?"

"I had no settled plan. I thought it might last as long as it would, andthen I----"

"And then you would draw from the safe!"

"Ah, monsieur, if I were guilty, I should not be here! I should neverhave been such a fool as to return to the bank; I should have fled. "

M. Patrigent could not restrain a smile of satisfaction, and exclaimed:

"Exactly the argument I expected you to use. You showed your shrewdnessprecisely by staying to face the storm, instead of flying the country. Several recent suits have taught dishonest cashiers that flight abroadis dangerous. Railways travel fast, but telegrams travel faster. AFrench thief can be arrested in London within forty-eight hours afterhis description has been telegraphed. Even America is no longer arefuge. You remained prudently and wisely, saying to yourself, 'I willmanage to avoid suspicion; and, even if I am found out, I shall be freeagain after three or five years' seclusion, with a large fortune toenjoy. ' Many people would sacrifice five years of their lives for threehundred and fifty thousand francs. "

"But monsieur, had I calculated in the manner you describe, I should nothave been content with three hundred and fifty thousand francs; I shouldhave waited for an opportunity to steal half a million. I often havethat sum in charge. "

"Oh! it is not always convenient to wait. "

Prosper was buried in deep thought for some minutes. 

"Monsieur, " he finally said, "there is one detail I forgot to mentionbefore, and it may be of importance. "

"Explain, if you please. "

"The office messenger whom I sent to the Bank of France for the moneymust have seen me tie up the bundle, and put it away in the safe. At anyrate, he knows that I left the bank before he did. "

"Very well; the man shall be examined. Now you can return to yourcell; and once more I advise you to consider the consequences of yourpersistent denial. "

M. Patrigent thus abruptly dismissed Prosper because he wished toimmediately act upon this last piece of information. 

"Sigault, " said he as soon as Prosper had left the room, "is not thisAntonin the man who was excused from testifying because he sent adoctor's certificate declaring him too ill to appear?"

"It is, monsieur. "

"Where doe he live?"

"Fanferlot says he was so ill that he was taken to the hospital--theDubois Hospital. "

"Very well. I am going to examine him to-day, this very hour. Take yourpen and paper, and send for a carriage. "

It was some distance from the Palais de Justice to the Dubois Hospital;but the cabman, urged by the promise of a large fee, made his sorryjades fly as if they were blooded horses. 

Would Antonin be able to answer any questions?

The physician in charge of the hospital said that, although the mansuffered horribly from a broken knee, his mind was perfectly clear. 

"That being the case, monsieur, " said the judge, "I wish to examine him, and desire that no one be admitted while he makes his deposition. "

"Oh! you will not be intruded upon, monsieur; his room contains fourbeds, but they are just now unoccupied. "

When Antonin saw the judge enter, followed by a little weazened man inblack, with a portfolio under his arm, he at once knew what he had comefor. 

"Ah, " he said, "monsieur comes to see me about M. Bertomy's case?"

"Precisely. "

M. Patrigent remained standing by the sick-bed while Sigault arrangedhis papers on a little table. 

In answer to the usual questions, the messenger swore that he was namedAntonin Poche, was forty years old, born at Cadaujac (Gironde), and wasunmarried. 

"Now, " said the judge, "are you well enough to clearly answer anyquestions I may put?"

"Certainly, monsieur. "

"Did you, on the 27th of February, go to the Bank of France for thethree hundred and fifty thousand francs that were stolen?"

"Yes, monsieur. "

"At what hour did you return with the money?"

"It must have been five o'clock when I got back. "

"Do you remember what M. Bertomy did when you handed him the notes? Now, do not be in a hurry; think before you answer. "

"Let me see: first he counted the notes, and made them into fourpackages; then he put them in the safe; and then--it seems to me--andthen he locked the safe; and, yes, I am not mistaken, he went out!"

He uttered these last words so quickly, that, forgetting his knee, hehalf started up, but, with a cry of pain, sank back in bed. 

"Are you sure of what you say?" asked the judge. 

M. Patrigent's solemn tone seemed to frighten Antonin. 

"Sure?" he replied with marked hesitation, "I would bet my head on it, yet I am not sure!"

It was impossible for him to be more decided in his answers. He had beenfrightened. He already imagined himself in difficulty, and for a triflewould have retracted everything. 

But the effect was already produced; and when they retired M. Patrigentsaid to Sigault:

"This is a very important piece of evidence. "

VI

The Archangel Hotel, Mme. Gypsy's asylum, was the most elegant buildingon the Quai St. Michel. 

A person who pays her fortnight's board in advance is treated withconsideration at this hotel. 

Mme. Alexandre, who had been a handsome woman, was now stout, laced tillshe could scarcely breathe, always over-dressed, and fond of wearing anumber of flashy gold chains around her fat neck. 

She had bright eyes and white teeth; but, alas, a red nose. Of all herweaknesses, and Heaven knows she had indulged in every variety, only oneremained; she loved a good dinner, washed down with plenty of good wine. 

She also loved her husband; and, about the time M. Patrigent was leavingthe hospital, she began to be worried that her "little man" had notreturned to dinner. She was about to sit down without him, when thehotel-boy cried out:

"Here is monsieur. "

And Fanferlot appeared in person. 

Three years before, Fanferlot had kept a little office of secretintelligence; Mme. Alexandre was a trader without a license in perfumeryand toilet articles, and, finding it necessary to watch some of hersuspicious customers, engaged Fanferlot's services; this was the originof their acquaintance. 

If they went through the marriage ceremony for the good of the mayoraltyand the church, it was because they imagined it would, like a baptism, wash out the sins of the past. 

Upon this momentous day, Fanferlot gave up his secret intelligenceoffice, and entered the police, where he had already been occasionallyemployed, and Mme. Alexandre retired from trade. 

Uniting their savings, they hired and furnished the "Archangel, "which they were now carrying on prosperously well, esteemed by theirneighbors, who were ignorant of Fanferlot's connection with the policeforce. 

"Why, how late you are, my little man!" she exclaimed, as she droppedher knife and fork, and rushed forward to embrace him. 

He received her caresses with an air of abstraction. 

"My back is broken, " he said. "I have been the whole day playingbilliards with Evariste, M. Fauvel's valet, and allowed him to win asoften as he wished, a man who does not know what 'the pool' is! I becameacquainted with him yesterday, and now I am his best friend. If I wishto enter M. Fauvel's service in Antonin's place, I can rely upon M. Evariste's good word. "

"What, you be an office messenger? you?"

"Of course I would. How else am I to get an opportunity of studying mycharacters, if I am not on the spot to watch them all the time?"

"Then the valet gave you no news?"

"He gave me none that I could make use of, and yet I turned him insideout, like a glove. This banker is a remarkable man; you don't often meetwith one of his sort nowadays. Evariste says he has not a single vice, not even a little defect by which his valet could gain ten sous. Heneither smokes, drinks, nor plays; in fact, he is a saint. He is worthmillions, and lives as respectably and quietly as a grocer. He isdevoted to his wife, adores his children, is lavishly hospitable, andseldom goes into society. "

"Then his wife is young?"

"She must be about fifty. "

Mme. Alexandre reflected a minute, then asked:

"Did you inquire about the other members of the family?"

"Certainly. The younger son is in the army. The elder son, Lucien, liveswith his parents, and is as proper as a young lady; so good, indeed, that he is stupid. "

"And what about the niece?"

"Evariste could tell me nothing about her. "

Mme. Alexandre shrugged her fat shoulders. 

"If you have discovered nothing, it is because there is nothing to bediscovered. Still, do you know what I would do, if I were you?"

"Tell me. "

"I would consult with M. Lecoq. "

Fanferlot jumped up as if he had been shot. 

"Now, that's pretty advice! Do you want me to lose my place? M. Lecoqdoes not suspect that I have anything to do with the case, except toobey his orders. "

"Nobody told you to let him know you were investigating it on your ownaccount. You can consult him with an air of indifference, as if you werenot at all interested; and, after you have got his opinion, you can takeadvantage of it. "

The detective weighed his wife's words, and then said:

"Perhaps you are right; yet M. Lecoq is so devilishly shrewd, that hemight see through me. "

"Shrewd!" echoed Mme. Alexandre, "shrewd! All of you at the policeoffice say that so often, that he has gained his reputation by it: youare just as sharp as he is. "

"Well, we will see. I will think the matter over; but, in the meantime, what does the girl say?"

The "girl" was Mme. Nina Gypsy. 

In taking up her abode at the Archangel, the poor girl thought shewas following good advice; and, as Fanferlot had never appeared in herpresence since, she was still under the impression that she had obeyeda friend of Prosper's. When she received her summons from M. Patrigent, she admired the wonderful skill of the police in discovering herhiding-place; for she had established herself at the hotel under afalse, or rather her true name, Palmyre Chocareille. 

Artfully questioned by her inquisitive landlady, she had, without anymistrust, confided her history to her. 

Thus Fanferlot was able to impress the judge with the idea of his beinga skilful detective, when he pretended to have discovered all thisinformation from a variety of sources. 

"She is still upstairs, " answered Mme. Alexandre. "She suspects nothing;but to keep her in her present ignorance becomes daily more difficult. I don't know what the judge told her, but she came home quite besideherself with anger. She wanted to go and make a fuss at M. Fauvel's;then she wrote a letter which she told Jean to post for her; but I keptit to show you. "

"What!" interrupted Fanferlot, "you have a letter, and did not tellme before? Perhaps it contains the clew to the mystery. Give it to me, quick. "

Obeying her husband, Mme. Alexandre opened a little cupboard, and tookout a letter which she handed to him. 

"Here, take it, " she said, "and be satisfied. "

Considering that she used to be a chambermaid, Palmyre Chocareille, since become Mme. Gypsy, wrote a good letter. 

It bore the following address, written in a free, flowing hand:

FOR M. L. DE CLAMERAN, Forge-Master, Hotel du Louvre. 

To be handed to M. Raoul de Lagors. 

(In great haste. )

"Oh, ho!" said Fanferlot, accompanying his exclamation with a littlewhistle, as was his habit when he thought he had made a grand discovery. "Oh, ho!"

"Do you intend to open it?" questioned Mme. Alexandre. 

"A little bit, " said Fanferlot, as he dexterously opened the envelope. 

Mme. Alexandre leaned over her husband's shoulder, and they both readthe following letter:

"MONSIEUR RAOUL--Prosper is in prison, accused of a robbery which henever committed. I wrote to you three days ago. "

"What!" interrupted Fanferlot, "this silly girl wrote, and I never sawthe letter?"

"But, little man, she must have posted it herself, the day she went tothe Palais de Justice. "

"Very likely, " said Fanferlot propitiated. He continued reading:

"I wrote to you three days ago, and have no reply. Who will help Prosperif his best friends desert him? If you don't answer this letter, I shallconsider myself released from a certain promise, and without scruplewill tell Prosper of the conversation I overheard between you and M. DeClameran. But I can count on you, can I not? I shall expect you at theArchangel day after to-morrow, between twelve and four. 

"NINA GYPSY"

The letter read, Fanferlot at once proceeded to copy it. 

"Well!" said Mme. Alexandre, "what do you think?"

Fanferlot was delicately resealing the letter when the door of the hoteloffice was abruptly opened, and the boy twice whispered, "Pst! Pst!"

Fanferlot rapidly disappeared into a dark closet. He had barely time toclose the door before Mme. Gypsy entered the room. 

The poor girl was sadly changed. She was pale and hollow-cheeked, andher eyes were red with weeping. 

On seeing her, Mme. Alexandre could not conceal her surprise. 

"Why, my child, you are not going out?"

"I am obliged to do so, madame; and I come to ask you to tell anyonethat may call during my absence to wait until I return. "

"But where in the world are you going at this hour, sick as you are?"

For a moment Mme. Gypsy hesitated. 

"Oh, " she said, "you are so kind that I am tempted to confide in you;read this note which a messenger just now brought to me. "

"What!" cried Mme. Alexandre perfectly aghast: "a messenger enter myhouse, and go up to your room!"

"Is there anything surprising in that?"

"Oh, oh, no! nothing surprising. "

And in a tone loud enough to be heard in the closet she read the note:

"A friend of Prosper who can neither receive you, nor present himselfat your house, is very anxious to speak to you. Be in the stage-officeopposite the Saint Jacques tower, to-night at nine precisely, and thewriter will approach, and tell you what he has to say. 

"I have appointed this public place for the rendezvous so as to relieveyour mind of all fear. "

"And you are going to this rendezvous?"

"Certainly, madame. "

"But it is imprudent, foolish; it is a snare to entrap you. "

"It makes no difference, " interrupted Gypsy. "I am so unfortunatealready that I have nothing more to dread. Any change would be arelief. "

And, without waiting to hear any more, she went out. The door hadscarcely closed upon Mme. Gypsy, before Fanferlot bounced out of thecloset. 

The mild detective was white with rage, and swore violently. 

"What is the meaning of this?" he cried. "Am I to stand by and havepeople walking over the Archangel, as if it were a public street?"

Mme. Alexandre stood trembling, and dared not speak. 

"Was ever such impudence heard of before!" he continued. "A messengercomes into my house, and goes upstairs without being seen by anybody!I will look into this. And the idea of you, Mme. Alexandre, you, asensible woman, being idiotic enough to persuade that little viper notto keep the appointment!"

"But, my dear--"

"Had you not sense enough to know that I would follow her, and discoverwhat she is attempting to conceal? Come, make haste, and help me, sothat she won't recognize me. "

In a few minutes Fanferlot was completely disguised by a thick beard, awig, and one of those long linen blouses worn by dishonest workmen, whogo about seeking labor, and, at the same time, hoping they may not findany. 

"Have you your handcuffs?" asked the solicitous Mme. Alexandre. 

"Yes, yes: make haste and put that letter to M. De Clameran in thepost-office, and--and keep good watch. "

And without waiting for his wife's reply, who cried out, "Good luck!"Fanferlot darted into the street. 

Mme. Gypsy had ten minutes' start of him; but he ran up the street heknew she must have taken, and overtook her near the Change Bridge. 

She was walking with the uncertain gait of a person who, impatient tobe at a rendezvous, has started too soon, and is obliged to occupythe intervening time; she would walk very rapidly, then retrace herfootsteps, and proceed slowly. 

On Chatelet Place she strolled up and down several times, read thetheatre-bills, and finally took a seat on a bench. One minute before aquarter of nine, she entered the stage-office, and sat down. 

A moment after, Fanferlot entered; but, as he feared that Mme. Gypsymight recognize him in spite of his heavy beard, he took a seat at theopposite end of the room, in a dark corner. 

"Singular place for a conversation, " he thought, as he watched theyoung woman. "Who in the world could have made this appointment in astage-office? Judging from her evident curiosity and uneasiness, I couldswear she has not the faintest idea for whom she is waiting. "

Meanwhile, the office was gradually filling with people. Every minutea man would shriek out the destination of an omnibus which had justarrived, and the bewildered passengers would rush in to get tickets, andinquire when the omnibus would leave. 

As each new-comer entered, Gypsy would tremble, and Fanferlot would say, "This is he!"

Finally, as the Hotel-de-Ville clock was striking nine, a man entered, and, without going to the ticket-window, walked directly up to Gypsy, bowed, and took a seat beside her. 

He was a medium-sized man, rather stout, with a crimson face, andfiery-red whiskers. His dress was that of a well-to-do merchant, andthere was nothing in his manner or appearance to excite attention. 

Fanferlot watched him eagerly. 

"Well, my friend, " he said to himself, "in future I shall recognize you, no matter where we meet; and this very evening I will find out who youare. "

Despite his intent listening, he could not hear a word spoken by thestranger or Gypsy. All he could do was to judge by their pantomime andcountenances, what the subject of their conversation might be. 

When the stout man bowed and spoke to her, the girl looked so surprisedthat it was evident she had never seen him before. When he sat down byher, and said a few words, she jumped up with a frightened look, asif seeking to escape. A single word and look made her resume her seat. Then, as the stout man went on talking, Gypsy's attitude betrayed greatapprehension. She positively refused to do something; then suddenly sheseemed to consent, when he stated a good reason for her so doing. Atone moment she appeared ready to weep, and the next her pretty face wasillumined by a bright smile. Finally, she shook hands with him, as ifshe was confirming a promise. 

"What can all that mean?" said Fanferlot to himself, as he sat in hisdark corner, biting his nails. "What an idiot I am to have stationedmyself so far off!"

He was thinking how he could manage to approach nearer without arousingtheir suspicions, when the fat man arose, offered his arm to Mme. Gypsy, who accepted it without hesitation, and together they walked toward thedoor. 

They were so engrossed with each other, that Fanferlot thought he could, without risk, follow them; and it was well he did; for the crowd wasdense outside, and he would soon have lost them. 

Reaching the door, he saw the stout man and Gypsy cross the pavement, approach a hackney-coach, and enter it. 

"Very good, " muttered Fanferlot, "I've got them now. There is no use ofhurrying any more. "

While the coachman was gathering up his reins, Fanferlot preparedhis legs; and, when the coach started, he followed in a brisk trot, determined upon following it to the end of the earth. 

The cab went up the Boulevard Sebastopol. It went pretty fast; but itwas not for nothing that Fanferlot had won the name of "Squirrel. " Withhis elbows glued to his sides, and holding his breath, he ran on. 

By the time he had reached the Boulevard St. Denis, he began to getbreathless, and stiff from a pain in his side. The cabman abruptlyturned into the Rue Faubourg St. Martin. 

But Fanferlot, who, at eight years of age, had been familiar with everystreet in Paris, was not to be baffled: he was a man of resources. Heseized the springs of the coach, raised himself up by the strength ofhis wrists, and hung on behind, with his legs resting on the axle-treeof the back wheels. He was not quite comfortable, but then, he no longerran the risk of being distanced. 

"Now, " he chuckled, behind his false beard, "you may drive as fast asyou please, M. Cabby. "

The man whipped up his horses, and drove furiously along the hillystreet of the Faubourg St. Martin. 

Finally the cab stopped in front of a wine-store, and the driver jumpeddown from his seat, and went in. 

The detective also left his uncomfortable post, and crouching ina doorway, waited for Gypsy and her companion to get out, with theintention of following closely upon their heels. 

Five minutes passed, and still there were no signs of them. 

"What can they be doing all this time?" grumbled the detective. 

With great precautions, he approached the cab, and peeped in. 

Oh, cruel deception! it was empty!

Fanferlot felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice-water over him;he remained rooted to the spot with his mouth stretched, the picture ofblank bewilderment. 

He soon recovered his wits sufficiently to burst forth in a volley ofoaths, loud enough to rattle all the window-panes in the neighborhood. 

"Tricked!" he said, "fooled! Ah! but won't I make them pay for this!"

In a moment his quick mind had run over the gamut of possibilities, probable and improbable. 

"Evidently, " he muttered, "this fellow and Gypsy entered one door, andgot out of the other; the trick is simple enough. If they resortedto it, 'tis because they feared being watched. If they feared beingwatched, they have uneasy consciences: therefore--"

He suddenly interrupted his monologue as the idea struck him that he hadbetter attempt to find out something from the driver. 

Unfortunately, the driver was in a very surly mood, and not only refusedto answer, but shook his whip in so threatening a manner that Fanferlotdeemed it prudent to beat a retreat. 

"Oh, Lord, " he muttered, "perhaps he and the driver are one and thesame!"

But what could he do now, at this time of night? He could not imagine. He walked dejectedly back to the quay, and it was half-past eleven whenhe reached his own door. 

"Has the little fool returned?" he inquired of Mme. Alexandre, theinstant she opened the door for him. 

"No; but here are two large bundles which have come for her. "

Fanferlot hastily opened the bundles. 

They contained three calico dresses, some coarse shoes, and some linencaps. 

"Well, " said the detective in a vexed tone, "now she is going todisguise herself. Upon my word, I am getting puzzled! What can she be upto?"

When Fanferlot was sulkily walking down the Faubourg St. Martin, hehad fully made up his mind that he would not tell his wife of hisdiscomfiture. 

But once at home, confronted with a new fact of a nature to negative allhis conjectures, his vanity disappeared. He confessed everything--hishopes so nearly realized, his strange mischance, and his suspicions. 

They talked the matter over, and finally decided that they would notgo to bed until Mme. Gypsy, from whom Mme. Alexandre was determined toobtain an explanation of what had happened, returned. At one o'clock theworthy couple were about giving over all hope of her re-appearance, whenthey heard the bell ring. 

Fanferlot instantly slipped into the closet, and Mme. Alexandre remainedin the office to received Gypsy. 

"Here you are at last, my dear child!" she cried. "Oh, I have been souneasy, so afraid lest some misfortune had happened!"

"Thanks for your kind interest, madame. Has a bundle been sent here forme?"

Poor Gypsy's appearance had strikingly changed; she was very sad, butnot as before dejected. To her melancholy of the last few days, hadsucceeded a firm and generous resolution, which was betrayed in hersparkling eyes and resolute step. 

"Yes, two bundles came for you; here they are. I suppose you saw M. Bertomy's friend?"

"Yes, madame; and his advice has so changed my plans, that, I regret tosay, I must leave you to-morrow. "

"Going away to-morrow! then something must have happened. "

"Oh! nothing that would interest you, madame. "

After lighting her candle at the gas-burner, Mme. Gypsy said"Good-night" in a very significant way, and left the room. 

"And what do you think of that, Mme. Alexandre?" questioned Fanferlot, emerging from his hiding-place. 

"It is incredible! This girl writes to M. De Clameran to meet her here, and then does not wait for him. "

"She evidently mistrusts us; she knows who I am. "

"Then this friend of the cashier must have told her. "

"Nobody knows who told her. I shall end by believing that I am amonga gang of thieves. They think I am on their track, and are trying toescape me. I should not be at all surprised if this little rogue has themoney herself, and intends to run off with it to-morrow. "

"That is not my opinion; but listen to me: you had better take myadvice, and consult M. Lecoq. "

Fanferlot meditated awhile, then exclaimed. 

"Very well; I will see him, just for your satisfaction; because Iknow that, if I have discovered nothing, neither has he. But, ifhe undertakes to be domineering, it won't do; for, if he shows hisinsolence to me, _I_ will make him know his place!"

Notwithstanding this brave speech, the detective passed an uneasy night, and at six o'clock the next morning he was up--it was necessary to risevery early if he wished to catch M. Lecoq at home--and, refreshed by acup of strong coffee, he directed his steps toward the dwelling of thecelebrated detective. 

Fanferlot the Squirrel certainly was not afraid of his patron, as hecalled him; for he started out with his nose in the air, and his hatcocked on one side. 

But by the time he reached the Rue Montmartre, where M. Lecoq lived, his courage had vanished; he pulled his hat over his eyes, and hunghis head, as if looking for relief among the paving-stones. He slowlyascended the steps, pausing several times, and looking around as if hewould like to fly. 

Finally he reached the third floor, and stood before a door decoratedwith the arms of the famous detective--a cock, the symbol ofvigilance--and his heart failed him so that he had scarcely the courageto ring the bell. 

The door was opened by Janouille, M. Lecoq's old servant, who had verymuch the manner and appearance of a grenadier. She was as faithful toher master as a watch-dog, and always stood ready to attack anyone whodid not treat him with the august respect which she considered his due. 

"Well, M. Fanferlot, " she said, "you come in time for once in your life. Your patron wants to see you. "

Upon this announcement, Fanferlot was seized with a violent desire toretreat. By what chance could Lecoq want anything of him?

While he thus hesitated, Janouille seized him by the arm, and pulled himin, saying:

"Do you want to take root there? Come along, your patron is waiting foryou. "

In the middle of a large room curiously furnished, half library and halfgreen-room, was seated at a desk the same person with gold spectacles, who had said to Prosper at the police-office, "Have courage. "

This was M. Lecoq in his official character. 

Upon Fanferlot's entrance, as he advanced respectfully, bowing tillhis backbone was a perfect curve, M. Lecoq laid down his pen, and said, looking sharply at him:

"Ah, here you are, young man. Well, it seems that you haven't made muchprogress in the Bertomy case. "

"Why, " murmured Fanferlot, "you know--"

"I know that you have muddled everything until you can't see your wayout; so that you are ready to give up. "

"But, M. Lecoq, it was not I----"

M. Lecoq arose, and walked up and down the room: suddenly he confrontedFanferlot, and said, in a tone of scornful irony:

"What would you think, Master Squirrel, of a man who abuses theconfidence of those who employ him, who reveals just enough to lead theprosecution on the wrong scent, who sacrifices to his own foolish vanitythe cause of justice and the liberty of an unfortunate man?"

Fanferlot started back with a frightened look. 

"I should say, " he stammered, "I should say--"

"You would say this man ought to be punished, and dismissed from hisemployment; and you are right. The less a profession is honored, themore honorable should those be who belong to it. And yet you have beenfalse to yours. Ah! Master Fanferlot, we are ambitious, and we try tomake the police force serve our own views! We let Justice stray her way, and we go ours. One must be a more cunning bloodhound than you are, myfriend, to be able to hunt without a huntsman. You are too self-reliantby half. "

"But, patron, I swear--"

"Silence! Do you pretend to say that you did your duty, and told allto the judge of instruction? Whilst others were informing against thecashier, you undertook to inform against the banker. You watched hismovements: you became intimate with his valet. "

Was M. Lecoq really angry, or pretending to be? Fanferlot, who knew himwell, was puzzled to know whether all this indignation was real. 

"If you were only skilful, " he continued, "but no: you wish to bemaster, and you are not fit to be a journeyman. "

"You are right, patron, " said Fanferlot, piteously, for he saw thatit was useless for him to deny anything. "But how could I go about anaffair like this, where there was not even a trace or sign to startfrom?"

M. Lecoq shrugged his shoulders. 

"You are an ass! Why, don't you know that on the very day you were sentfor with the commissary to verify the robbery, you held--I do not saycertainly, but very probably held--in your great stupid hands the meansof knowing which key had been used when the money was stolen?"

"How! What!"

"You want to know, do you? I will tell you. Do you remember the scratchyou discovered on the safe-door? You were so struck by it, that youexclaimed directly you saw it. You carefully examined it, and wereconvinced that it was a fresh scratch, only a few hours old. Youthought, and rightly too, that this scratch was made at the time of thetheft. Now, with what was it made? Evidently with a key. That beingthe case, you should have asked for the keys both of the banker and thecashier. One of them would have had some particles of the hard greenpaint sticking to it. "

Fanferlot listened with open mouth to this explanation. At the lastwords, he violently slapped his forehead with his hand, and cried out:

"Imbecile! Imbecile!"

"You have rightly named yourself, " said M. Lecoq. "Imbecile! This proofstares you right in the face, and you don't see it! This scratch is thesole and only clew to work the case upon, and you must go and lose thetraces of it. If I find the guilty party, it will be by means of thisscratch; and I am determined that I will find him. "

At a distance the Squirrel very bravely abused and defied M. Lecoq; but, in his presence, he yielded to the influence which this extraordinaryman exercised upon all who approached him. 

This exact information, these minute details of all his secretmovements, and even thoughts, so upset his mind that he could not thinkwhere and how M. Lecoq had obtained them. Finally he said, humbly:

"You must have been looking up this case, patron?"

"Probably I have; but I am not infallible, and may have overlooked someimportant evidence. Take a seat, and tell me all you know. "

M. Lecoq was not the man to be hoodwinked, so Fanferlot told the exacttruth, a rare thing for him to do. However as he reached the end of hisstatement, a feeling of mortified vanity prevented his telling how hehad been fooled by Gypsy and the stout man. 

Unfortunately for poor Fanferlot, M. Lecoq was always fully informed onevery subject in which he interested himself. 

"It seems to me, Master Squirrel, that you have forgotten something. Howfar did you follow the empty coach?"

Fanferlot blushed, and hung his head like a guilty school-boy. 

"Oh, patron!" he cried, "and you know about that too! How could youhave----"

But a sudden idea flashed across his brain: he stopped short, boundedoff his chair, and cried:

"Oh! I know now: you were the large gentleman with red whiskers. "

His surprise gave so singular an expression to his face that M. Lecoqcould not restrain a smile. 

"Then it was you, " continued the bewildered detective; "you were thelarge gentleman at whom I stared, so as to impress his appearance uponmy mind, and I never recognized you! Patron, you would make a superbactor, if you would go on the stage; but I was disguised, too--very welldisguised. "

"Very poorly disguised; it is only just to you that I should let youknow what a failure it was, Fanferlot. Do you think that a heavy beardand a blouse are a sufficient transformation? The eye is the thing to bechanged--the eye! The art lies in being able to change the eye. That isthe secret. "

This theory of disguise explained why the lynx-eyed Lecoq never appearedat the police-office without his gold spectacles. 

"Then, patron, " said Fanferlot, clinging to his idea, "you have beenmore successful than Mme. Alexandre; you have made the little girlconfess? You know why she leaves the Archangel, why she does not waitfor M. De Clameran, and why she bought calico dresses?"

"She is following my advice. "

"That being the case, " said the detective dejectedly, "there is nothingleft for me to do, but to acknowledge myself an ass. "

"No, Squirrel, " said M. Lecoq, kindly, "you are not an ass. Youmerely did wrong in undertaking a task beyond your capacity. Have youprogressed one step since you started this affair? No. That shows that, although you are incomparable as a lieutenant, you do not possess thequalities of a general. I am going to present you with an aphorism;remember it, and let it be your guide in the future: _A man can shine inthe second rank, who would be totally eclipsed in the first_. "

Never had Fanferlot seen his patron so talkative and good-natured. Finding his deceit discovered, he had expected to be overwhelmed witha storm of anger; whereas he had escaped with a little shower that hadcooled his brain. Lecoq's anger disappeared like one of those heavyclouds which threaten in the horizon for a moment, and then are suddenlyswept away by a gust of wind. 

But this unexpected affability made Fanferlot feel uneasy. He was afraidthat something might be concealed beneath it. 

"Do you know who the thief is, patron?"

"I know no more than you do, Fanferlot; and you seem to have made upyour mind, whereas I am still undecided. You declare the cashier to beinnocent, and the banker guilty. I don't know whether you are right orwrong. I started after you, and have only reached the preliminaries ofmy search. I am certain of but one thing, and that is, that a scratchwas on the safe-door. That scratch is my starting-point. "

As he spoke, M. Lecoq took from his desk and unrolled an immense sheetof drawing-paper. 

On this paper was photographed the door of M. Fauvel's safe. Theimpression of every detail was perfect. There were the five movablebuttons with the engraved letters, and the narrow, projecting brasslock: The scratch was indicated with great exactness. 

"Now, " said M. Lecoq, "here is our scratch. It runs from top to bottom, starting from the hole of the lock, diagonally, and, observe, from leftto right; that is to say, it terminates on the side next to the privatestaircase leading to the banker's apartments. Although very deep at thekey-hole, it ends off in a scarcely perceptible mark. "

"Yes, patron, I see all that. "

"Naturally you thought that this scratch was made by the person who tookthe money. Let us see if you were right. I have here a little iron box, painted with green varnish like M. Fauvel's safe; here it is. Take akey, and try to scratch it. "

"The deuce take it!" he said after several attempts, "this paint isawfully hard to move!"

"Very hard, my friend, and yet that on the safe is still harder andthicker. So you see the scratch you discovered could not have been madeby the trembling hand of a thief letting the key slip. "

"Sapristi!" exclaimed Fanferlot, stupefied: "I never should have thoughtof that. It certainly required great force to make the deep scratch onthe safe. "

"Yes, but how was that force employed? I have been racking my brainfor three days, and only yesterday did I come to a conclusion. Let usexamine together, and see if our conjectures present enough chances ofprobability to establish a starting-point. "

M. Lecoq abandoned the photograph, and, walking to the doorcommunicating with his bedroom, took the key from the lock, and, holdingit in his hand, said:

"Come here, Fanferlot, and stand by my side: there; very well. Nowsuppose that I want to open this door, and you don't want me to openit; when you see me about to insert the key, what would be your firstimpulse?"

"To put my hands on your arm, and draw it toward me so as to preventyour introducing the key. "

"Precisely so. Now let us try it; go on. " Fanferlot obeyed; and the keyheld by M. Lecoq, pulled aside from the lock, slipped along the door, and traced upon it a diagonal scratch, from top to bottom, the exactreproduction of the one in the photograph. 

"Oh, oh, oh!" exclaimed Fanferlot in three different tones ofadmiration, as he stood gazing in a revery at the door. 

"Do you begin to understand now?" asked M. Lecoq. 

"Understand, patron? Why, a child could understand it now. Ah, what aman you are! I see the scene as if I had been present. Two persons werepresent at the robbery; one wished to take the money, the other wishedto prevent its being taken. That is clear, that is certain. "

Accustomed to triumphs of this sort, M. Lecoq was much amused atFanferlot's enthusiasm. 

"There you go off, half-primed again, " he said, good-humoredly: "youregard as sure proof a circumstance which may be accidental, and at themost only probable. "

"No, patron, no! a man like you could not be mistaken: doubt no longerexists. "

"That being the case, what deductions would you draw from ourdiscovery?"

"In the first place, it proves that I am correct in thinking the cashierinnocent. "

"How so?"

"Because, at perfect liberty to open the safe whenever he wished todo so, it is not likely that he would have brought a witness when heintended to commit the theft. "

"Well reasoned, Fanferlot. But on this supposition the banker would beequally innocent: reflect a little. "

Fanferlot reflected, and all of his animation vanished. 

"You are right, " he said in a despairing tone. "What can be done now?"

"Look for the third rogue, or rather the real rogue, the one who openedthe safe, and stole the notes, and who is still at large, while othersare suspected. "

"Impossible, patron--impossible! Don't you know that M. Fauvel and hiscashier had keys, and they only? And they always kept these keys intheir pockets. "

"On the evening of the robbery the banker left his key in thesecretary. "

"Yes; but the key alone was not sufficient to open the safe; the wordalso must be known. "

M. Lecoq shrugged his shoulders impatiently. 

"What was the word?" he asked. 

"Gypsy. "

"Which is the name of the cashier's grisette. Now keep your eyes open. The day you find a man sufficiently intimate with Prosper to be aware ofall the circumstances connected with this name, and at the same time ona footing with the Fauvel family which would give him the privilegeof entering M. Fauvel's chamber, then, and not until then, will youdiscover the guilty party. On that day the problem will be solved. "

Self-sufficient and vain, like all famous men, M. Lecoq had never had apupil, and never wished to have one. He worked alone, because he hatedassistants, wishing to share neither the pleasures of success nor thepain of defeat. 

Thus Fanferlot, who knew his patron's character, was surprised to hearhim giving advice, who heretofore had only given orders. 

He was so puzzled, that in spite of his pre-occupation he could not helpbetraying his surprise. 

"Patron, " he ventured to say, "you seem to take a great interest in thisaffair, you have so deeply studied it. "

M. Lecoq started nervously, and replied, frowning:

"You are too curious, Master Squirrel; be careful that you do not go toofar. Do you understand?"

Fanferlot began to apologize. 

"That will do, " interrupted M. Lecoq. "If I choose to lend you a helpinghand, it is because it suits my fancy to do so. It pleases me to be thehead, and let you be the hand. Unassisted, with your preconceived ideas, you never would have found the culprit; if we two together don't findhim, my name is not Lecoq. "

"We shall certainly succeed if you interest yourself in the case. "

"Yes, I am interested in it, and during the last four days I havediscovered many important facts. But listen to me. I have reasons fornot appearing in this affair. No matter what happens, I forbid yourmentioning my name. If we succeed, all the success must be attributedto you. And, above all, don't try to find out what I choose to keep fromyou. Be satisfied with what explanations I give you. Now, be careful. "

These conditions seemed quite to suit Fanferlot. 

"I will obey your instructions, and be discreet. "

"I shall rely upon you. Now, to begin, you must carry this photographto the judge of instruction. I know M. Patrigent is much perplexed aboutthis case. Explain to him, as if it were your own discovery, what I havejust shown you; repeat for his benefit the scene we have acted, and I amconvinced that this evidence will determine him to release the cashier. Prosper must be at liberty before I can commence my operations. "

"Of course, patron, but must I let him know that I suspect anyonebesides the banker or cashier?"

"Certainly. Justice must not be kept in ignorance of your intention offollowing up this affair. M. Patrigent will tell you to watch Prosper;you will reply that you will not lose sight of him. I myself will answerfor his being in safe-keeping. "

"Suppose he asks me about Gypsy?"

M. Lecoq hesitated for a moment. 

"Tell him, " he finally said, "that you persuaded her, in the interestof Prosper, to live in a house where she can watch someone whom yoususpect. "

Fanferlot was joyously picking up his hat to go, when M. Lecoq checkedhim by waving his hand, and said:

"I have not finished. Do you know how to drive a carriage and managehorses?"

"Why, patron, can you ask this of a man who used to be a rider in theBouthor Circus?"

"Very well. As soon as the judge dismisses you, return home immediately, make yourself a wig and the complete dress of a valet; and, havingdressed yourself, take this letter to the Agency on Delorme Street. "

"But, patron--"

"There must be no but, my friend; the agent will send you to M. De Clameran, who is looking for a valet, his man having left himyesterday. "

"Excuse me if I venture to suggest that you are making a mistake. ThisClameran is not the cashier's friend. "

"Why do you always interrupt me?" said M. Lecoq imperiously. "Do what Itell you, and don't disturb your mind about the rest. Clameran is not afriend of Prosper's, I know; but he is the friend and protector ofRaoul de Lagors. Why so? Whence the intimacy of these two men of suchdifferent ages? That is what I must find out. I must also find out whothis forge-master is who lives in Paris, and never goes to attend tohis furnaces. A jolly fellow, who takes it into his head to live at theHotel du Louvre, in the midst of a tumultuous, ever-changing crowd, isa fellow difficult to watch. Through you I will have an eye upon him. Hehas a carriage, you are to drive it; and you will soon be able to giveme an account of his manner of life, and of the sort of people with whomhe associates. "

"You shall be obeyed, patron. "

"Another thing. M. De Clameran is irritable and suspicious. You will bepresented to him under the name of Joseph Dubois. He will demand yourcertificate of good character. Here are three, which state that you havelived with the Marquis de Sairmeuse and the Count de Commarin, and thatyou have just left the Baron de Wortschen, who went to Germany the otherday. Now keep your eyes open; be careful of your dress and manners. Be polite, but not excessively so. And, above all things, don't beobsequious; it might arouse suspicion. "

"I understand, patron. Where shall I report to you?"

"I will call on you every day. Until I tell you differently, don't stepfoot in this house; you might be followed. If anything important shouldhappen, send a note to your wife, and she will inform me. Go, and beprudent. "

The door closed on Fanferlot as M. Lecoq passed into his bedroom. 

In the twinkling of an eye he had divested himself of the appearance ofa police officer. He took off his stiff cravat and gold spectacles, andremoved the close wig from his thick black hair. The official Lecoq haddisappeared, leaving in his place the genuine Lecoq whom nobody knew--ahandsome young man, with a bold, determined manner, and brilliant, piercing eyes. 

But he only remained himself for an instant. Seated before adressing-table covered with more cosmetics, paints, perfumes, falsehair, and other unmentionable shams, than are to be found on thetoilet-tables of our modern belles, he began to undo the work of nature, and make himself a new face. 

He worked slowly, handling his brushes with great care. But in an hourhe had accomplished one of his daily masterpieces. When he had finished, he was no longer Lecoq: he was the large gentleman with red whiskers, whom Fanferlot had failed to recognize. 

"Well, " he said, casting a last look in the mirror, "I have forgottennothing: I have left nothing to chance. All my plans are fixed; and Ishall make some progress to-day, provided the Squirrel does not wastetime. "

But Fanferlot was too happy to waste a minute. He did not run, he flew, toward the Palais de Justice. 

At last he was now able to convince someone that he, Fanferlot, was aman of wonderful perspicacity. 

As to acknowledging that he was about to obtain a triumph with the ideasof another man, he never thought of it. It is generally in perfect goodfaith that the jackdaw struts in the peacock's feathers. 

His hopes were not deceived. If the judge was not absolutely andfully convinced, he admired the ingenuity and shrewdness of the wholeproceeding, and complimented the proud jackdaw upon his brilliancy. 

"This decides me, " he said, as he dismissed Fanferlot. "I will make outa favorable report to-day; and it is highly probable that the accusedwill be released to-morrow. "

He began at once to write out one of these terrible decisions of "Notproven, " which restores liberty, but not honor, to the accused man;which says that he is not guilty, but does not say he is innocent. 

"Whereas there do not exist sufficient charges against the accused, Prosper Bertomy, in pursuance of Article 128 of the Criminal Code, we hereby declare that we find no grounds for prosecution against theaforesaid prisoner at this present time; and we order that he shall bereleased from the prison where he is confined, and set at liberty by thejailer, " etc. 

"Well, " he said to the clerk, "here is another one of those crimeswhich justice cannot clear up. The mystery remains to be solved. This isanother file to be stowed away among the archives of the record-office. "

And with his own hand he wrote on the cover of the bundle of papersrelating to Prosper's case, the number of the package, File No. 113. 

VII

Prosper had been languishing in his private cell for nine days, when onThursday morning the jailer came to inform him of the judge's decision. He was conducted before the officer who had searched him when he wasarrested; and the contents of his pocket, his watch, penknife, andseveral little pieces of jewelry, were restored to him; then he was toldto sign a large sheet of paper, which he did. 

He was next led across a dark passage, and almost pushed through a door, which was abruptly shut upon him. 

He found himself on the quay: he was alone; he was free. 

Free! Justice had confessed her inability to convict him of the crime ofwhich he was accused. 

Free! He could walk about, he could breathe the pure air; but every doorwould be closed against him. 

Only acquittal after due trial would restore him to his former positionamong men. 

A decision of "Not proven" had left him covered with suspicion. 

The torments inflicted by public opinion are more fearful than thosesuffered in a prison cell. 

At the moment of his restoration to liberty, Prosper so cruelly sufferedfrom the horror of his situation, that he could not repress a cry ofrage and despair. 

"I am innocent! God knows I am innocent!" he cried out. But of what usewas his anger?

Two strangers, who were passing, stopped to look at him, and said, pityingly, "He is crazy. "

The Seine was at his feet. A thought of suicide crossed his mind. 

"No, " he said, "no! I have not even the right to kill myself. No: I willnot die until I have vindicated my innocence!"

Often, day and night, had Prosper repeated these words, as he walkedhis cell. With a heart filled with a bitter, determined thirst forvengeance, which gives a man the force and patience to destroy orwear out all obstacles in his way, he would say, "Oh! why am I not atliberty? I am helpless, caged up; but let me once be free!"

Now he was free; and, for the first time, he saw the difficulties of thetask before him. For each crime, justice requires a criminal: he couldnot establish his own innocence without producing the guilty man; howfind the thief so as to hand him over to the law?

Discouraged, but not despondent, he turned in the direction of hisapartments. He was beset by a thousand anxieties. What had taken placeduring the nine days that he had been cut off from all intercourse withhis friends? No news of them had reached him. He had heard no more ofwhat was going on in the outside world, than if his secret cell had beena grave. 

He slowly walked along the streets, with his eyes cast down dreading tomeet some familiar face. He, who had always been so haughty, would nowbe pointed at with the finger of scorn. He would be greeted with coldlooks and averted faces. Men would refuse to shake hands with him. Hewould be shunned by honest people, who have no patience with a thief. 

Still, if he could count on only one true friend! Yes: he was sure ofone. But what friend would believe him when his father, who should havebeen the last to suspect him, had refused to believe him?

In the midst of his sufferings, when he felt almost overwhelmed by thesense of his wretched, lonely condition, he thought of Gypsy. 

He had never loved the poor girl: indeed, at times he almost hated her;but now he felt a longing to see her. He wished to be with her, becausehe knew that she loved him, and that nothing would make her believe himguilty; because he knew that a woman remains true and firm in her faith, and is always faithful in the hour of adversity, although she sometimesfails in prosperity. 

On entering the Rue Chaptal, Prosper saw his own door, but hesitated toenter it. 

He suffered from the timidity which an honest man always feels when heknows he is viewed with suspicion. 

He dreaded meeting anyone whom he knew; yet he could not remain in thestreet. He entered. 

When the porter saw him, he uttered an exclamation of glad surprise, andsaid:

"Ah, here you are at last, monsieur. I told everyone you would come outas white as snow; and, when I read in the papers that you were arrestedfor robbery, I said, 'My third-floor lodger a thief! Never would Ibelieve such a thing, never!'"

The congratulations of this ignorant man were sincere, and offered frompure kindness of heart; but they impressed Prosper painfully, and he cutthem short by abruptly asking:

"Madame of course has left: can you tell me where she has gone?"

"Dear me, no, monsieur. The day of your arrest, she sent for a hack, gotinto it with her trunks, and disappeared; and no one has seen or heardof her since. "

This was another blow to the unhappy cashier. 

"And where are my servants?"

"Gone, monsieur; your father paid and discharged them. "

"I suppose you have my keys?"

"No, monsieur; when your father left here this morning at eight o'clock, he told me that a friend of his would take charge of your rooms untilyou should return. Of course you know who he is--a stout gentleman withred whiskers. "

Prosper was stupefied. What could be the meaning of one of his father'sfriends being in his rooms? He did not, however, betray any surprise, but quietly said:

"Yes: I know who it is. "

He quickly ran up the stairs, and knocked at his door. 

It was opened by his father's friend. 

He had been accurately described by the porter. A fat man, with a redface, sensual lips, brilliant eyes, and of rather coarse manners, stoodbowing to Prosper, who had never seen him before. 

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, monsieur, " said he to Prosper. 

He seemed to be perfectly at home. On the table lay a book, which he hadtaken from the bookcase; and he appeared ready to do the honors of thehouse. 

"I must say, monsieur, " began Prosper. 

"That you are surprised to find me here? So I suppose. Your fatherintended introducing me to you; but he was compelled to return toBeaucaire this morning; and let me add that he departed thoroughlyconvinced, as I myself am, that you never took a cent from M. Fauvel. "

At this unexpected good news, Prosper's face lit up with pleasure. 

"Here is a letter from your father, which I hope will serve as anintroduction between us. "

Prosper opened the letter; and as he read his eyes grew brighter, and aslight color returned to his pale face. 

When he had finished, he held out his hand to the large gentleman, andsaid:

"My father, monsieur, tells me you are his best friend; he advises me tohave absolute confidence in you, and follow your counsel. "

"Exactly. This morning your father said to me, 'Verduret'--that is myname--'Verduret, my son is in great trouble, he must be helped out. ' Ireplied, 'I am ready, ' and here I am to help you. Now the ice is broken, is it not? Then let us go to work at once. What do you intend to do?"

This question revived Prosper's slumbering rage. His eyes flashed. 

"What do I intend to do?" he said, angrily: "what should I do but seekthe villain who has ruined me?"

"So I supposed; but have you any hopes of success?"

"None; yet I shall succeed, because, when a man devotes his whole lifeto the accomplishment of an object, he is certain to achieve it. "

"Well said, M. Prosper; and, to be frank, I fully expected that thiswould be your purpose. I have therefore already begun to think andact for you. I have a plan. In the first place, you will sell thisfurniture, and disappear from the neighborhood. "

"Disappear!" cried Prosper, indignantly, "disappear! Why, monsieur?Do you not see that such a step would be a confession of guilt, wouldauthorize the world to say that I am hiding so as to enjoy undisturbedthe stolen fortune?"

"Well, what then?" said the man with the red whiskers; "did you not sayjust now the sacrifice of your life is made? The skilful swimmer throwninto the river by malefactors is careful not to rise to the surfaceimmediately: on the contrary, he plunges beneath, and remains there aslong as his breath holds out. He comes up again at a great distance, andlands out of sight; then, when he is supposed to be dead, lost foreverto the sight of man, he rises up and has his vengeance. You have anenemy? Some petty imprudence will betray him. But, while he sees youstanding by on the watch, he will be on his guard. "

It was with a sort of amazed submission that Prosper listened to thisman, who, though a friend of his father, was an utter stranger tohimself. 

He submitted unconsciously to the ascendency of a nature so much moreenergetic and forcible than his own. In his helpless condition he wasgrateful for friendly assistance, and said:

"I will follow your advice, monsieur. "

"I was sure you would, my dear friend. Let us reflect upon the courseyou should pursue. And remember that you will need every cent of theproceeds of the sale. Have you any ready money? no, but you must havesome. Knowing that you would need it at once, I brought an upholstererhere; and he will give twelve thousand francs for everything exceptingthe pictures. "

The cashier could not refrain from shrugging his shoulders, which M. Verduret observed. 

"Well, " said he, "it is rather hard, I admit, but it is a necessity. Nowlisten: you are the invalid, and I am the doctor charged to cure you;if I cut to the quick, you will have to endure it. It is the only way tosave you. "

"Cut away then, monsieur, " answered Prosper. 

"Well, we will hurry, for time passes. You have a friend, M. De Lagors?"

"Raoul? Yes, monsieur, he is an intimate friend. "

"Now tell me, who is this fellow?"

The term "fellow" seemed to offend Prosper. 

"M. De Lagors, monsieur, " he said, haughtily, "is M. Fauvel's nephew; heis a wealthy young man, handsome, intelligent, cultivated, and the bestfriend I have. "

"Hum!" said M. Verduret, "I shall be delighted to make the acquaintanceof one adorned by so many charming qualities. I must let you know that Iwrote him a note in your name asking him to come here, and he sent wordthat he would be here directly. "

"What! do you suppose--"

"Oh, I suppose nothing! Only I must see this young man. Also, I havearranged and will submit to you a little plan of conversation--"

A ring at the front door interrupted M. Verduret. 

"Sacrebleu! adieu to my plan; here he is! Where can I hide so as to hearand see?"

"There, in my bedroom; leave the door open and the curtain down. "

A second ring was heard. 

"Now remember, Prosper, " said M. Verduret in a warning tone, "notone word to this man about your plans, or about me. Pretend to bediscouraged, helpless, and undecided what to do. "

And he disappeared behind the curtain, as Prosper ran to open the door. 

Prosper's portrait of M. De Lagors had not been an exaggerated one. So handsome a face and manly a figure could belong only to a noblecharacter. 

Although Raoul said that he was twenty-four, he appeared to be not morethan twenty. He had a superb figure, well knit and supple; a beautifulwhite brow, shaded by soft chestnut curly hair, soft blue eyes whichbeamed with frankness. 

His first impulse was to throw himself into Prosper's arms. 

"My poor, dear friend!" he said, "my poor Prosper!"

But beneath these affectionate demonstrations there was a certainconstraint, which, if it escaped the cashier, was noticed by M. Verduret. 

"Your letter, my dear Prosper, " said Raoul, "made me almost ill, I wasso frightened by it. I asked myself if you could have lost your mind. Then I left everything, to fly to your assistance; and here I am. "

Prosper did not seem to hear him; he was pre-occupied about the letterwhich he had not written. What were its contents? Who was this strangerwhose assistance he had accepted?

"You must not feel discouraged, " continued M. De Lagors: "you are youngenough to commence life anew. Your friends are still left to you. I havecome to say to you, Rely upon me; I am rich, half of my fortune is atyour disposal. "

This generous offer, made at a moment like this with such franksimplicity, deeply touched Prosper. 

"Thanks, Raoul, " he said with emotion, "thank you! But unfortunately allthe money in the world would be of no use now. "

"Why so? What are you going to do? Do you propose to remain in Paris?"

"I know not, Raoul. I have made no plans yet. My mind is too confusedfor me to think. "

"I will tell you what to do, " replied Raoul quickly, "you must startafresh; until this mysterious robbery is explained you must keep awayfrom Paris. It will never do for you to remain here. "

"And suppose it never should be explained?"

"Only the more reason for your remaining in oblivion. I have beentalking about you to Clameran. 'If I were in Prosper's place, ' he said, 'I would turn everything into money, and embark for America; there Iwould make a fortune, and return to crush with my millions those whohave suspected me. '"

This advice offended Prosper's pride, but he said nothing. He wasthinking of what the stranger had said to him. 

"I will think it over, " he finally forced himself to say. "I will see. Iwould like to know what M. Fauvel says. "

"My uncle? I suppose you know that I have declined the offer he made meto enter his banking-house, and we have almost quarrelled. I have notset foot in his house for over a month; but I hear of him occasionally. "

"Through whom?"

"Through your friend Cavaillon. My uncle, they say, is more distressedby this affair than you are. He does not attend to his business, andwanders about as if he had lost every friend on earth. "

"And Mme. Fauvel, and"--Prosper hesitated--"and Mlle. Madeleine, how arethey?"

"Oh, " said Raoul lightly, "my aunt is as pious as ever; she has masssaid for the benefit of the sinner. As to my handsome, icy cousin, shecannot bring herself down to common matters, because she is entirelyabsorbed in preparing for the fancy ball to be given day after to-morrowby MM. Jandidier. She has discovered, so one of her friends told me, awonderful dressmaker, a stranger who has suddenly appeared from no oneknows where, who is making a costume of Catherine de Medici's maid ofhonor; and it is to be a marvel of beauty. "

Excessive suffering brings with it a sort of dull insensibility andstupor; and Prosper thought that there was nothing left to be inflictedupon him, and had reached that state of impassibility from which henever expected to be aroused, when this last remark of M. De Lagors madehim cry out with pain:

"Madeleine! Oh, Madeleine!"

M. De Lagors, pretending not to have heard him, rose from his chair, andsaid:

"I must leave you now, my dear Prosper; on Saturday I will see theseladies at the ball, and will bring you news of them. Now, do havecourage, and remember that, whatever happens, you have a friend in me. "

Raoul shook Prosper's hand, closed the door after him, and hurriedup the street, leaving Prosper standing immovable and overcome bydisappointment. 

He was aroused from his gloomy revery by hearing the red-whiskered mansay, in a bantering tone:

"So these are your friends. "

"Yes, " said Prosper with bitterness. "You heard him offer me half hisfortune?"

M. Verduret shrugged his shoulders with an air of compassion. 

"That was very stingy on his part, " he said, "why did he not offer thewhole? Offers cost nothing; although I have no doubt that this sweetyouth would cheerfully give ten thousand francs to put the ocean betweenyou and him. "

"Monsieur! what reason?"

"Who knows? Perhaps for the same reason that he had not set foot in hisuncle's house for a month. "

"But that is the truth, monsieur, I am sure of it. "

"Naturally, " said M. Verduret with a provoking smile. "But, " hecontinued with a serious air, "we have devoted enough time to thisAdonis. Now, be good enough to change your dress, and we will go andcall on M. Fauvel. "

This proposal seemed to stir up all of Prosper's anger. 

"Never!" he exclaimed with excitement, "no, never will I voluntarily seteyes on that wretch!"

This resistance did not surprise M. Verduret. 

"I can understand your feelings toward him, " said he, "but at the sametime I hope you will change your mind. For the same reason that I wishedto see M. De Lagors, do I wish to see M. Fauvel; it is necessary, youunderstand. Are you so very weak that you cannot put a constraint uponyourself for five minutes? I shall introduce myself as one of yourrelatives, and you need not open your lips. "

"If it is positively necessary, " said Prosper, "if--"

"It is necessary; so come on. You must have confidence, put on a braveface. Hurry and fix yourself up a little; it is getting late, and I amhungry. We will breakfast on our way there. "

Prosper had hardly passed into his bedroom when the bell rang again. M. Verduret opened the door. It was the porter, who handed him a thickletter, and said:

"This letter was left this morning for M. Bertomy; I was so flusteredwhen he came that I forgot to hand it to him. It is a very odd-lookingletter; is it not, monsieur?"

It was indeed a most peculiar missive. The address was not written, butformed of printed letters, carefully cut from a book, and pasted on theenvelope. 

"Oh, ho! what is this?" cried M. Verduret; then turning toward theporter he cried, "Wait. "

He went into the next room, and closed the door behind him; there hefound Prosper, anxious to know what was going on. 

"Here is a letter for you, " said M. Verduret. 

He at once tore open the envelope. 

Some bank-notes dropped out; he counted them; there were ten. 

Prosper's face turned purple. 

"What does this mean?" he asked. 

"We will read the letter and find out, " replied M. Verduret. 

The letter, like the address, was composed of printed words cut out andpasted on a sheet of paper. 

It was short but explicit:

"MY DEAR PROSPER--A friend, who knows the horror of your situation, sends you this succor. There is one heart, be assured, that shares yoursufferings. Go away; leave France; you are young; the future is beforeyou. Go, and may this money bring you happiness!"

As M. Verduret read the note, Prosper's rage increased. He was angry andperplexed, for he could not explain the rapidly succeeding events whichwere so calculated to mystify his already confused brain. 

"Everybody wishes me to go away, " he cried; "then there must be aconspiracy against me. "

M. Verduret smiled with satisfaction. 

"At last you begin to open your eyes, you begin to understand. Yes, there are people who hate you because of the wrong they have done you;there are people to whom your presence in Paris is a constant danger, and who will not feel safe till they are rid of you. "

"But who are these people, monsieur? Tell me, who dares send thismoney?"

"If I knew, my dear Prosper, my task would be at an end, for then Iwould know who committed the robbery. But we will continue our searches. I have finally procured evidence which will sooner or later becomeconvincing proof. I have heretofore only made deductions more or lessprobable; I now possess knowledge which proves that I was not mistaken. I walked in darkness: now I have a light to guide me. "

As Prosper listened to M. Verduret's reassuring words, he felt hopearising in his breast. 

"Now, " said M. Verduret, "we must take advantage of this evidence, gained by the imprudence of our enemies, without delay. We will beginwith the porter. "

He opened the door and called out:

"I say, my good man, step here a moment. "

The porter entered, looking very much surprised at the authorityexercised over his lodger by this stranger. 

"Who gave you this letter?" said M. Verduret. 

"A messenger, who said he was paid for bringing it. "

"Do you know him?"

"I know him well; he is the errand-runner who keeps his cart at thecorner of the Rue Pigalle. "

"Go and bring him here. "

After the porter had gone, M. Verduret drew from his pocket his diary, and compared a page of it with the notes which he had spread over thetable. 

"These notes were not sent by the thief, " he said, after an attentiveexamination of them. 

"Do you think so, monsieur?"

"I am certain of it; that is, unless the thief is endowed withextraordinary penetration and forethought. One thing is certain: theseten thousand francs are not part of the three hundred and fifty thousandwhich were stolen from the safe. "

"Yet, " said Prosper, who could not account for this certainty on thepart of his protector, "yet----"

"There is no doubt about it: I have the numbers of all the stolennotes. "

"What! When even I did not have them?"

"But the bank did, fortunately. When we undertake an affair we mustanticipate everything, and forget nothing. It is a poor excuse for aman to say, 'I did not think of it' when he commits some oversight. Ithought of the bank. "

If, in the beginning, Prosper had felt some repugnance about confidingin his father's friend, the feeling had now disappeared. 

He understood that alone, scarcely master of himself, governed onlyby the inspirations of inexperience, never would he have the patientperspicacity of this singular man. 

Verduret continued talking to himself, as if he had absolutely forgottenProsper's presence:

"Then, as this package did not come from the thief, it can only comefrom the other person, who was near the safe at the time of the robbery, but could not prevent it, and now feels remorse. The probability oftwo persons assisting at the robbery, a probability suggested by thescratch, is now converted into undeniable certainty. _Ergo_, I wasright. "

Prosper listening attentively tried hard to comprehend this monologue, which he dared not interrupt. 

"Let us seek, " went on the fat man, "this second person, whoseconscience pricks him, and yet who dares not reveal anything. "

He read the letter over several times, scanning the sentences, andweighing every word. 

"Evidently this letter was composed by a woman, " he finally said. "Neverwould one man doing another man a service, and sending him money, usethe word 'succor. ' A man would have said, loan, money, or some otherequivalent, but succor, never. No one but a woman, ignorant of masculinesusceptibilities, would have naturally made use of this word to expressthe idea it represents. As to the sentence, 'There is one heart, ' and soon, it could only have been written by a woman. "

"You are mistaken, monsieur, " said Prosper: "no woman is mixed up inthis affair. "

M. Verduret paid no attention to this interruption, perhaps he did nothear it; perhaps he did not care to argue the matter. 

"Now, let us see if we can discover whence the printed words were takento compose this letter. "

He approached the window, and began to study the pasted words with allthe scrupulous attention which an antiquarian would devote to an old, half-effaced manuscript. 

"Small type, " he said, "very slender and clear; the paper is thin andglossy. Consequently, these words have not been cut from a newspaper, magazine, or even a novel. I have seen type like this, I recognize it atonce; Didot often uses it, so does Mme. De Tours. "

He stopped with his mouth open, and eyes fixed, appealing laboriously tohis memory. 

Suddenly he struck his forehead exultantly. 

"Now I have it!" he cried; "now I have it! Why did I not see it atonce? These words have all been cut from a prayer-book. We will look, atleast, and then we shall be certain. "

He moistened one of the words pasted on the paper with his tongue, and, when it was sufficiently softened, he detached it with a pin. On theother side of this word was printed a Latin word, _Deus_. 

"Ah, ha, " he said with a little laugh of satisfaction. "I knew it. Father Taberet would be pleased to see this. But what has become ofthe mutilated prayer-book? Can it have been burned? No, because aheavy-bound book is not easily burned. It is thrown in some corner. "

M. Verduret was interrupted by the porter, who returned with themessenger from the Rue Pigalle. 

"Ah, here you are, " he said encouragingly. Then he showed the envelopeof the letter, and said:

"Do you remember bringing this letter here this morning?"

"Perfectly, monsieur. I took particular notice of the direction; wedon't often see anything like it. "

"Who told you to bring it? a gentleman, or a lady?"

"Neither, monsieur; it was a porter. "

This reply made the porter laugh very much, but not a muscle of M. Verduret's face moved. 

"A porter? Well, do you know this colleague of yours. "

"I never even saw him before. "

"How does he look?"

"He was neither tall nor short; he wore a green vest, and his medal. "

"Your description is so vague that it would suit every porter in thecity; but did your colleague tell you who sent the letter?"

"No, monsieur. He only put ten sous in my hand, and said, 'Here, carrythis to No. 39, Rue Chaptal: a coachman on the boulevard handed it tome. ' Ten sous! I warrant you he made more than that by it. "

This answer seemed to disconcert M. Verduret. So many precautions takenin sending the letter disturbed him, and disarranged his plans. 

"Do you think you would recognize the porter again?"

"Yes, monsieur, if I saw him. "

"How much do you gain a day as a porter?"

"I can't tell exactly; but my corner is a good stand, and I am busydoing errands nearly all day. I suppose I make from eight to tenfrancs. "

"Very well; I will give you ten francs a day if you will walk about thestreets, and look for the porter who brought this letter. Every evening, at eight o'clock, come to the Archangel, on the Quai Saint Michel, giveme a report of your search, and receive your pay. Ask for M. Verduret. If you find the man I will give you fifty francs. Do you accept?"

"I rather think I will, monsieur. "

"Then don't lose a minute. Start off!"

Although ignorant of M. Verduret's plans, Prosper began to comprehendthe sense of his investigations. His fate depended upon their success, and yet he almost forgot this fact in his admiration of this singularman; for his energy, his bantering coolness when he wished to discoveranything, the surety of his deductions, the fertility of his expedients, and the rapidity of his movements, were astonishing. 

"Monsieur, " said Prosper when the porter had left the room, "do youstill think you see a woman's hand in this affair?"

"More than ever; and a pious woman too, and a woman who has twoprayer-books, since she could cut up one to write to you. "

"And you hope to find the mutilated book?"

"I do, thanks to the opportunity I have of making an immediate search;which I will set about at once. "

Saying this, he sat down, and rapidly scratched off a few lines on aslip of paper, which he folded up, and put in his vest-pocket. 

"Are you ready to go to M. Fauvel's? Yes? Come on, then; we havecertainly earned our breakfast to-day. "

VIII

When Raoul de Lagors spoke of M. Fauvel's extraordinary dejection, hehad not exaggerated. 

Since the fatal day when, upon his denunciation, his cashier had beenarrested, the banker, this active, energetic man of business, had beena prey to the most gloomy melancholy, and absolutely refused to take anyinterest in his affairs, seldom entering the banking-house. 

He, who had always been so domestic, never came near his family exceptat meals, when he would swallow a few mouthfuls, and hastily leave theroom. 

Shut up in his study, he would deny himself to visitors. His anxiouscountenance, his indifference to everybody and everything, his constantreveries and fits of abstraction, betrayed the preoccupation of somefixed idea, or the tyrannical empire of some hidden sorrow. 

The day of Prosper's release, about three o'clock, M. Fauvel was, asusual, seated in his study, with his elbows resting on the table, andhis face buried in his hands, when his office-boy rushed in, and with afrightened look said:

"Monsieur, the former cashier, M. Bertomy, is here with one of hisrelatives; he says he must see you on business. "

The banker at these words started up as if he had been shot. 

"Prosper!" he cried in a voice choked by anger, "what! does he dare--"

Then remembering that he ought to control himself before his servant, hewaited a few moments, and then said, in a tone of forced calmness:

"Ask them to walk in. "

If M. Verduret had counted upon witnessing a strange and affectingsight, he was not disappointed. 

Nothing could be more terrible than the attitude of these two men asthey stood confronting each other. The banker's face was almost purplewith suppressed anger, and he looked as if about to be struck byapoplexy. Prosper was as pale and motionless as a corpse. 

Silent and immovable, they stood glaring at each other with mortalhatred. 

M. Verduret curiously watched these two enemies, with the indifferenceand coolness of a philosopher, who, in the most violent outbursts ofhuman passion, merely sees subjects for meditation and study. 

Finally, the silence becoming more and more threatening, he decided tobreak it by speaking to the banker:

"I suppose you know, monsieur, that my young relative has just beenreleased from prison. "

"Yes, " replied M. Fauvel, making an effort to control himself, "yes, forwant of sufficient proof. "

"Exactly so, monsieur, and this want of proof, as stated in the decisionof 'Not proven, ' ruins the prospects of my relative, and compels him toleave here at once for America. "

M. Fauvel's features relaxed as if he had been relieved of some fearfulagony. 

"Ah, he is going away, " he said, "he is going abroad. "

There was no mistaking the resentful, almost insulting intonation of thewords, "going away!"

M. Verduret took no notice of M. Fauvel's manner. 

"It appears to me, " he continued, in an easy tone, "that Prosper'sdetermination is a wise one. I merely wished him, before leaving Paris, to come and pay his respects to his former chief. "

The banker smiled bitterly. 

"M. Bertomy might have spared us both this painful meeting. I havenothing to say to him, and of course he can have nothing to tell me. "

This was a formal dismissal; and M. Verduret, understanding it thus, bowed to M. Fauvel, and left the room, accompanied by Prosper, who hadnot opened his lips. 

They had reached the street before Prosper recovered the use of histongue. 

"I hope you are satisfied, monsieur, " he said, in a gloomy tone; "youexacted this painful step, and I could only acquiesce. Have I gainedanything by adding this humiliation to the others which I havesuffered?"

"You have not, but I have, " replied M. Verduret. "I could find no way ofgaining access to M. Fauvel, save through you; and now I have found outwhat I wanted to know. I am convinced that M. Fauvel had nothing to dowith the robbery. "

"Oh, monsieur!" objected Prosper, "innocence can be feigned. "

"Certainly, but not to this extent. And this is not all. I wished tofind out if M. Fauvel would be accessible to certain suspicions. I amnow confident that he is. "

Prosper and his companion had stopped to talk more at their ease, nearthe corner of the Rue Lafitte, in the middle of a large space which hadlately been cleared by pulling down an old house. 

M. Verduret seemed to be anxious, and was constantly looking around asif he expected someone. 

He soon uttered an exclamation of satisfaction. 

At the other end of the vacant space, he saw Cavaillon, who wasbareheaded and running. 

He was so excited that he did not even stop to shake hands with Prosper, but darted up to M. Verduret, and said:

"They have gone, monsieur!"

"How long since?"

"They went about a quarter of an hour ago. "

"The deuce they did! Then we have not an instant to lose. "

He handed Cavaillon the note he had written some hours before atProsper's house. 

"Here, send him this, and then return at once to your desk; you might bemissed. It was very imprudent in you to come out without your hat. "

Cavaillon ran off as quickly as he had come. Prosper was stupefied. 

"What!" he exclaimed. "You know Cavaillon?"

"So it seems, " answered M. Verduret with a smile, "but we have no timeto talk; come on, hurry!"

"Where are we gong now?"

"You will soon know; walk fast!"

And he set the example by striding rapidly toward the Rue Lafayette. Asthey went along he continued talking more to himself than to Prosper. 

"Ah, " said he, "it is not by putting both feet in one shoe, that onewins a race. The track once found, we should never rest an instant. When the savage discovers the footprints of an enemy, he follows itpersistently, knowing that falling rain or a gust of wind may effacethe footprints at any moment. It is the same with us: the most triflingincident may destroy the traces we are following up. "

M. Verduret suddenly stopped before a door bearing the number 81. 

"We are going in here, " he said to Prosper; "come. "

They went up the steps, and stopped on the second floor, before a doorover which was a large sign, "Fashionable Dressmaker. "

A handsome bell-rope hung on the wall, but M. Verduret did not touch it. He tapped with the ends of his fingers in a peculiar way, and the doorinstantly opened as if someone had been watching for his signal on theother side. 

The door was opened by a neatly dressed woman of about forty. Shequietly ushered M. Verduret and Prosper into a neat dining-room withseveral doors opening into it. 

This woman bowed humbly to M. Verduret, as if he were some superiorbeing. 

He scarcely noticed her salutation, but questioned her with a look. Hislook said:

"Well?"

She bowed affirmatively:

"Yes. "

"In there?" asked M. Verduret in a low tone, pointing to one of thedoors. 

"No, " said the woman in the same tone, "over there, in the littleparlor. "

M. Verduret opened the door pointed out, and pushed Prosper into thelittle parlor, whispering, as he did so:

"Go in, and keep your presence of mind. "

But his injunction was useless. The instant he cast his eyes aroundthe room into which he had so unceremoniously been pushed without anywarning, Prosper exclaimed, in a startled voice:

"Madeleine!"

It was indeed M. Fauvel's niece, looking more beautiful than ever. Herswas that calm, dignified beauty which imposes admiration and respect. 

Standing in the middle of the room, near a table covered with silks andsatins, she was arranging a skirt of red velvet embroidered in gold;probably the dress she was to wear as maid of honor to Catherine deMedicis. 

At sight of Prosper, all the blood rushed to her face, and her beautifuleyes half closed, as if she were about to faint; she clung to the tableto prevent herself from falling. 

Prosper well knew that Madeleine was not one of those cold-hearted womenwhom nothing could disturb, and who feel sensations, but never a truesentiment. 

Of a tender, dreamy nature, she betrayed in the minute details of herlife the most exquisite delicacy. But she was also proud, and incapableof in any way violating her conscience. When duty spoke, she obeyed. 

She recovered from her momentary weakness, and the soft expression ofher eyes changed to one of haughty resentment. In an offended tone shesaid:

"What has emboldened you, monsieur, to be watching my movements? Whogave you permission to follow me, to enter this house?"

Prosper was certainly innocent. He would have given worlds to explainwhat had just happened, but he was powerless, and could only remainsilent. 

"You promised me upon your honor, monsieur, " continued Madeleine, "thatyou would never again seek my presence. Is this the way you keep yourword?"

"I did promise, mademoiselle, but----"

He stopped. 

"Oh, speak!"

"So many things have happened since that terrible day, that I think I amexcusable in forgetting, for one hour, an oath torn from me in a momentof blind weakness. It is to chance, at least to another will than myown, that I am indebted for the happiness of once more finding myselfnear you. Alas! the instant I saw you my heart bounded with joy. I didnot think, no I could not think, that you would prove more pitiless thanstrangers have been, that you would cast me off when I am so miserableand heart-broken. "

Had not Prosper been so agitated he could have read in the eyes ofMadeleine--those beautiful eyes which had so long been the arbiters ofhis destiny--the signs of a great inward struggle. 

It was, however, in a firm voice that she replied:

"You know me well enough, Prosper, to be sure than no blow can strikeyou without reaching me at the same time. You suffer, I suffer with you:I pity you as a sister would pity a beloved brother. "

"A sister!" said Prosper, bitterly. "Yes, that was the word you used theday you banished me from your presence. A sister! Then why during threeyears did you delude me with vain hopes? Was I a brother to you the daywe went to Notre Dame de Fourvieres, that day when, at the foot of thealtar, we swore to love each other for ever and ever, and you fastenedaround my neck a holy relic and said, 'Wear this always for my sake, never part from it, and it will bring you good fortune'?"

Madeleine attempted to interrupt him by a supplicating gesture: he wouldnot heed it, but continued with increased bitterness:

"One month after that happy day--a year ago--you gave me back mypromise, told me to consider myself free from any engagement, and neverto come near you again. If I could have discovered in what way I hadoffended you--But no, you refused to explain. You drove me away, and toobey you I told everyone that I had left you of my own accord. You toldme that an invincible obstacle had arisen between us, and I believedyou, fool that I was! The obstacle was your own heart, Madeleine. Ihave always worn the medal; but it has not brought me happiness or goodfortune. "

As white and motionless as a statue, Madeleine stood with bowed headbefore this storm of passionate reproach. 

"I told you to forget me, " she murmured. 

"Forget!" exclaimed Prosper, excitedly, "forget! Can I forget! Is it inmy power to stop, by an effort of will, the circulation of my blood? Ah, you have never loved! To forget, as to stop the beatings of the heart, there is but one means--death!"

This word, uttered with the fixed determination of a desperate, recklessman, caused Madeleine to shudder. 

"Miserable man!" she exclaimed. 

"Yes, miserable man, and a thousand times more miserable than you canimagine! You can never understand the tortures I have suffered, when fora year I would awake every morning, and say to myself, 'It is all over, she has ceased to love me!' This great sorrow stared me in the faceday and night in spite of all my efforts to dispel it. And you speak offorgetfulness! I sought it at the bottom of poisoned cups, but found itnot. I tried to extinguish this memory of the past, that tears my heartto shreds like a devouring flame; in vain. When the body succumbed, thepitiless heart kept watch. With this corroding torture making life aburden, do you wonder that I should seek rest which can only be obtainedby suicide?"

"I forbid you to utter that word. "

"You forget, Madeleine, that you have no right to forbid me, unless youlove me. Love would make you all powerful, and me obedient. "

With an imperious gesture Madeleine interrupted him as if she wished tospeak, and perhaps to explain all, to exculpate herself. 

But a sudden thought stopped her; she clasped her hands despairingly, and cried:

"My God! this suffering is beyond endurance!"

Prosper seemed to misconstrue her words. 

"Your pity comes too late, " he said. "There is no happiness in store forone like myself, who has had a glimpse of divine felicity, had thecup of bliss held to his lips, and then dashed to the ground. Thereis nothing left to attach me to life. You have destroyed my holiestbeliefs; I came forth from prison disgraced by my enemies; what is tobecome of me? Vainly do I question the future; for me there is no hopeof happiness. I look around me to see nothing but abandonment, ignominy, and despair!"

"Prosper, my brother, my friend, if you only knew----"

"I know but one thing, Madeleine, and that is, that you no longer loveme, and that I love you more madly than ever. Oh, Madeleine, God onlyknows how I love you!"

He was silent. He hoped for an answer. None came. 

But suddenly the silence was broken by a stifled sob. 

It was Madeleine's maid, who, seated in a corner, was weeping bitterly. 

Madeleine had forgotten her presence. 

Prosper had been so surprised at finding Madeleine when he enteredthe room, that he kept his eyes fastened upon her face, and never oncelooked about him to see if anyone else were present. 

He turned in surprise and looked at the weeping woman. 

He was not mistaken: this neatly dressed waiting-maid was Nina Gypsy. 

Prosper was so startled that he became perfectly dumb. He stood therewith ashy lips, and a chilly sensation creeping through his veins. 

The horror of the situation terrified him. He was there, between the twowomen who had ruled his fate; between Madeleine, the proud heiresswho spurned his love, and Nina Gypsy, the poor girl whose devotion tohimself he had so disdainfully rejected. 

And she had heard all; poor Gypsy had witnessed the passionate avowalof her lover, had heard him swear that he could never love any woman butMadeleine, that if his love were not reciprocated he would kill himself, as he had nothing else to live for. 

Prosper could judge of her sufferings by his own. For she was woundednot only in the present, but in the past. What must be her humiliationand danger on hearing the miserable part which Prosper, in hisdisappointed love, had imposed upon her?

He was astonished that Gypsy--violence itself--remained silentlyweeping, instead of rising and bitterly denouncing him. 

Meanwhile Madeleine had succeeded in recovering her usual calmness. 

Slowly and almost unconsciously she had put on her bonnet and shawl, which were lying on the sofa. 

Then she approached Prosper, and said:

"Why did you come here? We both have need of all the courage we cancommand. You are unhappy, Prosper; I am more than unhappy, I am mostwretched. You have a right to complain: I have not the right to shed atear. While my heart is slowly breaking, I must wear a smiling face. Youcan seek consolation in the bosom of a friend: I can have no confidantbut God. "

Prosper tried to murmur a reply, but his pale lips refused toarticulate; he was stifling. 

"I wish to tell you, " continued Madeleine, "that I have forgottennothing. But oh! let not this knowledge give you any hope; the futureis blank for us, but if you love me you will live. You will not, I know, add to my already heavy burden of sorrow, the agony of mourning yourdeath. For my sake, live; live the life of a good man, and perhaps theday will come when I can justify myself in your eyes. And now, oh, mybrother, oh, my only friend, adieu! adieu!"

She pressed a kiss upon his brow, and rushed from the room, followed byNina Gypsy. 

Prosper was alone. He seemed to be awaking from a troubled dream. Hetried to think over what had just happened, and asked himself if he werelosing his mind, or whether he had really spoken to Madeleine and seenGypsy?

He was obliged to attribute all this to the mysterious power of thestrange man whom he had seen for the first time that very morning. 

How did he gain this wonderful power of controlling events to suit hisown purposes?

He seemed to have anticipated everything, to know everything. He wasacquainted with Cavaillon, he knew all Madeleine's movements; he hadmade even Gypsy become humble and submissive. 

Thinking all this, Prosper had reached such a degree of exasperation, that when M. Verduret entered the little parlor, he strode toward himwhite with rage, and in a harsh, threatening voice, said to him:

"Who are you?"

The stout man did not show any surprise at this burst of anger, butquietly answered:

"A friend of your father's; did you not know it?"

"That is no answer, monsieur; I have been surprised into beinginfluenced by a stranger, and now--"

"Do you want my biography, what I have been, what I am, and what I maybe? What difference does it make to you? I told you that I would saveyou; the main point is that I am saving you. "

"Still I have the right to ask by what means you are saving me. "

"What good will it do you to know what my plans are?"

"In order to decide whether I will accept or reject them?"

"But suppose I guarantee success?"

"That is not sufficient, monsieur. I do not choose to be any longerdeprived of my own free will, to be exposed without warning to trialslike those I have undergone to-day. A man of my age must know what he isdoing. "

"A man of your age, Prosper, when he is blind, takes a guide, and doesnot undertake to point out the way to his leader. "

The half-bantering, half-commiserating tone of M. Verduret was notcalculated to calm Prosper's irritation. 

"That being the case, monsieur, " he cried, "I will thank you for yourpast services, and decline them for the future, as I have no need ofthem. If I attempted to defend my honor and my life, it was becauseI hoped that Madeleine would be restored to me. I have been convincedto-day that all is at an end between us; I retire from the struggle, andcare not what becomes of me now. "

Prosper was so decided, that M. Verduret seemed alarmed. 

"You must be mad, " he finally said. 

"No, unfortunately I am not. Madeleine has ceased to love me, and ofwhat importance is anything else?"

His heart-broken tone aroused M. Verduret's sympathy, and he said, in akind, soothing tone:

"Then you suspect nothing? You did not fathom the meaning of what shesaid?"

"You were listening, " cried Prosper fiercely. 

"I certainly was. "

"Monsieur!"

"Yes. It was a presumptuous thing to do, perhaps; but the end justifiedthe means in this instance. I am glad I did listen, because it hasenabled me to say to you, Take courage, Prosper: Mlle. Madeleine lovesyou; she has never ceased to love you. "

Like a dying man who eagerly listens to deceitful promises of recovery, although he feels himself sinking into the grave, did Prosper feel hissad heart cheered by M. Verduret's assertion. 

"Oh, " he murmured, suddenly calmed, "if only I could hope!"

"Rely upon me, I am not mistaken. Ah, I could see the torture endured bythis generous girl, while she struggled between her love, and what shebelieved to be her duty. Were you not convinced of her love when shebade you farewell?"

"She loves me, she is free, and yet she shuns me. "

"No, she is not free! In breaking off her engagement with you, shewas governed by some powerful, irrepressible event. She is sacrificingherself--for whom? We shall soon know; and the secret of herself-sacrifice will discover to us the secret of her plot against you. "

As M. Verduret spoke, Prosper felt all his resolutions of revolt slowlymelting away, and their place taken by confidence and hope. 

"If what you say were true!" he mournfully said. 

"Foolish young man! Why do you persist in obstinately shutting your eyesto the proof I place before you? Can you not see that Mlle. Madeleineknows who the thief is? Yes, you need not look so shocked; she knows thethief, but no human power can tear it from her. She sacrifices you, butthen she almost has the right, since she first sacrificed herself. "

Prosper was almost convinced; and it nearly broke his heart to leavethis little parlor where he had seen Madeleine. 

"Alas!" he said, pressing M. Verduret's hand, "you must think me aridiculous fool! but you don't know how I suffer. "

The man with the red whiskers sadly shook his head, and his voicesounded very unsteady as he replied, in a low tone:

"What you suffer, I have suffered. Like you, I loved, not a pure, noblegirl, yet a girl fair to look upon. For three years I was at her feet, a slave to her every whim; when, one day she suddenly deserted me whoadored her, to throw herself in the arms of a man who despised her. Then, like you, I wished to die. Neither threats nor entreaties couldinduce her to return to me. Passion never reasons, and she loved myrival. "

"And did you know this rival?"

"I knew him. "

"And you did not seek revenge?"

"No, " replied M. Verduret with a singular expression, "no: fate tookcharge of my vengeance. "

For a minute Prosper was silent; then he said:

"I have finally decided, monsieur. My honor is a sacred trust for whichI must account to my family. I am ready to follow you to the end of theworld; dispose of me as you judge proper. "

That same day Prosper, faithful to his promise, sold his furniture, andwrote a letter to his friends announcing his intended departure to SanFrancisco. 

In the evening he and M. Verduret installed themselves in the"Archangel. "

Mme. Alexandre gave Prosper her prettiest room, but it was very uglycompared with the coquettish little parlor on the Rue Chaptal. His stateof mind did not permit him, however, to notice the difference betweenhis former and present quarters. He lay on an old sofa, meditating uponthe events of the day, and feeling a bitter satisfaction in his isolatedcondition. 

About eleven o'clock he thought he would raise the window, and let thecool air fan his burning brow; as he did so a piece of paper was blownfrom among the folds of the window-curtain, and lay at his feet on thefloor. 

Prosper mechanically picked it up, and looked at it. 

It was covered with writing, the handwriting of Nina Gypsy; he could notbe mistaken about that. 

It was the fragment of a torn letter; and, if the half sentences did notconvey any clear meaning, they were sufficient to lead the mind into allsorts of conjectures. 

The fragment read as follows:

"of M. Raoul, I have been very im . . . Plotted against him, of whomnever . . . Warn Prosper, and then . . . Best friend. He . . . Hand ofMlle. Ma . . . "

Prosper never closed his eyes during that night. 

IX

Not far from the Palais Royal, in the Rue St. Honore, is the sign of "LaBonne Foi, " a small establishment, half cafe and half shop, extensivelypatronized by the people of the neighborhood. 

It was in the smoking-room of this modest cafe that Prosper, the dayafter his release, awaited M. Verduret, who had promised to meet him atfour o'clock. 

The clock struck four; M. Verduret, who was punctuality itself, appeared. He was more red-faced and self-satisfied, if possible, thanthe day before. 

As soon as the servant had left the room to obey his orders, he said toProsper:

"Well, are our commissions executed?"

"Yes, monsieur. "

"Have you seen the costumer?"

"I gave him your letter, and everything you ordered will be sent to theArchangel to-morrow. "

"Very good; you have not lost time, neither have I. I have good news foryou. "

The "Bonne Foi" is almost deserted at four o'clock. The hour for coffeeis passed, and the hour for absinthe has not yet come. M. Verduret andProsper could talk at their ease without fear of being overheard bygossiping neighbors. 

M. Verduret drew forth his memorandum-book, the precious diary which, like the enchanted book in the fairy-tale, had an answer for everyquestion. 

"While awaiting our emissaries whom I appointed to meet here, let usdevote a little time to M. De Lagors. "

At this name Prosper did not protest, as he had done the night previous. Like those imperceptible insects which, having once penetrated the rootof a tree, devour it in a single night, suspicion, when it invades ourmind, soon develops itself, and destroys our firmest beliefs. 

The visit of Lagors, and Gypsy's torn letter, had filled Prosper withsuspicions which had grown stronger and more settled as time passed. 

"Do you know, my dear friend, " said M. Verduret, "what part of Francethis devoted friend of yours comes from?"

"He was born at St. Remy, which is also Mme. Fauvel's native town. "

"Are you certain of that?"

"Oh, perfectly so, monsieur! He has not only often told me so, but Ihave heard him tell M. Fauvel; and he would talk to Mme. Fauvel by thehour about his mother, who was cousin to Mme. Fauvel, and dearly belovedby her. "

"Then you think there is no possible mistake or falsehood about thispart of his story?"

"None in the least, monsieur. "

"Well, things are assuming a queer look. "

And he began to whistle between his teeth; which, with M. Verduret, wasa sign of intense inward satisfaction. 

"What seems so, monsieur?" inquired Prosper. 

"What has just happened; what I have been tracing. Parbleu!" heexclaimed, imitating the manner of a showman at a fair, "here isa lovely town, called St. Remy, six thousand inhabitants; charmingboulevards on the site of the old fortifications; handsome hotel;numerous fountains; large charcoal market, silk factories, famoushospital, and so on. "

Prosper was on thorns. 

"Please be so good, monsieur, as to explain what you----"

"It also contains, " continued M. Verduret, "a Roman triumphal arch, which is of unparalleled beauty, and a Greek mausoleum; but no Lagors. St. Remy is the native town of Nostradamus, but not of your friend. "

"Yet I have proofs. "

"Naturally. But proofs can be fabricated; relatives can be improvised. Your evidence is open to suspicion. My proofs are undeniable, perfectlyauthenticated. While you were pining in prison, I was preparing mybatteries and collecting munition to open fire. I wrote to St. Remy, andreceived answers to my questions. "

"Will you let me know what they were?"

"Have patience, " said M. Verduret as he turned over the leaves ofhis memoranda. "Ah, here is number one. Bow respectfully to it, 'tisofficial. "

He then read:

"'LAGORS. --Very old family, originally from Maillane, settled at St. Remy about a century ago. '"

"I told you so, " cried Prosper. 

"Pray allow me to finish, " said M. Verduret. 

"'The last of the Lagors (Jules-Rene-Henri) bearing without warrantthe title of count, married in 1829 Mlle. Rosalie-Clarisse Fontanet, of Tarascon; died December 1848, leaving no male heir, but left twodaughters. The registers make no mention of any person in the districtbearing the name of Lagors. '

"Now what do you think of this information?" queried the fat man with atriumphant smile. 

Prosper looked amazed. 

"But why did M. Fauvel treat Raoul as his nephew?"

"Ah, you mean as his wife's nephew! Let us examine note number two: itis not official, but it throws a valuable light upon the twenty thousandlivres income of your friend. "

"'_Jules-Rene-Henri_ de Lagors, last of his name, died at St. Remy onthe 29th of December, 1848, in a state of great poverty. He at one timewas possessed of a moderate fortune, but invested it in a silk-wormnursery, and lost it all. 

"'He had no son, but left two daughters, one of whom is a teacher atAix, and the other married a retail merchant at Orgon. His widow, wholives at Montagnette, is supported entirely by one of her relatives, thewife of a rich banker in Paris. No person of the name of Lagors lives inthe district of Arles. '

"That is all, " said M. Verduret; "don't you think it enough?"

"Really, monsieur, I don't know whether I am awake or dreaming. "

"You will be awake after a while. Now I wish to remark one thing. Somepeople may assert that the widow Lagors had a child born after herhusband's death. This objection has been destroyed by the age of yourfriend. Raoul is twenty-four, and M. De Lagors has not been dead twentyyears. "

"But, " said Prosper thoughtfully, "who can Raoul be?"

"I don't know. The fact is, I am more perplexed to find out who he is, than to know whom he is not. There is one man who could give us all theinformation we seek, but he will take good care to keep his mouth shut. "

"You mean M. De Clameran?"

"Him, and no one else. "

"I have always felt the most inexplicable aversion toward him. Ah, if wecould only get his account in addition to what you already have!"

"I have been furnished with a few notes concerning the Clameran familyby your father, who knew them well; they are brief, but I expect more. "

"What did my father tell you?"

"Nothing favorable, you may be sure. I will read you the synopsis ofthis information:

"'Louis de Clameran was born at the Chateau de Clameran, near Tarascon. He had an elder brother named Gaston, who, in consequence of an affrayin which he had the misfortune to kill one man and badly wound another, was compelled to fly the country in 1842. Gaston was an honest, nobleyouth, universally beloved. Louis, on the contrary, was a wicked, despicable fellow, detested by all who knew him. 

"'Upon the death of his father, Louis came to Paris, and in less thantwo years had squandered not only his own patrimony, but also the shareof his exiled brother. 

"'Ruined and harassed by debt, Louis entered the army, but behaved sodisgracefully that he was dismissed. 

"'After leaving the army we lose sight of him; all we can discover is, that he went to England, and thence to a German gambling resort, wherehe became notorious for his scandalous conduct. 

"'In 1865 we find him again at Paris. He was in great poverty, and hisassociates were among the most depraved classes. 

"'But he suddenly heard of the return of his brother Gaston to Paris. Gaston had made a fortune in Mexico; but being still a young man, and accustomed to a very active life, he purchased, near Orloron, aniron-mill, intending to spend the remainder of his life in working atit. Six months ago he died in the arms of his brother Louis. His deathprovided our De Clameran an immense fortune, and the title of marquis. '"

"Then, " said Prosper, "from all this I judge that M. De Clameran wasvery poor when I met him for the first time at M. Fauvel's?"

"Evidently. "

"And about that time Lagors arrived from the country?"

"Precisely. "

"And about a month after his appearance Madeleine suddenly banished me?"

"Well, " exclaimed M. Verduret, "I am glad you are beginning tounderstand the state of affairs. "

He was interrupted by the entrance of a stranger. 

The new-comer was a dandified-looking coachman, with elegant blackwhiskers, shining boots with fancy tops; buff breeches, and a yellowwaistcoat with red and black stripes. 

After cautiously looking around the room, he walked straight up to thetable where M. Verduret sat. 

"What is the news, Master Joseph Dubois?" said the stout man eagerly. 

"Ah, patron, don't speak of it!" answered the servant: "things aregetting warm. "

Prosper concentrated all his attention upon this superb domestic. Hethought he recognized his face. He had certainly somewhere seen thatretreating forehead and those little restless black eyes, but where andwhen he could not remember. 

Meanwhile, Master Joseph had taken a seat at a table adjoining theone occupied by M. Verduret and Prosper; and, having called for someabsinthe, was preparing it by holding the water aloft and slowlydropping it in the glass. 

"Speak!" said M. Verduret. 

"In the first place, patron, I must say that the position of valet andcoachman to M. De Clameran is not a bed of roses. "

"Go on: come to the point. You can complain to-morrow. "

"Very good. Yesterday my master walked out at two o'clock. I, of course, followed him. Do you know where he went? The thing was as good as afarce. He went to the Archangel to keep the appointment made by 'NinaGypsy. '"

"Well, make haste. They told him she was gone. Then?"

"Then? Ah! he was not at all pleased, I can tell you. He hurried back tothe hotel where the other, M. De Lagors, awaited him. And, upon my soul, I have never heard so much swearing in my life! M. Raoul asked himwhat had happened to put him in such a bad humor. 'Nothing, ' replied mymaster, 'except that little devil has run off, and no one knows whereshe is; she has slipped through our fingers. ' Then they both appearedto be vexed and uneasy. Lagors asked if she knew anything serious. 'Sheknows nothing but what I told you, ' replied Clameran; 'but this nothing, falling in the ear of a man with any suspicions, will be more thanenough to work on. '"

M. Verduret smiled like a man who had his reasons for appreciating attheir just value De Clameran's fears. 

"Well, your master is not without sense, after all; don't you think heshowed it by saying that?"

"Yes, patron. Then Lagors exclaimed, 'If it is as serious as that, we must get rid of this little serpent!' But my master shrugged hisshoulders, and laughing loudly said, 'You talk like an idiot; when oneis annoyed by a woman of this sort, one must take measures to get rid ofher administratively. ' This idea seemed to amuse them both very much. "

"I can understand their being entertained by it, " said M. Verduret; "itis an excellent idea; but the misfortune is, it is too late to carry itout. The nothing which made Clameran uneasy has already fallen into aknowing ear. "

With breathless curiosity, Prosper listened to this report, every wordof which seemed to throw light upon past events. Now, he thought, heunderstood the fragment of Gypsy's letter. He saw that this Raoul, inwhom he had confided so deeply, was nothing more than a scoundrel. Athousand little circumstances, unnoticed at the time, now recurred tohis mind, and made him wonder how he could have been so blind so long. 

Master Joseph Dubois continued his report:

"Yesterday, after dinner, my master decked himself out like abridegroom. I shaved him, curled his hair, and perfumed him with specialcare, after which I drove him to the Rue de Provence to call on Mme. Fauvel. "

"What!" exclaimed Prosper, "after the insulting language he used the dayof the robbery, did he dare to visit the house?"

"Yes, monsieur, he not only dared this, but he also stayed there untilmidnight, to my great discomfort; for I got as wet as a rat, waiting forhim. "

"How did he look when he came out?" asked M. Verduret. 

"Well, he certainly looked less pleased then when he went in. Afterputting away my carriage, and rubbing down my horses, I went to see ifhe wanted anything; I found the door locked, and he swore at me like atrooper, through the key-hole. "

And, to assist the digestion of this insult, Master Joseph here gulpeddown a glass of absinthe. 

"Is that all?" questioned M. Verduret. 

"All that occurred yesterday, patron; but this morning my master roselate, still in a horrible bad humor. At noon Raoul arrived, also ina rage. They at once began to dispute, and such a row! why, the mostabandoned housebreakers and pickpockets would have blushed to hear suchBillingsgate. At one time my master seized the other by the throat andshook him like a reed. But Raoul was too quick for him; he saved himselffrom strangulation by drawing out a sharp-pointed knife, the sight ofwhich made my master drop him in a hurry, I can tell you. "

"But what did they say?"

"Ah, there is the rub, patron, " said Joseph in a piteous tone; "thescamps spoke English, so I could not understand them. But I am sure theywere disputing about money. "

"How do you know that?"

"Because I learned at the Exposition that the word 'argent' means moneyin every language in Europe; and this word they constantly used in theirconversation. "

M. Verduret sat with knit brows, talking in an undertone to himself; andProsper, who was watching him, wondered if he was trying to understandand construct the dispute by mere force of reflection. 

"When they had done fighting, " continued Joseph, "the rascals began totalk in French again; but they only spoke of a fancy ball which is tobe given by some banker. When Raoul was leaving, my master said, 'Sincethis thing is inevitable, and it must take place to-day, you had betterremain at home, at Vesinet, this evening. ' Raoul replied, 'Of course. '"

Night was approaching, and the smoking-room was gradually fillingwith men who called for absinthe or bitters, and youths who perchedthemselves up on high stools, and smoked their pipes. 

"It is time to go, " said M. Verduret; "your master will want you, Joseph; besides, here is someone come for me. I will see you to-morrow. "

The new-comer was no other than Cavaillon, more troubled and frightenedthan ever. He looked uneasily around the room, as if he expected thewhole police force to appear, and carry him off to prison. 

He did not sit down at M. Verduret's table, but stealthily gave his handto Prosper, and, after assuring himself that no one was observing them, handed M. Verduret a package, saying:

"She found this in a cupboard. "

It was a handsomely bound prayer-book. M. Verduret rapidly turned overthe leaves, and soon found the pages from which the words pasted onProsper's letter had been cut. 

"I had moral proofs, " he said, handing the book to Prosper, "but here ismaterial proof sufficient in itself to save you. "

When Prosper looked at the book he turned pale as a ghost. He recognizedthis prayer-book instantly. He had given it to Madeleine in exchange forthe medal. 

He opened it, and on the fly-leaf Madeleine had written, "Souvenir ofNotre Dame de Fourvieres, 17 January, 1866. "

"This book belongs to Madeleine, " he cried. 

M. Verduret did not reply, but walked toward a young man dressed like abrewer, who had just entered the room. 

He glanced at the note which this person handed to him, and hastenedback to the table, and said, in an agitated tone:

"I think we have got them now!"

Throwing a five-franc piece on the table, and without saying a word toCavaillon, he seized Prosper's arm, and hurried from the room. 

"What a fatality!" he said, as he hastened along the street: "we maymiss them. We shall certainly reach the St. Lazare station too late forthe St. Germain train. "

"For Heaven's sake, where are you going?" asked Prosper. 

"Never mind, we can talk after we start. Hurry!"

Reaching Palais Royal Place, M. Verduret stopped before one of the hacksbelonging to the railway station, and examined the horses at a glance. 

"How much for driving us to Vesinet?" he asked of the driver. 

"I don't know the road very well that way. "

The name of Vesinet was enough for Prosper. 

"Well, " said the driver, "at this time of night, in such dreadfulweather, it ought to be--twenty-five francs. "

"And how much more for driving very rapidly?"

"Bless my soul! Why, monsieur, I leave that to your generosity; but ifyou put it at thirty-five francs--"

"You shall have a hundred, " interrupted M. Verduret, "if you overtake acarriage which has half an hour's start of us. "

"Tonnerre de Brest!" cried the delighted driver; "jump in quick: we arelosing time!"

And, whipping up his lean horses, he galloped them down the Rue deValois at lightning speed. 

X

Leaving the little station of Vesinet, we come upon two roads. One, tothe left, macadamized and kept in perfect repair, leads to the village, of which there are glimpses here and there through the trees. The other, newly laid out, and just covered with gravel, leads through the woods. 

Along the latter, which before the lapse of five years will be a busystreet, are built a few houses, hideous in design, and at some distanceapart; rural summer retreats of city merchants, but unoccupied duringthe winter. 

It was at the junction of these two roads that Prosper stopped the hack. 

The driver had gained his hundred francs. The horses were completelyworn out, but they had accomplished all that was expected of them; M. Verduret could distinguish the lamps of a hack similar to the one heoccupied, about fifty yards ahead of him. 

M. Verduret jumped out, and, handing the driver a bank-note, said:

"Here is what I promised you. Go to the first tavern you find on theright-hand side of the road as you enter the village. If we do not meetyou there in an hour, you are at liberty to return to Paris. "

The driver was overwhelming in his thanks; but neither Prosper nor hisfriend heard them. They had already started up the new road. 

The weather, which had been inclement when they set out, was nowfearful. The rain fell in torrents, and a furious wind howled dismallythrough the dense woods. 

The intense darkness was rendered more dreary by the occasionalglimmer of the lamps at the distant station, which seemed about to beextinguished by every new gust of wind. 

M. Verduret and Prosper had been running along the muddy road for aboutfive minutes, when suddenly the latter stopped and said:

"This is Raoul's house. "

Before the gate of an isolated house stood the hack which M. Verdurethad followed. Reclining on his seat, wrapped in a thick cloak, was thedriver, who, in spite of the pouring rain, was already asleep, evidentlywaiting for the person whom he had brought to this house a few minutesago. 

M. Verduret pulled his cloak, and said, in a low voice:

"Wake up, my good man. "

The driver started, and, mechanically gathering his reins, yawned out:

"I am ready: come on!"

But when, by the light of the carriage-lamps, he saw two men in thislonely spot, he imagined that they wanted his purse, and perhaps hislife. 

"I am engaged!" he cried out, as he cracked his whip in the air; "I amwaiting here for someone. "

"I know that, you fool, " replied M. Verduret, "and only wish to ask youa question, which you can gain five francs by answering. Did you notbring a middle-aged lady here?"

This question, this promise of five francs, instead of reassuring thecoachman, increased his alarm. 

"I have already told you I am waiting for someone, " he said, "and, ifyou don't go away and leave me alone, I will call for help. "

M. Verduret drew back quickly. 

"Come away, " he whispered to Prosper, "the cur will do as he says; and, alarm once given, farewell to our projects. We must find some otherentrance than by this gate. "

They then went along the wall surrounding the garden, in search of aplace where it was possible to climb up. 

This was difficult to discover, the wall being twelve feet high, and thenight very dark. Fortunately, M. Verduret was very agile; and, havingdecided upon the spot to be scaled, he drew back a few feet, and makinga sudden spring, seized one of the projecting stones above him, and, drawing himself up by aid of his hands and feet, soon found himself ontop of the wall. 

It was now Prosper's turn to climb up; but, though much younger thanhis companion, he had not his agility and strength, and would never havesucceeded if M. Verduret had not pulled him up, and then helped him downon the other side. 

Once in the garden, M. Verduret looked about him to study the situation. 

The house occupied by M. De Lagors was built in the middle of an immensegarden. It was narrow, two stories high, and with garrets. 

Only one window, in the second story, was lighted. 

"As you have often been here, " said M. Verduret, "you must know allabout the arrangement of the house: what room is that where we see thelight?"

"That is Raoul's bed-chamber. "

"Very good. What rooms are on the first floor?"

"The kitchen, pantry, billiard-room, and dining-room. "

"And on the floor above?"

"Two drawing-rooms separated by folding doors, and a library. "

"Where do the servants sleep?"

"Raoul has none at present. He is waited on by a man and his wife, wholive at Vesinet; they come in the morning, and leave after dinner. "

M. Verduret rubbed his hands gleefully. 

"That suits our plans exactly, " he said; "there is nothing to preventour hearing what Raoul has to say to this person who has come from Parisat ten o'clock at night, to see him. Let us go in. "

Prosper seemed averse to this, and said:

"It is a serious thing for us to do, monsieur. "

"Bless my soul! what else did we come here for? Did you think it wasa pleasure-trip, merely to enjoy this lovely weather?" he said in abantering tone. 

"But we might be discovered. "

"Suppose we are? If the least noise betrays our presence, you have onlyto advance boldly as a friend come to visit a friend, and, finding thedoor open walked in. "

But unfortunately the heavy oak door was locked. M. Verduret shook it invain. 

"How foolish!" he said with vexation, "I ought to have brought myinstruments with me. A common lock which could be opened with a nail, and I have not even a piece of wire!"

Thinking it useless to attempt the door, he tried successively everywindow on the ground-floor. Alas! each blind was securely fastened onthe inside. 

M. Verduret was provoked. He prowled around the house like a fox arounda hen-coop, seeking an entrance, but finding none. Despairingly he cameback to the spot in front of the house, whence he had the best view ofthe lighted window. 

"If I could only look in, " he cried. "Just to think that in there, " andhe pointed to the window, "is the solution of the mystery; and we arecut off from it by thirty or forty feet of cursed blank wall!"

Prosper was more surprised than ever at his companion's strangebehavior. He seemed perfectly at home in this garden; he ran aboutwithout any precaution; so that one would have supposed him accustomedto such expeditions, especially when he spoke of picking the lock ofan occupied house, as if he were talking of opening a snuff-box. Hewas utterly indifferent to the rain and sleet driven in his face by thegusts of wind as he splashed about in the mud trying to find some way ofentrance. 

"I must get a peep into that window, " he said, "and I will, cost what itmay!"

Prosper seemed to suddenly remember something. 

"There is a ladder here, " he cried. 

"Why did you not tell me that before? Where is it?"

"At the end of the garden, under the trees. "

They ran to the spot, and in a few minutes had the ladder standingagainst the wall. 

But to their chagrin they found the ladder six feet too short. Six longfeet of wall between the top of the ladder and the lighted window was avery discouraging sight to Prosper; he exclaimed:

"We cannot reach it. "

"We _can_ reach it, " cried M. Verduret triumphantly. 

And he quickly placed himself a yard off from the house, and, seizingthe ladder, cautiously raised it and rested the bottom round on hisshoulders, at the same time holding the two uprights firmly and steadilywith his hands. The obstacle was overcome. 

"Now mount, " he said to his companion. 

Prosper did not hesitate. The enthusiasm of difficulties so skilfullyconquered, and the hope of triumph, gave him a strength and agilitywhich he had never imagined he possessed. He made a sudden spring, and, seizing the lower rounds, quickly climbed up the ladder, which swayedand trembled beneath his weight. 

But he had scarcely looked in the lighted window when he uttered a crywhich was drowned in the roaring tempest, and dropped like a log down onthe wet grass, exclaiming:

"The villain! the villain!"

With wonderful promptness and vigor M. Verduret laid the ladder on theground, and ran toward Prosper, fearing that he was dead or dangerouslyinjured. 

"What did you see? Are you hurt?" he whispered. 

But Prosper had already risen. Although he had had a violent fall, hewas unhurt; he was in a state when mind governs matter so absolutelythat the body is insensible to pain. 

"I saw, " he answered in a hoarse voice, "I saw Madeleine--do youunderstand, Madeleine--in that room, alone with Raoul!"

M. Verduret was confounded. Was it possible that he, the infallibleexpert, had been mistaken in his deductions?

He well knew that M. De Lagors's visitor was a woman; but his ownconjectures, and the note which Mme. Gypsy had sent to him at thetavern, had fully assured him that this woman was Mme. Fauvel. 

"You must be mistaken, " he said to Prosper. 

"No, monsieur, no. Never could I mistake another for Madeleine. Ah! youwho heard what she said to me yesterday, answer me: was I to expect suchinfamous treason as this? You said to me then, 'She loves you, she lovesyou!' Now do you think she loves me? speak!"

M. Verduret did not answer. He had first been stupefied by his mistake, and was now racking his brain to discover the cause of it, which wassoon discerned by his penetrating mind. 

"This is the secret discovered by Nina, " continued Prosper. "Madeleine, this pure and noble Madeleine, whom I believed to be as immaculate asan angel, is in love with this thief, who has even stolen the name hebears; and I, trusting fool that I was, made this scoundrel my bestfriend. I confided to him all my hopes and fears; and he was her lover!Of course they amused themselves by ridiculing my silly devotion andblind confidence!"

He stopped, overcome by his violent emotions. Wounded vanity is theworst of miseries. The certainty of having been so shamefully deceivedand betrayed made Prosper almost insane with rage. 

"This is the last humiliation I shall submit to, " he fiercely cried. "Itshall not be said that I was coward enough to stand by and let an insultlike this go unpunished. "

He started toward the house; but M. Verduret seized his arm and said:

"What are you going to do?"

"Have my revenge! I will break down the door; what do I care for thenoise and scandal, now that I have nothing to lose? I shall not attemptto creep into the house like a thief, but as a master, as one who has aright to enter; as a man who, having received an insult which can onlybe washed out with blood, comes to demand satisfaction. "

"You will do nothing of the sort, Prosper. "

"Who will prevent me?"

"I will. "

"You? do not hope that you will be able to deter me. I will appearbefore them, put them to the blush, kill them both, then put an endto my own wretched existence. That is what I intend to do, and nothingshall stop me!"

If M. Verduret had not held Prosper with a vice-like grip, he would haveescaped, and carried out his threat. 

"If you make any noise, Prosper, or raise an alarm, all your hopes areruined. "

"I have no hopes now. "

"Raoul, put on his guard, will escape us, and you will remain dishonoredforever. "

"What difference is it to me?"

"It makes a great difference to me. I have sworn to prove yourinnocence. A man of your age can easily find a wife, but can neverrestore lustre to a tarnished name. Let nothing interfere with theestablishing of your innocence. "

Genuine passion is uninfluenced by surrounding circumstances. M. Verduret and Prosper stood foot-deep in mud, wet to the skin, the rainpouring down on their heads, and yet seemed in no hurry to end theirdispute. 

"I will be avenged, " repeated Prosper with the persistency of a fixedidea, "I will avenge myself. "

"Well, avenge yourself like a man, and not like a child!" said M. Verduret angrily. 

"Monsieur!"

"Yes, I repeat it, like a child. What will you do after you get intothe house? Have you any arms? No. You rush upon Raoul, and a struggleensues; while you two are fighting, Madeleine jumps in her carriage, anddrives off. What then? Which is the stronger, you or Raoul?"

Overcome by the sense of his powerlessness, Prosper was silent. 

"And arms would be of no use, " continued M. Verduret: "it is fortunateyou have none with you, for it would be very foolish to shoot a man whomyou can send to the galleys. "

"What must I do?"

"Wait. Vengeance is a delicious fruit, that must ripen in order that wemay fully enjoy it. "

Prosper was unsettled in his resolution; M. Verduret seeing this broughtforth his last and strongest argument. 

"How do we know, " he said, "that Mlle. Madeleine is here on her ownaccount? Did we not come to the conclusion that she was sacrificingherself for the benefit of someone else? That superior will whichcompelled her to banish you may have constrained this step to-night. "

That which coincides with our secret wishes is always eagerly welcomed. This supposition, apparently improbable, struck Prosper as possiblytrue. 

"That might be the case, " he murmured, "who knows?"

"I would soon know, " said M. Verduret, "if I could see them together inthat room. "

"Will you promise me, monsieur, to tell me the exact truth, all that yousee and hear, no matter how painful it may be for me?"

"I swear it, upon my word of honor. "

Then, with a strength of which a few minutes before he would not havebelieved himself possessed, Prosper raised the ladder, placed the lastround on his shoulders, and said to M. Verduret:

"Mount!"

M. Verduret rapidly ascended the ladder without even shaking it, and hadhis head on a level with the window. 

Prosper had seen but too well. There was Madeleine at this hour of thenight, alone with Raoul de Lagors in his room!

M. Verduret observed that she still wore her shawl and bonnet. 

She was standing in the middle of the room, talking with greatanimation. Her look and gestures betrayed indignant scorn. There was anexpression of ill-disguised loathing upon her beautiful face. 

Raoul was seated by the fire, stirring up the coals with a pair oftongs. Every now and then, he would shrug his shoulders, like a manresigned to everything he heard, and had no answer, except, "I cannothelp it. I can do nothing for you. "

M. Verdure would willingly have given the diamond ring on his finger tobe able to hear what was said; but the roaring wind completely drownedtheir voices. 

"They are evidently quarrelling, " he thought; "but it is not a lovers'quarrel. "

Madeleine continued talking; and it was by closely watching the faceof Lagors, clearly revealed by the lamp on the mantel, that M. Verdurethoped to discover the meaning of the scene before him. 

At one moment Lagors would start and tremble in spite of his apparentindifference; the next, he would strike at the fire with the tongs, asif giving vent to his rage at some reproach uttered by Madeleine. 

Finally Madeleine changed her threats into entreaties, and, clasping herhands, almost fell at his knees. 

He turned away his head, and refused to answer save in monosyllables. 

Several times she turned to leave the room, but each time returned, asif asking a favor, and unable to make up her mind to leave the housetill she had obtained it. 

At last she seemed to have uttered something decisive; for Raoul quicklyrose and opened a desk near the fireplace, from which he took a bundleof papers, and handed them to her. 

"Well, " thought M. Verduret, "this looks bad. Can it be a compromisingcorrespondence which the fair one wants to secure?"

Madeleine took the papers, but was apparently still dissatisfied. Sheagain entreated him to give her something else. Raoul refused; and thenshe threw the papers on the table. 

The papers seemed to puzzle M. Verduret very much, as he gazed at themthrough the window. 

"I am not blind, " he said, "and I certainly am not mistaken; thosepapers, red, green, and yellow, are pawnbroker's tickets!"

Madeleine turned over the papers as if looking for some particular ones. She selected three, which she put in her pocket, disdainfully pushingthe others aside. 

She was evidently preparing to take her departure, for she said a fewwords to Raoul, who took up the lamp as if to escort her downstairs. 

There was nothing more for M. Verduret to see. He carefully descendedthe ladder, muttering to himself. "Pawnbroker's tickets! What infamousmystery lies at the bottom of all this?"

The first thing he did was to remove the ladder. 

Raoul might take it into his head to look around the garden, when hecame to the door with Madeleine, and if he did so the ladder couldscarcely fail to attract his attention. 

M. Verduret and Prosper hastily laid it on the ground, regardless ofthe shrubs and vines they destroyed in doing so, and then concealedthemselves among the trees, whence they could watch at once the frontdoor and the outer gate. 

Madeleine and Raoul appeared in the doorway. Raoul set the lamp on thebottom step, and offered his hand to the girl; but she refused it withhaughty contempt, which somewhat soothed Prosper's lacerated heart. 

This scornful behavior did not, however, seem to surprise or hurtRaoul. He simply answered by an ironical gesture which implied, "As youplease!"

He followed her to the gate, which he opened and closed after her; thenhe hurried back to the house, while Madeleine's carriage drove rapidlyaway. 

"Now, monsieur, " said Prosper, "you must tell me what you saw. Youpromised me the truth no matter how bitter it might be. Speak; I canbear it, be it what it may!"

"You will only have joy to bear, my friend. Within a month you willbitterly regret your suspicions of to-night. You will blush to thinkthat you ever imagined Mlle. Madeleine to be intimate with a man likeLagors. "

"But, monsieur, appearances----"

"It is precisely against appearances that we must be on our guard. Always distrust them. A suspicion, false or just, is always based onsomething. But we must not stay here forever; and, as Raoul has fastenedthe gate, we shall have to climb back again. "

"But there is the ladder. "

"Let it stay where it is; as we cannot efface our footprints, he willthink thieves have been trying to get into the house. "

They scaled the wall, and had not walked fifty steps when they heard thenoise of a gate being unlocked. The stood aside and waited; a man soonpassed on his way to the station. 

"That is Raoul, " said M. Verduret, "and Joseph will report to us thathe has gone to tell Clameran what has just taken place. If they are onlykind enough to speak French!"

He walked along quietly for some time, trying to connect the brokenchain of his deductions. 

"How in the deuce, " he abruptly asked, "did this Lagors, who is devotedto gay society, come to choose a lonely country house to live in?"

"I suppose it was because M. Fauvel's villa is only fifteen minutes'ride from here, on the Seine. "

"That accounts for his staying here in the summer; but in winter?"

"Oh, in winter he has a room at the Hotel du Louvre, and all the yearround keeps an apartment in Paris. "

This did not enlighten M. Verduret much; he hurried his pace. 

"I hope our driver has not gone. We cannot take the train which is aboutto start, because Raoul would see us at the station. "

Although it was more than an hour since M. Verduret and Prosper left thehack at the branch road, they found it waiting for them in front of thetavern. 

The driver could not resist the desire to change his five-franc piece;he had ordered dinner, and, finding his wine very good, was calling formore, when he looked up and saw his employers. 

"Well, you are in a strange state!" he exclaimed. 

Prosper replied that they had gone to see a friend, and, losing theirway, had fallen into a pit; as if there were pits in Vesinet forest. 

"Ah, that is the way you got covered with mud, is it?" exclaimed thedriver, who, though apparently contented with this explanation, stronglysuspected that his two customers had been engaged in some nefarioustransaction. 

This opinion seemed to be entertained by everyone present, for theylooked at Prosper's muddy clothes and then at each other in a knowingway. 

But M. Verduret stopped all comment by saying:

"Come on. "

"All right, monsieur: get in while I settle my bill; I will be there ina minute. "

The drive back was silent and seemed interminably long. Prosper atfirst tried to draw his strange companion into conversation, but, as hereceived nothing but monosyllables in reply, held his peace for the restof the journey. He was again beginning to feel irritated at the absoluteempire exercised over him by this man. 

Physical discomfort was added to his other troubles. He was stiff andnumb; every bone in him ached with the cold. 

Although mental endurance may be unlimited, bodily strength must in theend give way. A violent effort is always followed by reaction. 

Lying back in a corner of the carriage, with his feet upon the frontseat, M. Verduret seemed to be enjoying a nap; yet he was never morewide awake. 

He was in a perplexed state of mind. This expedition, which, he hadbeen confident, would resolve all his doubts, had only added mystery tomystery. His chain of evidence, which he thought so strongly linked, wascompletely broken. 

For him the facts remained the same, but circumstances had changed. Hecould not imagine what common motive, what moral or material complicity, what influences, could have existed to make the four actors in hisdrama, Mme. Fauvel, Madeleine, Raoul, and Clameran, seem to have thesame object in view. 

He was seeking in his fertile mind, that encyclopaedia of craft andsubtlety, for some combination which would throw light on the problembefore him. 

The midnight bells were ringing when they reached the Archangel, and forthe first time M. Verduret remembered that he had not dined. 

Fortunately Mme. Alexandre was still up, and in the twinkling of an eyehad improvised a tempting supper. It was more than attention, more thanrespect, that she showed her guest. Prosper observed that she gazedadmiringly at M. Verduret all the while he was eating his supper. 

"You will not see me to-morrow, " said M. Verduret to Prosper, whenhe had risen to leave the room; "but I will be here about this timeto-morrow night. Perhaps I shall discover what I am seeking at MM. Jandidier's ball. "

Prosper was dumb with astonishment. What! would M. Verduret think ofappearing at a ball given by the wealthiest and most fashionable bankersin Paris? This accounted for his sending to the costumer. 

"Then you are invited to this ball?"

The expressive eyes of M. Verduret danced with amusement. 

"Not yet, " he said, "but I shall be. "

Oh, the inconsistency of the human mind! Prosper was tormented by themost serious preoccupations. He looked sadly around his chamber, and, ashe thought of M. Verduret's projected pleasure at the ball, exclaimed:

"Ah, how fortunate he is! To-morrow he will have the privilege of seeingMadeleine. "

XI

The Rue St. Lazare was adorned by the palatial residences of theJandidier brothers, two celebrated financiers, who, if deprived of theprestige of immense wealth, would still be looked up to as remarkablemen. Why cannot the same be said of all men?

These two mansions, which were thought marvels at the time they werebuilt, were entirely distinct from each other, but so planned that theycould be turned into one immense house when so desired. 

When MM. Jandidier gave parties, they always had the movable partitionstaken away, and thus obtained the most superb salon in Paris. 

Princely magnificence, lavish hospitality, and an elegant, gracefulmanner of receiving their guests, made these entertainments eagerlysought after by the fashionable circles of the capital. 

On Saturday, the Rue St. Lazare was blocked up by a file of carriages, whose fair occupants were impatiently awaiting their turn to drive upto the door, through which they could catch the tantalizing strains of awaltz. 

It was a fancy ball; and nearly all of the costumes were superb, thoughsome were more original than elegant. 

Among the latter was a clown. Everything was in perfect keeping: theinsolent eye, coarse lips, high cheek-bones, and a beard so red that itseemed to emit flames in the reflection of the dazzling lights. 

He wore top-boots, a dilapidated hat on the back of his head, and ashirt-ruffle trimmed with torn lace. 

He carried in his left hand a canvas banner, upon which were paintedsix or eight pictures, coarsely designed like those found in strollingfairs. In his right he waved a little switch, with which he would everynow and then strike his banner, like a quack retailing his wares. 

Quite a crowd surrounded this clown, hoping to hear some witty speechesand puns; but he kept near the door, and remained silent. 

About half-past ten he quitted his post. 

M. And Mme. Fauvel, followed by their niece Madeleine, had just entered. 

A compact group immediately formed near the door. 

During the last ten days, the affair of the Rue de Provence had been theuniversal topic of conversation; and friends and enemies were alikeglad to seize this opportunity of approaching the banker, some to tendertheir sympathy, and others to offer equivocal condolence, which of allthings is the most exasperating and insulting. 

Belonging to the battalion of grave, elderly men, M. Fauvel had notassumed a fancy costume, but merely threw over his shoulders a shortsilk domino. 

On his arm leaned Mme. Fauvel, _nee_ Valentine de la Verberie, bowingand gracefully greeting her numerous friends. 

She had once been remarkably beautiful; and to-night the effect of thesoft wax-lights, and her very becoming dress, half restored heryouthful freshness and comeliness. No one would have supposed her to beforty-eight years old. 

She wore a dress of the later years of Louis the Fourteenth's reign, magnificent and severe, of embroidered satin and black velvet, withoutthe adornment of a single jewel. 

She looked so graceful and elegant in this court dress and powderedhair, that some ill-natured gossips said it was a pity to see a realLa Verberie, so well fitted to adorn a queen's drawing-room, as all herancestors had done before her, thrown away upon a man whom she had onlymarried for his money. 

But Madeleine was the object of universal admiration, so dazzlinglybeautiful and queenlike did she appear in her costume of maid of honor, which seemed to have been especially invented to set forth her beautifulfigure. 

Her loveliness expanded in the perfumed atmosphere and soft light ofthe ball-room. Never had her hair looked so black, her complexion soexquisite, or her large eyes so brilliant. 

Having greeted the hosts, Madeleine took her aunt's arm, while M. Fauvelwandered through the rooms in search of the card-table, the usual refugeof bored men, when they are enticed to the ball-room by their womankind. 

The ball was now at its height. 

Two orchestras, led by Strauss and one of his lieutenants, filled thetwo mansions with intoxicating music. The motley crowd whirled in thewaltz until they presented a curious confusion of velvets, satins, laces, and diamonds. Almost every head and bosom sparkled with jewels;the palest cheeks were rosy; heavy eyes now shone like stars; and theglistening shoulders of fair women were like drifted snow in an Aprilsun. 

Forgotten by the crowd, the clown had taken refuge in the embrasure ofa window, and seemed to be meditating upon the gay scene before him; atthe same time, he kept his eye upon a couple not far off. 

It was Madeleine, dancing with a splendidly dressed doge. The doge wasthe Marquis de Clameran. 

He appeared to be radiant, rejuvenated, and well satisfied with theimpression he was making upon his partner; at the end of a quadrillehe leaned over her, and whispered compliments with the most unboundedadmiration; and she seemed to listen, if not with pleasure, at leastwithout repugnance. She now and then smiled, and coquettishly shruggedher shoulders. 

"Evidently, " muttered the clown, "this noble scoundrel is paying courtto the banker's niece; so I was right yesterday. But how can Mlle. Madeleine resign herself to so graciously receive his insipid flattery?Fortunately, Prosper is not here now. "

He was interrupted by an elderly man wrapped in a Venetian mantle, whosaid to him:

"You remember, M. Verduret, "--this name was uttered half seriously, halfbanteringly--"what you promised me?"

The clown bowed with great respect, but not the slightest shade ofhumility. 

"I remember, " he replied. 

"But do not be imprudent, I beg you. "

"M. The Count need not be uneasy; he has my promise. "

"Very good. I know the value of it. "

The count walked off; but during this short colloquy the quadrille hadended, and M. De Clameran and Madeleine were lost to sight. 

"I shall find them near Mme. Fauvel, " said the clown. 

And he at once started in search of the banker's wife. 

Incommoded by the stifling heat of the room, Mme. Fauvel had soughta little fresh air in the grand picture-gallery, which, thanks to thetalisman called gold, was now transformed into a fairy-like garden, filled with orange-trees, japonicas, laurel, and many rare exotics. 

The clown saw her seated near a grove, not far from the door of thecard-room. Upon her right was Madeleine, and near her stood Raoul deLagors, dressed in a costume of Henri III. 

"I must confess, " muttered the clown from his post of observation, "thatthe young scamp is a very handsome man. "

Madeleine appeared very sad. She had plucked a japonica from a tree nearby, and was mechanically pulling it to pieces as she sat with her eyesdowncast. 

Raoul and Mme. Fauvel were engaged in earnest conversation. Their faceswere composed, but the gestures of one and the trembling of the otherbetrayed a serious discussion. 

In the card-room sat the doge, M. De Clameran, so placed as to havefull view of Mme. Fauvel and Madeleine, although himself concealed by anangle of the room. 

"It is the continuation of yesterday's scene, " thought the clown. "IfI could only get behind the oleander-tree, I might hear what they aresaying. "

He pushed his way through the crowd, and, just as he had reached thedesired spot, Madeleine arose, and, taking the arm of a bejewelledPersian, walked away. 

At the same moment Raoul went into the card-room, and whispered a fewwords to De Clameran. 

"There they go, " muttered the clown. "The two scoundrels certainly holdthese poor women in their power; and they are determined to make themsuffer before releasing them. What can be the secret of their power?"

His attention was attracted by a commotion in the picture-gallery; itwas caused by the announcement of a wonderful minuet to be danced in theball-room; the arrival of the Countess de Commarin as Aurora; and thepresence of the Princess Korasoff, with her superb emeralds, which werereported to be the finest in the world. 

In an instant the gallery became almost deserted. Only a fewforlorn-looking people remained; mostly sulky husbands, and somemelancholy youths looking awkward and unhappy in their gay fancydresses. 

The clown thought it a favorable opportunity for carrying out hisproject. 

He abruptly left his corner, flourishing his switch, and beating hisbanner, and, crossing the gallery, seated himself in a chair betweenMme. Fauvel and the door. As soon as the people had collected in acircle around him, he commenced to cough in an affected manner, like astump orator about to make a speech. 

Then he struck a comical attitude, standing up with his body twistedsideways, and his hat on one ear, and with great buffoonery andvolubility made the following remarks:

"Ladies and gentlemen, this very morning I obtained a license from theauthorities of this town. And what for? Why gentlemen, for the purposeof exhibiting to you a spectacle which has already won the admiration ofthe four quarters of the globe, and several universities besides. Insideof this booth, ladies, is about to commence the representation of a mostremarkable drama, acted for the first time at Pekin, and translated intoseveral languages by our most celebrated authors. Gentlemen, you cantake your seats; the lamps are lighted, and the actors are changingtheir dress. "

Here he stopped speaking, and imitated to perfection the feats whichmountebanks play upon horns and kettle-drums. 

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, " he resumed, "you wish to know what I amdoing outside, if the piece is to be performed under the tent. The factis, gentlemen, that I wish to give you a foretaste of the agitations, sensations, emotions, palpitations, and other entertainments whichyou may enjoy by paying the small sum of ten sous. You see this superbpicture? It represents eight of the most thrilling scenes in the drama. Ah, I see you begin to shudder already; and yet this is nothing comparedto the play itself. This splendid picture gives you no more idea of theacting than a drop of water gives an idea of the sea, or a spark of fireof the sun. My picture, gentlemen, is merely to give you a foretaste ofwhat is in the tent; as the steam oozing from a restaurant gives you ataste, or rather a smell, of what is within. "

"Do you know this clown?" asked an enormous Turk of a melancholy Punch. 

"No, but he can imitate a trumpet splendidly. "

"Oh, very well indeed! But what is he driving at?"

The clown was endeavoring to attract the attention of Mme. Fauvel, who, since Raoul and Madeleine had left her, sat by herself in a mournfulrevery. 

He succeeded in his object. 

The showman's shrill voice brought the banker's wife back to a senseof reality; she started, and looked quickly about her, as if suddenlyawakened from a troubled dream. 

"Now, ladies, we are in China. The first picture on my canvas, here, in the left corner"--here he touched the top daub--"represents thecelebrated Mandarin Li-Fo, in the bosom of his family. This pretty womanleaning over him is his wife; and these children playing on the carpetare the bonds of love between this happy pair. Do you not inhale theodor of sanctity and happiness emanating from this speaking picture, gentlemen?

"Mme. Li-Fo is the most virtuous of women, adoring her husband andidolizing her children. Being virtuous she is happy; for the wiseConfucius says, 'The ways of virtue are more pleasant than the ways ofvice. '"

Mme. Fauvel had left her seat, and approached nearer to the clown. 

"Do you see anything on the banner like what he is describing?" askedthe melancholy Punch of his neighbor. 

"No, not a thing. Do you?"

The fact is, that the daubs of paint on the canvas represented one thingas well as another, and the clown could call them whatever he pleased. 

"Picture No. 2!" he cried, after a flourish of music. "This old lady, seated before a mirror tearing out her hair--especially the grayones--you have seen before; do you recognize her? No, you do not. She isthe fair mandarine of the first picture. I see the tears in your eyes, ladies and gentlemen. Ah! you have cause to weep; for she is no longervirtuous, and her happiness has departed with her virtue. Alas, it isa sad tale! One fatal day she met, on the streets of Pekin, a youngruffian, fiendish, but beautiful as an angel, and she loved him--theunfortunate woman loved him!"

The last words were uttered in the most tragic tone as he raised hisclasped hands to heaven. 

During this tirade he had whirled around, so that he found himselffacing the banker's wife, whose countenance he closely watched while hewas speaking. 

"You are surprised, gentlemen, " he continued; "I am not. The greatBilboquet has proved to us that the heart never grows old, and that themost vigorous wall-flowers flourish on old ruins. This unhappy woman isnearly fifty years old--fifty years old, and in love with a youth! Hencethis heart-rending scene which should serve as a warning to us all. "

"Really!" grumbled a cook dressed in white satin, who had passed theevening in carrying around bills of fare, which no one read, "I thoughthe was going to amuse us. "

"But, " continued the clown, "you must go inside of the booth towitness the effects of the mandarine's folly. At times a ray of reasonpenetrates her diseased brain, and then the sight of her anguish wouldsoften a heart of stone. Enter, and for the small sum of ten sous youshall hear sobs such as the Odeon never echoed in its halcyon days. Theunhappy woman has waked up to the absurdity and inanity of her blindpassion; she confesses to herself that she is madly pursuing a phantom. She knows but too well that he, in the vigor and beauty of youth, cannotlove a faded old woman like herself, who vainly makes pitiable effortsto retain the last remains of her once entrancing beauty. She feelsthat the sweet words he once whispered in her charmed ear were deceitfulfalsehoods. She knows that the day is near when she will be left alone, with nothing save his mantle in her hand. "

As the clown addressed this voluble description to the crowd before him, he narrowly watched the countenance of the banker's wife. 

But nothing he had said seemed to affect her. She leaned back in herarm-chair perfectly calm, and occasionally smiled at the tragic mannerof the showman. 

"Good heavens!" muttered the clown uneasily, "can I be on the wrongtrack?"

He saw that his circle of listeners was increased by the presence of thedoge, M. De Clameran. 

"The third picture, " he said, after a roll of drums, "depicts theold mandarine after she has dismissed that most annoying ofguests--remorse--from her bosom. She promises herself that interestshall supply the place of love in chaining the too seductive youth toher side. It is with this object that she invests him with false honorsand dignity, and introduces him to the chief mandarins of the capitalof the Celestial Empire; then, since so handsome a youth must cut a finefigure in society, and as a fine figure cannot be cut without money, the lady must needs to sacrifice all of her possessions for his sake. Necklaces, rings, bracelets, diamonds, and pearls, all are surrendered. The monster carries all these jewels to the pawnbrokers on Tien-TsiStreet, and then has the cruelty to refuse her the tickets, so that shemay have a chance of redeeming her treasures. "

The clown thought that at last he had hit the mark. Mme. Fauvel began tobetray signs of agitation. 

Once she made an attempt to rise from her chair; but it seemed as if herstrength failed her, and she sank back, forced to listen to the end. 

"Finally, ladies and gentlemen, " continued the clown, "the richly storedjewel-cases became empty. The day came when the mandarine had nothingmore to give. It was then that the young scoundrel conceived the projectof carrying off the jasper button belonging to the Mandarin Li-Fo--asplendid jewel of incalculable value, which, being the badge of hisdignity, was kept in a granite chest, and guarded by three soldiersnight and day. Ah! the mandarine resisted a long time! She knew theinnocent soldiers would be accused and crucified, as is the custom inPekin; and this thought restrained her. But her lover besought her sotenderly, that she finally yielded to his entreaties; and--the jasperbutton was stolen. The fourth picture represents the guilty couplestealthily creeping down the private stairway: see their frightenedlook--see--"

He abruptly stopped. Three or four of his auditors rushed to theassistance of Mme. Fauvel, who seemed about to faint; and at the sametime he felt his arm roughly seized by someone behind him. 

He turned around and faced De Clameran and Lagors, both of whom werepale with anger. 

"What do you want, gentlemen?" he inquired politely. 

"To speak to you, " they both answered. 

"I am at your service. "

And he followed them to the end of the picture-gallery, near a windowopening on a balcony. 

Here they were unobserved except by the man in the Venetian cloak, whomthe clown had so respectfully addressed as "M. The Count. "

The minuet having ended, the orchestras were resting, and the crowdbegan to rapidly fill the gallery. 

The sudden faintness of Mme. Fauvel had passed off unnoticed save by afew, who attributed it to the heat of the room. M. Fauvel had been sentfor; but when he came hurrying in, and found his wife composedlytalking to Madeleine, his alarm was dissipated, and he returned to thecard-tables. 

Not having as much control over his temper as Raoul, M. De Clameranangrily said:

"In the first place, monsieur, I would like to know who you are. "

The clown determined to answer as if he thought the question were ajest, replied in the bantering tone of a buffoon:

"You want my passport, do you, my lord doge? I left it in the hands ofthe city authorities; it contains my name, age, profession, domicile, and every detail--"

With an angry gesture, M. De Clameran interrupted him. 

"You have just committed a gross insult!"

"I, my lord doge?"

"Yes, you! What do you mean by telling this abominable story in thishouse?"

"Abominable! You may call it abominable; but I, who composed it, have adifferent opinion of it. "

"Enough, monsieur; you will at least have the courage to acknowledgethat your performance was a vile insinuation against Mme. Fauvel?"

The clown stood with his head thrown back, and mouth wide open, as ifastounded at what he heard. 

But anyone who knew him would have seen his bright black eyes sparklingwith malicious satisfaction. 

"Bless my heart!" he cried, as if speaking to himself. "This is thestrangest thing I ever heard of! How can my drama of the Mandarine Li-Fohave any reference to Mme. Fauvel, whom I don't know from Adam or Eve?I can't think how the resemblance----unless----but no, that isimpossible. "

"Do you pretend, " said M. De Clameran, "to be ignorant of M. Fauvel'smisfortune?"

The clown looked very innocent, and asked:

"What misfortune?"

"The robbery of which M. Fauvel was the victim. It has been ineveryone's mouth, and you must have heard of it. "

"Ah, yes, yes; I remember. His cashier ran off with three hundred andfifty thousand francs. Pardieu! It is a thing that almost daily happens. But, as to discovering any connection between this robbery and my play, that is another matter. "

M. De Clameran made no reply. A nudge from Lagors had calmed him as ifby enchantment. 

He looked quietly at the clown, and seemed to regret having uttered thesignificant words forced from him by angry excitement. 

"Very well, " he finally said in his usual haughty tone; "I must havebeen mistaken. I accept your explanation. "

But the clown, hitherto so humble and silly-looking, seemed to takeoffence at the word, and, assuming a defiant attitude, said:

"I have not made, nor do I intend making, any explanation. "

"Monsieur, " began De Clameran. 

"Allow me to finish, if you please. If, unintentionally, I have offendedthe wife of a man whom I highly esteem, it is his business to seekredress, and not yours. Perhaps you will tell me he is too old to demandsatisfaction: if so, let him send one of his sons. I saw one of them inthe ball-room to-night; let him come. You asked me who I am; in return Iask you who are you--you who undertake to act as Mme. Fauvel's champion?Are you her relative, friend, or ally? What right have you to insulther by pretending to discover an allusion to her in a play invented foramusement?"

There was nothing to be said in reply to this. M. De Clameran sought ameans of escape. 

"I am a friend of M. Fauvel, " he said, "and this title gives me theright to be as jealous of his reputation as if it were my own. If thisis not a sufficient reason for my interference, I must inform you thathis family will shortly be mine: I regard myself as his nephew. "

"Ah!"

"Next week, monsieur, my marriage with Madeleine will be publiclyannounced. "

This news was so unexpected, so startling that for a moment the clownwas dumb; and now his surprise was genuine. 

But he soon recovered himself, and, bowing with deference, said, withcovert irony:

"Permit me to offer my congratulations, monsieur. Besides being thebelle to-night, Mlle. Madeleine is worth, I hear, half a million. "

Raoul de Lagors had anxiously been watching the people near them, to seeif they overheard this conversation. 

"We have had enough of this gossip, " he said, in a disdainful tone;"I will only say one thing more, master clown, and that is, that yourtongue is too long. "

"Perhaps it is, my pretty youth, perhaps it is; but my arm is stilllonger. "

De Clameran here interrupted them by saying:

"It is impossible for one to seek an explanation from a man who concealshis identity under the guise of a fool. "

"You are at liberty, my lord doge, to ask the master of the house who Iam--if you dare. "

"You are, " cried Clameran, "you are--"

A warning look from Raoul checked the forge-master from using an epithetwhich would have led to an affray, or at least a scandalous scene. 

The clown stood by with a sardonic smile, and, after a moment's silence, stared M. De Clameran steadily in the face, and in measured tones said:

"I was the best friend, monsieur, that your brother Gaston ever had. Iwas his adviser, and the confidant of his last wishes. "

These few words fell like a clap of thunder upon De Clameran. 

He turned deadly pale, and stared back with his hands stretched outbefore him, as if shrinking from a phantom. 

He tried to answer, to protest against this assertion, but the wordsfroze on his lips. His fright was pitiable. 

"Come, let us go, " said Lagors, who was perfectly cool. 

And he dragged Clameran away, half supporting him, for he staggered likea drunken man, and clung to every object he passed, to prevent falling. 

"Oh, " exclaimed the clown, in three different tones, "oh, oh!"

He himself was almost as much astonished as the forge-master, andremained rooted to the spot, watching the latter as he slowly left theroom. 

It was with no decided object in view that he had ventured to use thelast mysteriously threatening words, but he had been inspired to doso by his wonderful instinct, which with him was like the scent of ablood-hound. 

"What can this mean?" he murmured. "Why was he so frightened? Whatterrible memory have I awakened in his base soul? I need not boast of mypenetration, or the subtlety of my plans. There is a great master, who, without any effort, in an instant destroys all my chimeras; he is called'Chance. '"

His mind had wandered far from the present scene, when he was broughtback to his situation by someone touching him on the shoulder. It wasthe man in the Venetian cloak. 

"Are you very satisfied, M. Verduret?" he inquired. 

"Yes, and no, M. The Count. No, because I have not completely achievedthe object I had in view when I asked you for an invitation hereto-night; yes, because these two rascals behaved in a manner whichdispels all doubt. "

"And yet you complain--"

"I do not complain, M. The Count: on the contrary, I bless chance, orrather Providence, which has just revealed to me the existence of asecret that I did not before even suspect. "

Five or six people approached the count, and he went off with them aftergiving the clown a friendly nod. 

The latter instantly threw aside his banner, and started in pursuit ofMme. Fauvel. He found her sitting on a sofa in the large salon, engagedin an animated conversation with Madeleine. 

"Of course they are talking over the scene; but what has become ofLagors and De Clameran?"

He soon saw them wandering among the groups scattered about the room, and eagerly asking questions. 

"I will bet my head these honorable gentlemen are trying to find outwho I am. Keep it up, my friends, ask everybody in the room; I wish yousuccess!"

They soon gave it up, but were so preoccupied, and anxious to be alonein order to reflect and deliberate, that, without waiting for supper, they took leave of Mme. Fauvel and her niece, saying they were goinghome. 

The clown saw them go up to the dressing-room for their cloaks, and in afew minutes leave the house. 

"I have nothing more to do here, " he murmured; "I might as well go too. "

He completely covered his dress with a domino, and started for home, thinking the cold frosty air would cool his confused brain. 

He lit a cigar, and, walking up the Rue St. Lazare, crossed the RueNotre Dame de Lorette, and struck into the Faubourg Montmartre. 

A man suddenly started out from some place of concealment, and rushedupon him with a dagger. 

Fortunately the clown had a cat-like instinct, which enabled himto protect himself against immediate danger, and detect any whichthreatened. 

He saw, or rather divined, the man crouching in the dark shadow of ahouse, and had the presence of mind to strike an attitude which enabledhim to ward off the assassin by spreading out his arms before him. 

This movement certainly saved his life; for he received in his arm afurious stab, which would have instantly killed him had it penetratedhis breast. 

Anger, more than pain, made him cry out:

"Ah, you villain!"

And recoiling a few feet, he put himself on the defensive. 

But the precaution was useless. 

Seeing his blow miss, the assassin did not return to the attack, butmade rapidly off. 

"That was certainly Lagors, " said the clown, "and Clameran must besomewhere near. While I walked around one side of the church, they musthave gone the other and lain in wait for me. "

His wound began to pain him; he stood under a gas-lamp to examine it. 

It did not appear to be dangerous, but the arm was cut through to thebone. 

He tore his handkerchief into four bands, and tied his arm up with thedexterity of a surgeon. 

"I must be on the track of some great crime, since these fellows areresolved upon murder. When such cunning rogues are only in danger of thepolice court, they do not gratuitously risk the chance of being triedfor murder. "

He thought by enduring a great deal of pain he might still use his arm;so he started in pursuit of his enemy, taking care to keep in the middleof the road, and avoid all dark corners. 

Although he saw no one, he was convinced that he was being pursued. 

He was not mistaken. When he reached the Boulevard Montmartre, hecrossed the street, and, as he did so, distinguished two shadows whichhe recognized. They crossed the same street a little higher up. 

"I have to deal with desperate men, " he muttered. "They do not even takepains to conceal their pursuit of me. They seem to be accustomed to thiskind of adventure, and the carriage trick which fooled Fanferlot wouldnever succeed with them. Besides, my light hat is a perfect beacon tolead them on in the night. " He continued his way up the boulevard, and, without turning his head, was sure that his enemies were thirty feetbehind him. 

"I must get rid of them somehow, " he said to himself. "I can neitherreturn home nor to the Archangel with these devils at my heels. They arefollowing me to find out where I live, and who I am. If they discoverthat the clown is M. Verduret, and that M. Verduret is M. Lecoq, myplans will be ruined. They will escape abroad with the money, and Ishall be left to console myself with a wounded arm. A pleasant ending toall my exertions!"

The idea of Raoul and Clameran escaping him so exasperated him that foran instant he thought of having them arrested at once. 

This was easy; for he had only to rush upon them, scream for help, and they would all three be arrested, carried to the watch-house, andconsigned to the commissary of police. 

The police often resort to this ingenious and simple means of arrestinga malefactor for whom they are on the lookout, and whom they cannotseize without a warrant. 

The next day there is a general explanation, and the parties, ifinnocent, are dismissed. 

The clown had sufficient proof to sustain him in the arrest of Lagors. He could show the letter and the mutilated prayer-book, he could revealthe existence of the pawnbroker's tickets in the house at Vesinet, hecould display his wounded arm. He could force Raoul to confess howand why he had assumed the name of Lagors, and what his motive was inpassing himself off for a relative of M. Fauvel. 

On the other hand, in acting thus hastily, he was insuring the safety ofthe principal plotter, De Clameran. What proofs had he against him? Notone. He had strong suspicions, but no well-grounded charge to produceagainst him. 

On reflection the clown decided that he would act alone, as he had thusfar done, and that alone and unaided he would discover the truth of allhis suspicions. 

Having reached this decision, the first step to be taken was to put hisfollowers on the wrong scent. 

He walked rapidly up the Rue Sebastopol, and, reaching the square ofthe Arts et Metiers, he abruptly stopped, and asked some insignificantquestions of two constables who were standing talking together. 

The manoeuvre had the result he expected; Raoul and Clameran stoodperfectly still about twenty steps off, not daring to advance. 

Twenty steps! That was as much start as the clown wanted. While talkingwith the constables, he had pulled the bell of the door before whichthey were standing, and its hollow sound apprised him that the door wasopen. He bowed, and entered the house. 

A minute later the constables had passed on, and Lagors and Clameran intheir turn rang the bell. When the concierge appeared, they asked who itwas that had just gone in disguised as a clown. 

They were told that no such person had entered, and that none ofthe lodgers had gone out disguised that night. "However, " added theconcierge, "I am not very sure, for this house has a back door whichopens on the Rue St. Denis. "

"We are tricked, " interrupted Lagors, "and will never know who the clownis. "

"Unless we learn it too soon for our own good, " said Clameran musingly. 

While Lagors and Clameran were anxiously trying to devise some means ofdiscovering the clown's identity, Verduret hurried up the back street, and reached the Archangel as the clock struck three. 

Prosper, who was watching from his window, saw him in the distance, andran down to open the door for him. 

"What have you learned?" he said; "what did you find out? Did you seeMadeleine? Were Raoul and Clameran at the ball?"

But M. Verduret was not in the habit of discussing private affairs wherehe might be overheard. 

"First of all, let us go into your room, and get some water to wash thiscut, which burns like fire. "

"Heavens! Are you wounded?"

"Yes, it is a little souvenir of your friend Raoul. Ah, I will soonteach him the danger of chopping up a man's arm!"

Prosper was surprised at the look of merciless rage on his friend'sface, as he calmly washed and dressed his arm. 

"Now, Prosper, we will talk as much as you please. Our enemies are onthe alert, and we must crush them instantly, or not at all. I have madea mistake. I have been on the wrong track; it is an accident liableto happen to any man, no matter how intelligent he may be. I took theeffect for the cause. The day I was convinced that culpable relationsexisted between Raoul and Mme. Fauvel, I thought I held the end ofthe thread that must lead us to the truth. I should have been moremistrustful; this solution was too simple, too natural. "

"Do you suppose Mme. Fauvel to be innocent?"

"Certainly not. But her guilt is not such as I first supposed. Iimagined that, infatuated with a seductive young adventurer, Mme. Fauvelhad first bestowed upon him the name of one of her relatives, and thenintroduced him as her nephew. This was an adroit stratagem to gain himadmission to her husband's house. 

"She began by giving him all the money she could could dispose of; latershe let him take her jewels to the pawnbrokers; when she had nothingmore to give, she allowed him to steal the money from her husband'ssafe. That is what I first thought. "

"And in this way everything was explained?"

"No, this did not explain everything, as I well knew at the time, andshould, consequently, have studied my characters more thoroughly. Howis Clameran's position to be accounted for, if my first idea was thecorrect one?"

"Clameran is Lagors's accomplice of course. "

"Ah, there is the mistake! I for a long time believed Lagors to be theprincipal person, when, in fact, he is not. Yesterday, in a disputebetween them, the forge-master said to his dear friend, 'And, above allthings, my friend, I would advise you not to resist me, for if you do Iwill crush you to atoms. ' That explains all. The elegant Lagors is notthe lover of Mme. Fauvel, but the tool of Clameran. Besides, did ourfirst suppositions account for the resigned obedience of Madeleine? Itis Clameran, and not Lagors, whom Madeleine obeys. "

Prosper began to remonstrate. 

M. Verduret shrugged his shoulders. To convince Prosper he had only toutter one word: to tell him that three hours ago Clameran had announcedhis intended marriage with Madeleine; but he did not. 

"Clameran, " he continued, "Clameran alone has Mme. Fauvel in his power. Now, the question is, what is the secret of this terrible influence hehas gained over her? I have positive proof that they have not metsince their early youth until fifteen months ago; and, as Mme. Fauvel'sreputation has always been above the reach of slander, we must seek inthe past for the cause of her resigned obedience to his will. "

"We can never discover it, " said Prosper mournfully. 

"We can discover it as soon as we know Clameran's past life. Ah, to-night he turned as white as a sheet when I mentioned his brotherGaston's name. And then I remembered that Gaston died suddenly, whilehis brother Louis was making a visit. "

"Do you think he was murdered?"

"I think the men who tried to assassinate me would do anything. Therobbery, my friend, has now become a secondary detail. It is quiteeasily explained, and, if that were all to be accounted for, I would sayto you, My task is done, let us go ask the judge of instruction for awarrant of arrest. "

Prosper started up with sparkling eyes. 

"Ah, you know--is it possible?"

"Yes, I know who gave the key, and I know who told the secret word. "

"The key might have been M. Fauvel's. But the word----"

"The word you were foolish enough to give. You have forgotten, Isuppose. But fortunately Gypsy remembered. You know that, two daysbefore the robbery, you took Lagors and two other friends to sup withMme. Gypsy? Nina was sad, and reproached you for not being more devotedto her. "

"Yes, I remember that. "

"But do you remember what you replied to her?"

"No, I do not, " said Prosper after thinking a moment. 

"Well, I will tell you: 'Nina, you are unjust in reproaching me withnot thinking constantly of you; for at this very moment your dear nameguards M. Fauvel's safe. '"

The truth suddenly burst upon Prosper like a thunderclap. He wrung hishands despairingly, and cried:

"Yes, oh, yes! I remember now. "

"Then you can easily understand the rest. One of the scoundrels went toMme. Fauvel, and compelled her to give up her husband's key; then, ata venture, placed the movable buttons on the name of Gypsy, opened thesafe, and took the three hundred and fifty thousand francs. And Mme. Fauvel must have been terribly frightened before she yielded. The dayafter the robbery the poor woman was near dying; and it was she who atthe greatest risk sent you the ten thousand francs. "

"But which was the thief, Raoul or Clameran? What enables them to thustyrannize over Mme. Fauvel? And how does Madeleine come to be mixed upin the affair?"

"These questions, my dear Prosper, I cannot yet answer; therefore Ipostpone seeing the judge. I only ask you to wait ten days; and, if Icannot in that time discover the solution of this mystery, I will returnand go with you to report to M. Patrigent all that we know. "

"Are you going to leave the city?"

"In an hour I shall be on the road to Beaucaire. It was from thatneighborhood that Clameran came, as well as Mme. Fauvel, who was a Mlle. De la Verberie before marriage. "

"Yes, I knew both families. "

"I must go there to study them. Neither Raoul nor Clameran can escapeduring my absence. The police are watching them. But you, Prosper, mustbe prudent. Promise me to remain a prisoner here during my trip. "

All that M. Verduret asked, Prosper willingly promised. But he did notwish to be left in complete ignorance of his projects for the future, orof his motives in the past. 

"Will you not tell me, monsieur, who you are, and what reasons you hadfor coming to my rescue?"

The extraordinary man smiled sadly, and said:

"I tell, in the presence of Nina, on the day before your marriage withMadeleine. "

Once left to his own reflections, Prosper began to appreciate thepowerful assistance rendered by his friend. 

Recalling the field of investigation gone over by his mysteriousprotector, he was amazed at its extent. 

How many facts had been discovered in a week, and with what precision, although he had pretended to be on the wrong track! Verduret had groupedhis evidence, and reached a result which Prosper felt he never couldhave hoped to attain by his own exertions. 

He was conscious that he possessed neither Verduret's penetration norhis subtlety. He did not possess this art of compelling obedience, of creating friends at every step, and the science of making men andcircumstances unite in the attainment of a common result. 

He began to regret the absence of his friend, who had risen up in thehour of adversity. He missed the sometimes rough but always kindlyvoice, which had encouraged and consoled him. 

He felt wofully lost and helpless, not daring to act or think forhimself, more timid than a child when deserted by his nurse. 

He had the good sense to follow the recommendations of his mentor. Heremained shut up in the Archangel, not even appearing at the windows. 

Twice he had news of M. Verduret. The first time he received a letter inwhich this friend said he had seen his father, and had had a long talkwith him. Afterward, Dubois, M. De Clameran's valet, came to tell himthat his "patron" reported everything as progressing finely. 

On the ninth day of his voluntary seclusion, Prosper began to feelrestless, and at ten o'clock at night set forth to take a walk, thinkingthe fresh air would relieve the headache which had kept him awake theprevious night. 

Mme. Alexandre, who seemed to have some knowledge of M. Verduret'saffairs, begged Prosper to remain at home. 

"What can I risk by taking a walk at this time, in a quiet part ofthe city?" he asked. "I can certainly stroll as far as the Jardin desPlantes without meeting anyone. "

Unfortunately he did not strictly follow this programme; for, havingreached the Orleans railway station, he went into a cafe near by, andcalled for a glass of ale. 

As he sat sipping his glass, he picked up a daily paper, _The Sun_, andunder the head of "Fashionable Gossip, " signed Jacques Durand, read thefollowing:

"We understand that the niece of one of our most prominent bankers, M. Andre Fauvel, will shortly be married to M. Le Marquis Louis deClameran. The engagement has been announced. "

This news, coming upon him so unexpectedly, proved to Prosper thejustness of M. Verduret's calculations. 

Alas! why did not this certainty inspire him with absolute faith? whydid it not give him courage to wait, the strength of mind to refrainfrom acting on his own responsibility?

Frenzied by distress of mind, he already saw Madeleine indissolublyunited to this villain, and, thinking that M. Verduret would perhapsarrive too late to be of use, determined at all risks to throw anobstacle in the way of the marriage. 

He called for pen and paper, and forgetting that no situation can excusethe mean cowardice of an anonymous letter, wrote in a disguised hand thefollowing lines to M. Fauvel:

"DEAR SIR--You consigned your cashier to prison; you acted prudently, since you were convinced of his dishonesty and faithlessness. 

"But, even if he stole three hundred and fifty thousand francs fromyour safe, does it follow that he also stole Mme. Fauvel's diamonds, andpawned them at the Mont-de-Piete, where they now are?

"Warned as you are, if I were you, I would not be the subject of publicscandal. I would watch my wife, and would be distrustful of handsomecousins. 

"Moreover, I would, before signing the marriage contract of Mlle. Madeleine, inquire at the Prefecture of Police, and obtain someinformation concerning the noble Marquis de Clameran. 

"A FRIEND. "

Prosper hastened off to post his letter. Fearing that it would not reachM. Fauvel in time, he walked up to the Rue Cardinal Lemoine, and put itin the main letter-box, so as to be certain of its speedy delivery. 

Until now he had not doubted the propriety of his action. 

But now when too late, when he heard the sound of his letter fallinginto the box, a thousand scruples filled his mind. Was it not wrong toact thus hurriedly? Would not this letter interfere with M. Verduret'splans? Upon reaching the hotel, his doubts were changed into bitterregrets. 

Joseph Dubois was waiting for him; he had received a despatch from hispatron, saying that his business was finished, and that he would returnthe next evening at nine o'clock. 

Prosper was wretched. He would have given all he had to recover theanonymous letter. 

And he had cause for regret. 

At that very hour M. Verduret was taking his seat in the cars atTarascon, meditating upon the most advantageous plan to be adopted inpursuance of his discoveries. 

For he had discovered everything, and now must bring matters to acrisis. 

Adding to what he already knew, the story of an old nurse of Mlle. Dela Verberie, the affidavit of an old servant who had always lived in theClameran family, and the depositions of the Vesinet husband and wife whoattended M. Lagors at his country house, the latter having been sent tohim by Dubois (Fanferlot), with a good deal of information obtained fromthe prefecture of police, he had worked up a complete case, and couldnow act upon a chain of evidence without a missing link. 

As he had predicted, he had been compelled to search into the distantpast for the first causes of the crime of which Prosper had been thevictim. 

The following is the drama, as he wrote it out for the benefit of thejudge of instruction, knowing that it would contain grounds for anindictment against the malefactors. 

XII

THE DRAMA

About two leagues from Tarascon, on the left bank of the Rhone, notfar from the wonderful gardens of M. Audibert, stood the chateau ofClameran, a weather-stained, neglected, but massive structure. 

Here lived, in 1841, the old Marquis de Clameran and his two sons, Gaston and Louis. 

The marquis was an eccentric old man. He belonged to the race of nobles, now almost extinct, whose watches stopped in 1789, and who kept timewith the past century. 

More attached to his illusions than to his life, the old marquisinsisted upon considering all the stirring events which had happenedsince the first revolution as a series of deplorable practical jokes. 

Emigrating with the Count d'Artois, he did not return to France until1815, with the allies. 

He should have been thankful to Heaven for the recovery of a portion ofhis immense family estates; a comparatively small portion, to be sure, but full enough to support him comfortably: he said, however, that hedid not think the few paltry acres were worth thanking God for. 

At first, he tried every means to obtain an appointment at court; butseeing all his efforts fail, he resolved to retire to his chateau, whichhe did, after cursing and pitying his king, whom he had worshipped. 

He soon became accustomed to the free and indolent life of a countrygentleman. 

Possessing fifteen thousand francs a year, he spent twenty-five orthirty thousand, borrowing from every source, saying that a genuinerestoration would soon take place, and that then he would regainpossession of all his properties. 

Following his example, his younger son lived extravagantly. Louis wasalways in pursuit of adventure, and idled away his time in drinking andgambling. The elder son, Gaston, anxious to participate in the stirringevents of the time, prepared himself for action by quietly working, studying, and reading certain papers and pamphlets surreptitiouslyreceived, the very mention of which was considered a hanging matter byhis father. 

Altogether the old marquis was the happiest of mortals, living well, drinking high, hunting much, tolerated by the peasants, and execratedby the gentlemen of the neighborhood, who regarded him with contempt andraillery. 

Time never hung heavy on his hands, except in mid-summer, when thevalley of the Rhone was intensely hot; and even then he had infalliblemeans of amusement, always new, though ever the same. 

He detested, above all, his neighbor the Countess de la Verberie. 

The Countess de la Verberie, the "bete noire" of the marquis, as heungallantly termed her, was a tall, dry woman, angular in appearance andcharacter, cold and arrogant toward her equals, and domineering over herinferiors. 

Like her noble neighbor, she too had emigrated; and her husband wasafterward killed at Lutzen, but unfortunately not in the French ranks. 

In 1815, the countess came back to France. But while the Marquis deClameran returned to comparative ease, she could obtain nothing fromroyal munificence, but the small estate and chateau of La Verberie. 

It is true that the chateau of La Verberie would have contented mostpeople; but the countess never ceased to complain of her unmeritedpoverty, as she called it. 

The pretty chateau was more modest in appearance than the manor of theClamerans; but it was equally comfortable, and much better regulated byits proud mistress. 

It was built in the middle of a beautiful park, one of the wonders ofthat part of the country. It reached from the Beaucaire road to theriver-bank, a marvel of beauty, with its superb old oaks, yoke-elms, andlovely groves, its meadow, and clear stream of water winding in amongthe trees. 

The countess had but one child--a lovely girl of eighteen, namedValentine; fair, slender, and graceful, with large, soft eyes, beautifulenough to make the stone saints of the village church thrill in theirniches, when she knelt piously at their feet. 

The renown of her great beauty, carried on the rapid waters of theRhone, was spread far and wide. 

Often the bargemen and the robust wagoners, driving their powerfulhorses along the road, would stop to gaze with admiration upon Valentineseated under some grand old tree on the banks of the river, absorbed inher book. 

At a distance her white dress and flowing tresses made her seem amysterious spirit from another world, these honest people said; theythought it a good omen when they caught a glimpse of her as they passedup the river. All along between Arles and Valence she was spoken of asthe "lovely fairy" of La Verberie. 

If M. De Clameran detested the countess, Mme. De la Verberie execratedthe marquis. If he nicknamed her "the witch, " she never called himanything but "the old gander. "

And yet they should have agreed, for at heart they cherished the sameopinions, with different ways of viewing them. 

He considered himself a philosopher, scoffed at everything, and had anexcellent digestion. She nursed her rancor, and grew yellow and thinfrom rage and envy. 

Nevertheless, they might have spent many pleasant evenings together, for, after all, they were neighbors. From Clameran could be seenValentine's greyhound running about the park of La Verberie; from LaVerberie glimpses were had of the lights in the dining-room windows ofClameran. 

And, as regularly as these lights appeared, every evening, the countesswould say, in a spiteful tone:

"Ah, now their orgies are about to commence!"

The two chateaux were only separated by the fast-flowing Rhone, which atthis spot was rather narrow. 

But between the two families existed a hatred deeper and more difficultto avert than the course of the Rhone. 

What was the cause of this hatred?

The countess, no less than the marquis, would have found it difficult totell. 

It was said that under the reign of Henri IV. Or Louis XIII. A LaVerberie betrayed the affections of a fair daughter of the Clamerans. 

This misdeed led to a duel and bloodshed. 

This groundwork of facts had been highly embellished by fiction; handeddown from generation to generation, it had now become a long tragichistory of robbery, murder, and rapine, which precluded any intercoursebetween the two families. 

The usual result followed, as it always does in real life, and often inromances, which, however exaggerated they may be, generally preserve areflection of the truth which inspires them. 

Gaston met Valentine at an entertainment; he fell in love with her atfirst sight. 

Valentine saw Gaston, and from that moment his image filled her heart. 

But so many obstacles separated them!

For over a year they both religiously guarded their secret, buried likea treasure in the inmost recesses of their hearts. 

And this year of charming, dangerous reveries decided their fate. Tothe sweetness of the first impression succeeded a more tender sentiment;then came love, each having endowed the other with superhuman qualitiesand ideal perfections. 

Deep, sincere passion can only expand in solitude; in the impure air ofa city it fades and dies, like the hardy plants which lose their colorand perfume when transplanted to hot-houses. 

Gaston and Valentine had only seen each other once, but seeing was tolove; and, as the time passed, their love grew stronger, until at lastthe fatality which had presided over their first meeting brought themonce more together. 

They both happened to be spending the day with the old Duchessd'Arlange, who had returned to the neighborhood to sell her property. 

They spoke to each other, and like old friends, surprised to find thatthey both entertained the same thoughts and echoed the same memories. 

Again they were separated for months. But soon, as if by accident, theyhappened to be at a certain hour on the banks of the Rhone, and wouldsit and gaze across at each other. 

Finally, one mild May evening, when Mme. De la Verberie had gone toBeaucaire, Gaston ventured into the park, and appeared before Valentine. 

She was not surprised or indignant. Genuine innocence displays noneof the startled modesty assumed by conventional innocence. It neveroccurred to Valentine that she ought to bid Gaston to leave her. 

She leaned upon his arm, and strolled up and down the grand old avenueof oaks. They did not say they loved each other, they felt it; but theydid say that their love was hopeless. They well knew that the inveteratefamily feud could never be overcome, and that it would be folly toattempt it. They swore never, never to forget each other, and tearfullyresolved never to meet again; never, not even once more!

Alas! Valentine was not without excuse. With a timid, loving heart, herexpansive affection was repressed and chilled by a harsh mother. Neverhad there been one of those long private talks between the Countessde la Verberie and Valentine which enabled a good mother to read herdaughter's heart like an open book. 

Mme. De la Verberie saw nothing but her daughter's beauty. She was wontto rub her hands, and say:

"Next winter I will borrow enough money to take the child to Paris, andI am much mistaken if her beauty does not win her a rich husband whowill release me from poverty. "

She called this loving her daughter!

The second meeting was not the last. Gaston dared not trust to aboatman, so he was obliged to walk a league in order to cross thebridge. Then he thought it would be shorter to swim the river; but hecould not swim well, and to cross the Rhone where it ran so rapidly wasrash for the most skilful swimmers. 

One evening, however, Valentine was startled by seeing him rise out ofthe water at her feet. 

She made him promise never to attempt this exploit again. He repeatedthe feat and the promise the next evening and every successive evening. 

As Valentine always imagined he was being drowned in the furiouscurrent, they agreed upon a signal. At the moment of starting, Gastonwould put a light in his window at Clameran, and in fifteen minutes hewould be at his idol's feet. 

What were the projects and hopes of the lovers? Alas! they projectednothing, they hoped for nothing. 

Blindly, thoughtlessly, almost fearlessly, they abandoned themselves tothe dangerous happiness of a daily rendezvous; regardless of the stormthat must erelong burst over their devoted heads, they revelled in theirpresent bliss. 

Is not every sincere passion thus? Passion subsists upon itself and initself; and the very things which ought to extinguish it, absenceand obstacles, only make it burn more fiercely. It is exclusive andundisturbed; reflects neither of the past nor of the future; exceptingthe present, it sees and cares for nothing. 

Moreover, Valentine and Gaston believed everyone ignorant of theirsecret. 

They had always been so cautious! they had kept such strict watch! Theyhad flattered themselves that their conduct had been a masterpiece ofdissimulation and prudence. 

Valentine had fixed upon the hour when she was certain her mother wouldnot miss her. Gaston had never confided to anyone, not even to hisbrother Louis. They never breathed each other's name. They deniedthemselves a last sweet word, a last kiss, when they felt it would bemore safe. 

Poor blind lovers! As if anything could be concealed from the idlecuriosity of country gossips; from the slanderous and ever-watchfulenemies who are incessantly on the lookout for some new bit oftittle-tattle, good or bad, which they improve upon, and eagerly spreadfar and near. 

They believed their secret well kept, whereas it had long sincebeen made public; the story of their love, the particulars of theirrendezvous, were topics of conversation throughout the neighborhood. 

Sometimes, at dusk, they would see a bark gliding along the water, nearthe shore, and would say to each other:

"It is a belated fisherman, returning home. "

They were mistaken. The boat contained malicious spies, who delightedin having discovered them, and hastened to report, with a thousand falseadditions, the result of their expedition. 

One dreary November evening, Gaston was awakened to the true state ofaffairs. The Rhone was so swollen by heavy rains that an inundation wasdaily expected. To attempt to swim across this impetuous torrent, wouldbe tempting God. Therefore Gaston went to Tarascon, intending to crossthe bridge there, and walk along the bank to the usual place of meetingat La Verberie. Valentine expected him at eleven o'clock. 

Whenever Gaston went to Tarascon, he dined with a relative living there;but on this occasion a strange fatality led him to accompany a friend tothe hotel of the "Three Emperors. "

After dinner, they went not the Cafe Simon, their usual resort, but tothe little cafe in the market-place, where the fairs were held. 

The small dining-hall was filled with young men. Gaston and his friendcalled for a bottle of beer, and began to play billiards. 

After they had been playing a short time, Gaston's attention wasattracted by peals of laughter from a party at the other end of theroom. 

From this moment, preoccupied by this continued laughter, of which hewas evidently the subject, he knocked the balls carelessly in everydirection. His conduct surprised his friend, who said to him:

"What is the matter? You are missing the simplest shots. "

"It is nothing. "

The game went on a while longer, when Gaston suddenly turned as white asa sheet, and, throwing down his cue, strode toward the table which wasoccupied by five young men, playing dominoes and drinking wine. 

He addressed the eldest of the group, a handsome man of twenty-six, withfierce-looking eyes, and a heavy black mustache, named Jules Lazet. 

"Repeat, if you dare, " he said, in a voice trembling with passion, "theremark you just now made!"

"I certainly will repeat it, " said Lazet, calmly. "I said, and I sayit again, that a nobleman's daughter is no better than a mechanic'sdaughter; that virtue does not always accompany a titled name. "

"You mentioned a particular name!"

Lazet rose from his chair as if he knew his answer would exasperateGaston, and that from words they would come to blows. 

"I did, " he said, with an insolent smile: "I mentioned the name of thepretty little fairy of La Verberie. "

All the coffee-drinkers, and even two travelling agents who were diningin the cafe, rose and surrounded the two young men. 

The provoking looks, the murmurs, or rather shouts, which welcomed himas he walked up to Lazet, proved to Gaston that he was surrounded byenemies. 

The wickedness and evil tongue of the old marquis were bearing theirfruit. Rancor ferments quickly and fiercely among the people ofProvence. 

Gaston de Clameran was not a man to yield, even if his foes were ahundred, instead of fifteen or twenty. 

"No one but a coward, " he said, in a clear, ringing voice, which thepervading silence rendered almost startling, "no one but a contemptiblecoward would be infamous enough to calumniate a young girl who hasneither father nor brother to defend her honor. "

"If she has no father or brother, " sneered Lazet, "she has her lovers, and that suffices. "

The insulting words, "her lovers, " enraged Gaston beyond control; heslapped Lazet violently in the face. 

Everyone in the cafe simultaneously uttered a cry of terror. Lazet'sviolence of character, his herculean strength and undaunted courage, were well known. He sprang across the table between them, and seizedGaston by the throat. Then arose a scene of excitement and confusion. Clameran's friend, attempting to assist him, was knocked down withbilliard-cues, and kicked under a table. 

Equally strong and agile, Gaston and Lazet struggled for some minuteswithout either gaining an advantage. 

Lazet, as loyal as he was courageous, would not accept assistance fromhis friends. He continually called out:

"Keep away; let me fight it out alone!"

But the others were too excited to remain inactive spectators of thescene. 

"A quilt!" cried one of them, "a quilt to make the marquis jump!"

Five or six young men now rushed upon Gaston, and separated him fromLazet. Some tried to throw him down, others to trip him up. 

He defended himself with the energy of despair, exhibiting in hisfurious struggles a strength of which he himself had not been conscious. He struck right and left as he showered fierce epithets upon hisadversaries for being twelve against one. 

He was endeavoring to get around the billiard-table so as to be near thedoor, and had almost succeeded, when an exultant cry arose:

"Here is the quilt! the quilt!" they cried. 

"Put him in the quilt, the pretty fairy's lover!"

Gaston heard these cries. He saw himself overcome, and suffering anignoble outrage at the hands of these enraged men. 

By a dexterous movement he extricated himself from the grasp of thethree who were holding him, and felled a fourth to the ground. 

His arms were free; but all his enemies returned to the charge. 

Then he seemed to lose his head, and, seizing a knife which lay on thetable where the travelling agents had been dining, he plunged it intothe breast of the first man who rushed upon him. 

This unfortunate man was Jules Lazet. He dropped to the ground. 

There was a second of silent stupor. 

Then four or five of the young men rushed forward to raise Lazet. Thelandlady ran about wringing her hands, and screaming with fright. Someof the assailants rushed into the street shouting, "Murder! Murder!"

The others once more turned upon Gaston with cries of "Vengeance! killhim!"

He saw that he was lost. His enemies had seized the first objects theycould lay their hands upon, and he received several wounds. He jumpedupon the billiard-table, and, making a rapid spring, dashed through thelarge glass window of the cafe. He was fearfully cut by the broken glassand splinters, but he was free. 

Gaston had escaped, but he was not yet saved. Astonished anddisconcerted at his desperate feat, the crowd for a moment werestupefied; but, recovering their presence of mind, they started inpursuit of him. 

The weather was bad, the ground wet and muddy, and heavy black cloudswere rolling westward; but the night was not dark. 

Gaston ran on from tree to tree, making frequent turnings, every momenton the point of being seized and surrounded, and asking himself whatcourse he should take. 

Finally he determined, if possible, to regain Clameran. 

With incredible rapidity he darted diagonally across the fair-ground, inthe direction of the levee which protected the valley of Tarascon frominundations. 

Unfortunately, upon reaching this levee, planted with magnificent treeswhich made it one of the most charming walks of Provence, Gaston forgotthat the entrance was closed by a gate with three steps, such as arealways placed before walks intended for foot-passengers, and rushedagainst it with such violence that he was thrown back and badly bruised. 

He quickly sprang up; but his pursuers were upon him. 

This time he could expect no mercy. The infuriated men at his heelsyelled that fearful cry which in the evil days of lawless bloodshed hadoften echoed in that valley: "In the Rhone with him! In the Rhone withthe marquis!"

His reason had abandoned him; he no longer knew what he did. Hisforehead was cut, and the blood trickled from the wound into his eyes, and blinded him. 

He must escape, or die in the attempt. 

He had tightly clasped the bloody knife with which he had stabbed Lazet. He struck his nearest foe; the man fell to the ground with a heavygroan. 

A second blow gained him a moment's respite, which gave him time to openthe gate and rush along the levee. 

Two men were kneeling over their wounded companion, and five othersresumed the pursuit. 

But Gaston flew fast, for the horror of his situation tripled hisenergy; excitement deadened the pain of his wounds; with elbows heldtight to his sides, and holding his breath, he went along at such aspeed that he soon distanced his pursuers; the noise of their feetbecame gradually more indistinct, and finally ceased. 

Gaston ran on for a mile, across fields and over hedges; fences andditches were leaped without effort and when he knew he was safe fromcapture he sank down at the foot of a tree to rest. 

This terrible scene had taken place with inconceivable rapidity. Onlyforty minutes had elapsed since Gaston and his friend entered the cafe. 

But during this short time how much had happened! These forty minuteshad given more cause for sorrow and remorse than the whole of hisprevious life put together. 

Entering this tavern with head erect and a happy heart, enjoying presentexistence, and looking forward to a yet better future, he left itruined; for he was a murderer! Henceforth he would be under a ban--anoutcast!

He had killed a man, and still convulsively held the murderousinstrument; he cast it from him with horror. 

He tried to account for the dreadful circumstances which had just takenplace; as if it were of any importance to a man lying at the bottom ofan abyss to know which stone had slipped, and precipitated him from thesummit. 

Still, if he alone had been ruined! But Valentine was dragged down withhim: she was disgraced yet more than himself; her reputation was gone. And it was his want of self-command which had cast to the winds thishonor, confided to his keeping, and which he held far dearer than hisown. 

But he could not remain here bewailing his misfortune. The police mustsoon be on his track. They would certainly go to the chateau of Clameranto seek him; and before leaving home, perhaps forever, he wished to saygood-by to his father, and once more press Valentine to his heart. 

He started to walk, but with great pain, for the reaction had come, andhis nerves and muscles, so violently strained, had now begun to relax;the intense heat caused by his struggling and fast running was replacedby a cold perspiration, aching limbs, and chattering teeth. His hip andshoulder pained him almost beyond endurance. The cut on his forehead hadstopped bleeding, but the coagulated blood around his eyes blinded him. 

After a painful walk he reached his door at ten o'clock. 

The old valet who admitted him started back terrified. 

"Good heavens, monsieur! what is the matter?"

"Silence!" said Gaston in the brief, compressed tone always inspired byimminent danger, "silence! where is my father?"

"M. The marquis is in his room with M. Louis. He has had a suddenattack of the gout, and cannot put his foot to the ground; but you, monsieur----"

Gaston did not stop to listen further. He hurried to his father's room. 

The old marquis, who was playing backgammon with Louis, dropped hisdice-box with a cry of horror, when he looked up and saw his eldest sonstanding before him covered with blood. 

"What is the matter? what have you been doing, Gaston?"

"I have come to embrace you for the last time, father, and to ask forassistance to escape abroad. "

"Do you wish to fly the country?"

"I must fly, father, and instantly; I am pursued, the police may be hereat any moment. I have killed two men. "

The marquis was so shocked that he forgot the gout, and attempted torise; a violent twinge made him drop back in his chair. 

"Where? When?" he gasped. 

"At Tarascon, in a cafe, an hour ago; fifteen men attacked me, and Iseized a knife to defend myself. "

"The old tricks of '93, " said the marquis. "Did they insult you, Gaston?What was the cause of the attack?"

"They insulted in my presence the name of a noble young girl. "

"And you punished the rascals? Jarnibleu! You did well. Who ever heardof a gentleman allowing insolent puppies to speak disrespectfully of alady of quality in his presence? But who was the lady you defended?"

"Mlle. Valentine de la Verberie. "

"What!" cried the marquis, "what! the daughter of that old witch! Thoseaccursed de la Verberies have always brought misfortune upon us. "

He certainly abominated the countess; but his respect for her nobleblood was greater than his resentment toward her individually, and headded:

"Nevertheless, Gaston, you did your duty. "

Meanwhile, the curiosity of St. Jean, the marquis's old valet, made himventure to open the door, and ask:

"Did M. The marquis ring?"

"No, you rascal, " answered M. De Clameran: "you know very well I didnot. But, now you are here, be useful. Quickly bring some clothes forM. Gaston, some fresh linen, and some warm water: hasten and dress hiswounds. "

These orders were promptly executed, and Gaston found he was not sobadly hurt as he had thought. With the exception of a deep stab in hisleft shoulder, his wounds were not serious. 

After receiving all the attentions which his condition required, Gastonfelt like a new man, ready to brave any peril. His eyes sparkled withrenewed energy and excitement. 

The marquis made a sign to the servants to leave the room. 

"Do you still think you ought to leave France?" he asked Gaston. 

"Yes, father. "

"My brother ought not to hesitate, " interposed Louis: "he will bearrested here, thrown into prison, vilified in court, and--who knows?"

"We all know well enough that he will be convicted, " grumbled the oldmarquis. "These are the benefits of the immortal revolution, as it iscalled. Ah, in my day we three would have taken our swords, jumped onour horses, and, dashing into Tarascon, would soon have--. But thosegood old days are passed. To-day we have to run away. "

"There is no time to lose, " observed Louis. 

"True, " said the marquis, "but to fly, to go abroad, one must havemoney; and I have none by me to give him. "

"Father!"

"No, I have none. Ah, what a prodigal old fool I have been! If I onlyhad a hundred louis!"

Then he told Louis to open the secretary, and hand him the money-box. 

The box contained only nine hundred and twenty francs in gold. 

"Nine hundred and twenty francs, " cried the marquis: "it will neverdo for the eldest son of our house to fly the country with this paltrysum. "

He sat lost in reflection. Suddenly his brow cleared, and he told Louisto open a secret drawer in the secretary, and bring him a small casket. 

Then the marquis took from his neck a black ribbon, to which wassuspended the key of the casket. 

His sons observed with what deep emotion he unlocked it, and slowlytook out a necklace, a large cross, several rings, and other pieces ofjewelry. 

His countenance assumed a solemn expression. 

"Gaston, my dear son, " he said, "at a time like this your life maydepend upon bought assistance; money is power. "

"I am young, father, and have courage. "

"Listen to me. The jewels belonged to the marquise, your sainted mother, a noble, holy woman, who is now in heaven watching over us. Thesejewels have never left me. During my days of misery and want, when I wascompelled to earn a livelihood by teaching music in London, I piouslytreasured them. I never thought of selling them; and to mortgage them, in the hour of direst need, would have seemed to be a sacrilege. But nowyou must take them, my son, and sell them for twenty thousand livres. "

"No, father no; I cannot take them!"

"You must, Gaston. If your mother were on earth, she would tell youto take them, as I do now. I command you to take and use them. Thesalvation, the honor, of the heir of the house of Clameran, must not beimperilled for want of a little gold. "

With tearful eyes, Gaston sank on his knees, and, carrying his father'shand to his lips, said:

"Thanks, father, thanks! In my heedless, ungrateful presumption I havehitherto misjudged you. I did not know your noble character. Forgive me. I accept; yes, I accept these jewels worn by my dear mother; but I takethem as a sacred deposit, confided to my honor, and for which I willsome day account to you. "

In their emotion, the marquis and Gaston forgot the threatened danger. But Louis was not touched by the affecting scene. 

"Time presses, " he said: "you had better hasten. "

"He is right, " cried the marquis: "go, Gaston, go, my son; and Godprotect the heir of the Clamerans!"

Gaston slowly got up and said, with an embarrassed air:

"Before leaving you, my father, I must fulfil a sacred duty. I havenot told you everything. I love Valentine, the young girl whose honor Idefended this evening. "

"Oh!" cried the marquis, thunderstruck, "oh, oh!"

"And I entreat you, father, to ask Mme. De la Verberie for the hand ofher daughter. Valentine will gladly join me abroad, and share my exile. "

Gaston stopped, frightened at the effect of his words. The old marquishad become crimson, or rather purple, as if struck by apoplexy. 

"Preposterous!" he gasped. "Impossible! Perfect folly!"

"I love her, father, and have promised her never to marry another. "

"Then always remain a bachelor. "

"I shall marry her!" cried Gaston, excitedly. "I shall marry her becauseI have sworn I would, and I will not be so base as to desert her. "

"Nonsense!"

"I tell you, Mlle. De la Verberie must and shall be my wife. It is toolate for me to draw back. Even if I no longer loved her, I would stillmarry her, because she has given herself to me; because, can't youunderstand--what was said at the cafe to-night was true: I have but oneway of repairing the wrong I have done Valentine--by marrying her. "

Gaston's confession, forced from him by circumstances, produced avery different impression from that which he had expected. The enragedmarquis instantly became cool, and his mind seemed relieved of animmense weight. A wicked joy sparkled in his eyes, as he replied:

"Ah, ha! she yielded to your entreaties, did she? Jarnibleu! I amdelighted. I congratulate you, Gaston: they say she is a pretty littlefool. "

"Monsieur, " interrupted Gaston, indignantly; "I have told you that Ilove her, and have promised to marry her. You seem to forget. "

"Ta, ta ta!" cried the marquis, "your scruples are absurd. You know fullwell that her great-grandfather led our great-grandmother astray. Now weare quits! I am delighted at the retaliation, for the old witch's sake. "

"I swear by the memory of my mother, that Valentine shall be my wife!"

"Do you dare assume that tone toward me?" cried the exasperated marquis. "Never, understand me clearly; never will I give my consent. You knowhow dear to me is the honor of our house. Well, I would rather see youtried for murder, and even chained to the galleys, than married to thisworthless jade!"

This last word was too much for Gaston. 

"Then your wish shall be gratified, monsieur. I will remain here, and bearrested. I care not what becomes of me! What is life to me without thehope of Valentine? Take back these jewels: they are useless now. "

A terrible scene would have taken place between the father and son, hadthey not been interrupted by a domestic who rushed into the room, andexcitedly cried:

"The gendarmes! here are the gendarmes!"

At this news the old marquis started up, and seemed to forget his gout, which had yielded to more violent emotions. 

"Gendarmes!" he cried, "in my house at Clameran! They shall pay dear fortheir insolence! You will help me, will you not, my men?"

"Yes, yes, " answered the servants. "Down with the gendarmes! down withthem!"

Fortunately Louis, during all this excitement, preserved his presence ofmind. 

"To resist would be folly, " he said. "Even if we repulsed the gendarmesto-night, they would return to-morrow with reinforcements. "

"Louis is right, " said the marquis, bitterly. "Might is right, as theysaid in '93. The gendarmes are all powerful. Do they not even have theimpertinence to come up to me while I am hunting, and ask to see myshooting-license?--I, a Clameran, show a license!"

"Where are they?" asked Louis of the servants. 

"At the outer gate, " answered La Verdure, one of the grooms. "Does notmonsieur hear the noise they are making with their sabres?"

"Then Gaston must escape over the garden wall. "

"It is guarded, monsieur, " said La Verdure, "and the little gate inthe park besides. There seems to be a regiment of them. They are evenstationed along the park walls. "

This was only too true. The rumor of Lazet's death had spread likewildfire throughout the town of Tarascon, and everybody was in a stateof excitement. Not only mounted gendarmes, but a platoon of hussars fromthe garrison, had been sent in pursuit of the murderer. 

At least twenty young men of Tarascon were volunteer guides to the armedforce. 

"Then, " said the marquis, "we are surrounded?"

"Not a single chance for escape, " groaned St. Jean. 

"We shall see about that, Jarnibleu!" cried the marquis. "Ah, we are notthe strongest, but we can be the most adroit. Attention! Louis, my son, you and La Verdure go down to the stable, and mount the fastest horses;then as quietly as possible station yourselves, you, Louis, at the parkgate, and you, La Verdure, at the outer gate. Upon the signal I shallgive you by firing a pistol, let every door be instantly opened, whileLouis and Verdure dash through the gates, and make the gendarmes pursuethem. "

"I will make them fly, " said La Verdure. 

"Listen. During this time, Gaston, aided by St. Jean, will scale thepark wall, and hasten along the river to the cabin of Pilorel, thefisherman. He is an old sailor of the republic, and devoted to ourhouse. He will take Gaston in his boat; and, when they are once on theRhone, there is nothing to be feared save the wrath of God. Now go, allof you: fly!"

Left alone with his son, the old man slipped the jewelry into a silkpurse, and, handing them once more to Gaston, said, as he stretched outhis arms toward him:

"Come here, my son, and let me embrace you, and bestow my blessing. "

Gaston hesitated. 

"Come, " insisted the old man in broken tones, "I must embrace you forthe last time: I may never see you again. Save yourself, save your name, Gaston, and then--you know how I love you, my son: take back the jewels. Come. "

For an instant the father and son clung to each other, overpowered byemotion. 

But the continued noise at the gates now reaches their ears. 

"We must part!" said M. De Clameran, "go!" And, taking from his deska little pair of pistols, he handed them to his son, and added, withaverted eyes, "You must not be captured alive, Gaston!"

Gaston did not immediately descend to the park. 

He yearned to see Valentine, and give her one last kiss before leavingFrance, and determined to persuade Pilorel to stop the boat as they wentby the park of La Verberie. 

He hastened to his room, placed the signal in the window so thatValentine might know he was coming, and waited for an answering light. 

"Come, M. Gaston, " entreated old St. Jean, who could not understand thestrange conduct. "For God's sake make haste! your life is at stake!"

At last he came running down the stairs, and had just reached thevestibule when a pistol-shot, the signal given by the marquis, washeard. 

The loud swinging open of the large gate, the rattling of the sabresof the gendarmes, the furious galloping of many horses, and a chorus ofloud shouts and angry oaths, were next heard. 

Leaning against the window, his brow beaded with cold perspiration, theMarquis de Clameran breathlessly awaited the issue of this expedient, upon which depended the life of his eldest son. 

His measures were excellent, and deserved success. As he had ordered, Louis and La Verdure dashed out through the gate, one to the right, theother to the left, each one pursued by a dozen mounted men. Their horsesflew like arrows, and kept far ahead of the pursuers. 

Gaston would have been saved, but for the interference of fate; but wasit fate, or was it malice?

Suddenly Louis's horse stumbled, and fell to the ground with his rider. The gendarmes rode up, and at once recognized the second son of M. DeClameran. 

"This is not the assassin!" they cried. "Let us hurry back, else he willescape!"

They returned just in time to see, by the uncertain light of the moonpeeping from behind a cloud, Gaston climbing the garden wall. 

"There is our man!" exclaimed the corporal. "Keep your eyes open, andgallop after him!"

They spurred their horses, and hastened to the spot where Gaston hadjumped from the wall. 

On a wooded piece of ground, even if it be hilly, an agile man, if hepreserves his presence of mind, can escape a number of horsemen. Theground on this side of the park was favorable to Gaston. He foundhimself in an immense madder-field; and, as is well known, as thisvaluable root must remain in the ground three years, the furrows arenecessarily ploughed very deep. Horses cannot even walk over its unevensurface; indeed, they can scarcely stand steadily upon it. 

This circumstance brought the gendarmes to a dead halt. 

Four rash hussars ventured in the field, but they and their beasts weresoon rolling between hillocks. 

Jumping from ridge to ridge, Gaston soon reached a large field, freshlyploughed, and planted with young chestnuts. 

As his chances of escape increased, the excitement grew more intense. The pursuers urged each other on, and called out to head him off, everytime they saw Gaston run from one clump of trees to another. 

Being familiar with the country, young De Clameran was confident ofeluding his pursuers. He knew that the next field was a thistle-field, and was separated from the chestnut by a long, deep ditch. 

He resolved to jump into this ditch, run along the bottom, and climb outat the farther end, while they were looking for him among the trees. 

But he had forgotten the swelling of the river. Upon reaching the ditch, he found it full of water. 

Discouraged but not disconcerted, he was about to jump across, whenthree horsemen appeared on the opposite side. 

They were gendarmes who had ridden around the madder-field andchestnut-trees, knowing they could easily catch him on the level groundof the thistle-field. 

At the sight of these three men, Gaston stood perplexed. 

He should certainly be captured if he attempted to run through thefield, at the end of which he could see the cabin of Pilorel theferryman. 

To retrace his steps would be surrendering to the hussars. 

At a little distance on his right was a forest, but he was separatedfrom it by a road upon which he heard the sound of approaching horses. He would certainly be caught there. 

Foes in front of him, foes behind him, foes on the right of him! Whatwas on his left?

On his left was the surging, foaming river. 

What hope was left? The circle of which he was the centre was fastnarrowing. 

Must he, then, fall back upon suicide? Here in an open field, tracked bypolice like a wild beast, must he blow his brains out? What a death fora De Clameran!

No! He would seize the one chance of salvation left him: a forlorn, desperate, perilous chance, but still a chance--the river. 

Holding a pistol in either hand, he ran and leaped upon the edge of alittle promontory, projecting three yards into the Rhone. 

This cape of refuge was formed by the immense trunk of a fallen tree. 

The tree swayed and cracked fearfully under Gaston's weight, as he stoodon the extreme end, and looked around upon his pursuers; there werefifteen of them, some on the right, some on the left, all uttering criesof joy. 

"Do you surrender?" called out the corporal. 

Gaston did not answer; he was weighing his chances. He was above thepark of La Verberie; would he be able to swim there, granting that hewas not swept away and drowned the instant he plunged into the angrytorrent before him?

He pictured Valentine, at this very moment, watching, waiting, andpraying for him on the other shore. 

"For the last time I command you to surrender!" cried the corporal. 

The unfortunate man did not hear; he was deafened by the waters whichwere roaring and rushing around him. 

In a supreme moment like this, with his foot upon the threshold ofanother world, a man sees his past life rise before him, and seldom doeshe find cause for self-approval. 

Although death stared him in the face, Gaston calmly considered whichwould be the best spot to plunge into, and commended his soul to God. 

"He will stand there until we go after him, " said a gendarme: "so wemight as well advance. "

Gaston had finished his prayer. 

He flung his pistols in the direction of the gendarmes: he was ready. 

He made the sign of the cross, then, with outstretched arms, dashed headforemost into the Rhone. 

The violence of his spring detached the few remaining roots of the oldtree; it oscillated a moment, whirled over, and then drifted away. 

The spectators uttered a cry of horror and pity; anger seemed to havedeserted them in their turn. 

"That is an end of him, " muttered one of the gendarmes. "It is uselessfor one to fight against the Rhone; his body will be picked up at Arlesto-morrow. "

The hussars seemed really remorseful at the tragic fate of the brave, handsome young man, whom a moment before they had pursued with so muchbitter zeal. They admired his spirited resistance, his courage, andespecially his resignation, his resolution to die. 

True French soldiers, their sympathies were now all upon the side of thevanquished, and every man of them would have done all in his power toassist in saving the drowning man, and aiding his escape. 

"An ugly piece of work!" grumbled the old quartermaster who had commandof the hussars. 

"Bast!" exclaimed the philosophic corporal, "the Rhone is no worse thanthe court of assizes: the result would be the same. Right about, men;march! The thing that troubles me is the idea of that poor old manwaiting to hear his son's fate. I would not be the one to tell him whathas happened. March!"

XIII

Valentine knew, that fatal evening, that Gaston would have to walk toTarascon, to cross the bridge over the Rhone which connected Tarasconwith Beaucaire, and did not expect to see him until eleven o'clock, thehour which they had fixed upon the previous evening. 

But, happening to look up at the windows of Clameran, she saw lightshurrying to and fro in an unusual manner, even in rooms that she knew tobe unoccupied. 

A presentiment of impending misfortune chilled her blood, and stoppedthe beatings of her heart. 

A secret and imperious voice within told her that somethingextraordinary was going on at the chateau of Clameran. 

What was it? She could not imagine; but she knew, she felt, that somedreadful misfortune had happened. 

With her eyes fastened upon the dark mass of stone looming in thedistance, she watched the going and coming of the lights, as if theirmovements would give her a clew to what was taking place within thosewalls. 

She raised her window, and tried to listen, fancying she could hear anunusual sound, even at such a distance. Alas! she heard nothing but therushing roar of the angry river. 

Her anxiety grew more insufferable every moment; and she felt as if shewould faint were this torturing suspense to last much longer, when thewell-known, beloved signal appeared suddenly in Gaston's window, andtold her that her lover was about to swim across the Rhone. 

She could scarcely believe her eyes; she must be under the influence ofa dream; her amazement prevented her answering the signal, until it hadbeen repeated three times. 

Then, more dead than alive, with trembling limbs she hastened along thepark to the river-bank. 

Never had she seen the Rhone so furious. Since Gaston was risking hislife in order to see her, she could no longer doubt that somethingfearful had occurred at Clameran. 

She fell on her knees, and with clasped hands, and her wild eyes fixedupon the dark waters, besought the pitiless waves to yield up her dearGaston. 

Every dark object which she could distinguish floating in the middle ofthe torrent assumed the shape of a human form. 

At one time, she thought she heard, above the roaring of the water, theterrible, agonized cry of a drowning man. 

She watched and prayed, but her lover came not. 

Still she waited. 

While the gendarmes and hussars slowly and silently returned to thechateau of Clameran, Gaston experienced one of those miracles whichwould seem incredible were they not confirmed by the most convincingproof. 

When he first plunged into the river, he rolled over five or six times, and was then drawn toward the bottom. In a swollen river the current isunequal, being much stronger in some places than in others; hence thegreat danger. 

Gaston knew it, and guarded against it. Instead of wasting his strengthin vain struggles, he held his breath, and kept still. About twenty-fiveyards from the spot where he had plunged in, he made a violent springwhich brought him to the surface. 

Rapidly drifting by him was the old tree. 

For an instant, he was entangled in the mass of weeds and debris whichclung to its roots, and followed in its wake; an eddy set him free. Thetree and its clinging weeds swept on. It was the last familiar friend, gone. 

Gaston dared not attempt to reach the opposite shore. He would have toland where the waves dashed him. 

With great presence of mind he put forth all his strength and dexterityto slowly take an oblique course, knowing well that there was no hopefor him if the current took him crosswise. 

This fearful current is as capricious as a woman, which accounts forthe strange effects of inundations; sometimes it rushes to the right, sometimes to the left, sparing one shore and ravaging the other. 

Gaston was familiar with every turn of the river; he knew that justbelow Clameran was an abrupt turning, and relied upon the eddy formedthereby, to sweep him in the direction of La Verberie. 

His hopes were not deceived. An oblique current suddenly swept himtoward the right shore, and, if he had not been on his guard, would havesunk him. 

But the eddy did not reach as far as Gaston supposed, and he was stillsome distance from the shore, when, with the rapidity of lightning, hewas swept by the park of La Verberie. 

As he floated by, he caught a glimpse of a white shadow among the trees;Valentine still waited for him. 

He was gradually approaching the bank, as he reached the end of LaVerberie, and attempted to land. 

Feeling a foothold, he stood up twice, and each time was thrown down bythe violence of the waves. He escaped being swept away by seizing somewillow branches, and, clinging to them, raised himself, and climbed upthe steep bank. 

He was safe at last. 

Without taking time to breathe, he darted in the direction of the park. 

He came just in time. Overcome by the intensity of her emotions, Valentine had fainted, and lay apparently lifeless on the dampriver-bank. 

Gaston's entreaties and kisses aroused her from her stupor. 

"Gaston!" she cried, in a tone that revealed all the love she felt forhim. "Is it indeed you? Then God heard my prayers, and had pity on us. "

"No, Valentine, " he murmured. "God has had no pity. "

The sad tones of Gaston's voice convinced her that her presentiment ofevil was true. 

"What new misfortune strikes us now?" she cried. "Why have you thusrisked your life--a life far dearer to me than my own? What hashappened?"

"This is what has happened, Valentine: our love-affair is the jest ofthe country around; our secret is a secret no longer. "

She shrank back, and, burying her face in her hands, moaned piteously. 

"This, " said Gaston, forgetting everything but his present misery, "thisis the result of the blind enmity of our families. Our noble and purelove, which ought to be a glory in the eyes of God and man, has to beconcealed, and, when discovered, becomes a reproach as though it weresome evil deed. "

"Then all is known--all is discovered!" murmured Valentine. "Oh, Gaston, Gaston!"

While struggling for his life against furious men and angry elements, Gaston had preserved his self-possession; but the heart-broken tone ofhis beloved Valentine overcame him. He swung his arms above his head, and exclaimed:

"Yes, they know it; and oh, why could I not crush the villains fordaring to utter your adored name? Ah, why did I only kill two of thescoundrels!"

"Have you killed someone, Gaston?"

Valentine's tone of horror gave Gaston a ray of reason. 

"Yes, " he replied with bitterness, "I have killed two men. It was forthat that I have crossed the Rhone. I could not have my father's namedisgraced by being tried and convicted for murder. I have been trackedlike a wild beast by mounted police. I have escaped them, and now I amflying my country. "

Valentine struggled to preserve her composure under this last unexpectedblow. 

"Where do you hope to find an asylum?" she asked. 

"I know not. Where I am to go, what will become of me, God only knows!I only know that I am going to some strange land, to assume a false nameand a disguise. I shall seek some lawless country which offers a refugeto murderers. "

Gaston waited for an answer to this speech. None came, and he resumedwith vehemence:

"And before disappearing, Valentine, I wished to see you, because now, when I am abandoned by everyone else, I have relied upon you, and hadfaith in your love. A tie unites us, my darling, stronger and moreindissoluble than all earthly ties--the tie of love. I love you morethan life itself, my Valentine; before God you are my wife; I amyours and you are mine, for ever and ever! Would you let me fly alone, Valentine? To the pain and toil of exile, to the sharp regrets of aruined life, would you, could you, add the torture of separation?"

"Gaston, I implore you--"

"Ah, I knew it, " he interrupted, mistaking the sense of her exclamation;"I knew you would not let me go off alone. I knew your sympathetic heartwould long to share the burden of my miseries. This moment effaces thewretched suffering I have endured. Let us go! Having our happiness todefend, having you to protect, I fear nothing; I can brave all, conquerall. Come, my Valentine, we will escape, or die together! This is thelong-dreamed-of happiness! The glorious future of love and liberty openbefore us!"

He had worked himself into a state of delirious excitement. He seizedValentine around the waist, and tried to draw her toward the gate. 

As Gaston's exaltation increased, Valentine became composed and almoststolid in her forced calmness. 

Gently, but with a quiet firmness, she withdrew herself from hisembrace, and said sadly, but resolutely:

"What you wish is impossible, Gaston!"

This cold, inexplicable resistance confounded her lover. 

"Impossible? Why, Valentine----"

"You know me well enough, Gaston, to be convinced that sharing thegreatest hardships with you would to me be the height of happiness. Butabove the tones of your voice to which I fain would yield, above thevoice of my own heart which urges me to follow the one being upon whomall its affections are centred, there is another voice--a powerful, imperious voice--which bids me to stay: the voice of duty. "

"What! Would you think of remaining here after the horrible affair ofto-night, after the scandal that will be spread to-morrow?"

"What do you mean? That I am lost, dishonored? Am I any more so to-daythan I was yesterday? Do you think that the jeers and scoffs ofthe world could make me suffer more than do the pangs of my guiltyconscience? I have long since passed judgment upon myself, Gaston; and, although the sound of your voice and the touch of your hand would makeme forget all save the bliss of your love, no sooner were you away thanI would weep tears of shame and remorse. "

Gaston listened immovable, stupefied. He seemed to see a new Valentinestanding before him, an entirely different woman from the one whosetender soul he thought he knew so well. 

"Your mother, what will she say?" he asked. 

"It is my duty to her that keeps me here. Do you wish me to prove anunnatural daughter, and desert a poor, lonely, friendless old woman, whohas nothing but me to cling to? Could I abandon her to follow a lover?"

"But our enemies will inform her of everything, Valentine, and think howshe will make you suffer!"

"No matter. The dictates of conscience must be obeyed. Ah, why can Inot, at the price of my life, spare her the agony of hearing that heronly daughter, her Valentine, has disgraced her name? She may be hard, cruel, pitiless toward me; but have I not deserved it? Oh, my onlyfriend, we have been revelling in a dream too beautiful to last! I havelong dreaded this awakening. Like two weak, credulous fools we imaginedthat happiness could exist beyond the pale of duty. Sooner or laterstolen joys must be dearly paid for. After the sweet comes the bitter;we must bow our heads, and drink the cup to the dregs. "

This cold reasoning, this sad resignation, was more than the fierynature of Gaston could bear. 

"You shall not talk thus!" he cried. "Can you not feel that the bareidea of your suffering humiliation drives me mad?"

"Alas! I see nothing but disgrace, the most fearful disgrace, staring mein the face. "

"What do you mean, Valentine?"

"I have not told you, Gaston, I am----"

Here she stopped, hesitated, and then added:

"Nothing! I am a fool. "

Had Gaston been less excited, he would have suspected some newmisfortune beneath this reticence of Valentine; but his mind was toofull of one idea--that of possessing her. 

"All hope is not lost, " he continued. "My father is kind-hearted, andwas touched by my love and despair. I am sure that my letters, added tothe intercession of my brother Louis, will induce him to ask Mme. De laVerberie for your hand. "

This proposition seemed to frighten Valentine. 

"Heaven forbid that the marquis should take this rash step!"

"Why, Valentine?"

"Because my mother would reject his offer; because, I must confess itnow, she has sworn I shall marry none but a rich man; and your father isnot rich, Gaston, so you will have very little. "

"Good heavens!" cried Gaston, with disgust, "is it to such an unnaturalmother that you sacrifice me?"

"She is my mother; that is sufficient. I have not the right to judgeher. My duty is to remain with her, and remain I shall. "

Valentine's manner showed such determined resolution, that Gaston sawthat further prayers would be in vain. 

"Alas!" he cried, as he wrung his hands with despair, "you do not loveme; you have never loved me!"

"Gaston, Gaston! you do not think what you say! Have you no mercy?"

"If you loved me, " he cried, "you could never, at this moment ofseparation, have the cruel courage to coldly reason and calculate. Ah, far different is my love for you. Without you the world is void; to loseyou is to die. What have I to live for? Let the Rhone take back thisworthless life, so miraculously saved; it is now a burden to me!"

And he rushed toward the river, determined to bury his sorrow beneathits waves; Valentine seized his arm, and held him back. 

"Is this the way to show your love for me?" she asked. 

Gaston was absolutely discouraged. 

"What is the use of living?" he said, dejectedly. "What is left to menow?"

"God is left to us, Gaston; and in his hands lies our future. "

As a shipwrecked man seizes a rotten plank in his desperation, soGaston eagerly caught at the word "_future_, " as a beacon in the gloomydarkness surrounding him. 

"Your commands shall be obeyed, " he cried with enthusiasm. "Away withweakness! Yes, I will live, and struggle, and triumph. Mme. De laVerberie wants gold; well, she shall have it; in three years I will berich, or I shall be dead. "

With clasped hands Valentine thanked Heaven for this suddendetermination, which was more than she had dared hope for. 

"But, " said Gaston, "before going away I wish to confide to you a sacreddeposit. "

He drew from his pocket the purse of jewels, and, handing them toValentine, added:

"These jewels belonged to my poor mother; you, my angel, are aloneworthy of wearing them. I thought of you when I accepted them from myfather. I felt that you, as my affianced wife, were the proper person tohave them. "

Valentine refused to accept them. 

"Take them, my darling, as a pledge of my return. If I do not come backwithin three years, you may know that I am dead, and then you must keepthem as a souvenir of him who so much loved you. "

She burst into tears, and took the purse. 

"And now, " said Gaston, "I have a last request to make. Everybodybelieves me dead, but I cannot let my poor old father labor under thisimpression. Swear to me that you will go yourself to-morrow morning, andtell him that I am still alive. "

"I will tell him, myself, " she said. 

Gaston felt that he must now tear himself away before his courage failedhim; each moment he was more loath to leave the only being who boundhim to this world; he enveloped Valentine in a last fond embrace, andstarted up. 

"What is your plan of escape?" she asked. 

"I shall go to Marseilles, and hide in a friend's house until I canprocure a passage to America. "

"You must have assistance; I will secure you a guide in whom I haveunbounded confidence; old Menoul, the ferryman, who lives near us. Heowns the boat which he plies on the Rhone. "

The lovers passed through the little park gate, of which Gaston had thekey, and soon reached the boatman's cabin. 

He was asleep in an easy-chair by the fire. When Valentine stood beforehim with Gaston, the old man jumped up, and kept rubbing his eyes, thinking it must be a dream. 

"Pere Menoul, " said Valentine, "M. Gaston is compelled to fly thecountry; he wants to be rowed out to sea, so that he can secretlyembark. Can you take him in your boat as far as the mouth of the Rhone?"

"It is impossible, " said the old man, shaking his head; "I would notdare venture on the river in its present state. "

"But, Pere Menoul, it would be of immense service to me; would you notventure for my sake?"

"For your sake? certainly I would, Mlle. Valentine: I will do anythingto gratify you. I am ready to start. "

He looked at Gaston, and, seeing his clothes wet and covered with mud, said to him:

"Allow me to offer you my dead son's clothes, monsieur; they will serveas a disguise: come this way. "

In a few minutes Pere Menoul returned with Gaston, whom no one wouldhave recognized in his sailor dress. 

Valentine went with them to the place where the boat was moored. Whilethe old man was unfastening it, the disconsolate lovers tearfullyembraced each other for the last time. 

"In three years, my own Valentine; promise to wait three years for me!If alive, I will then see you. "

"Adieu, mademoiselle, " interrupted the boatman; "and you, monsieur, holdfast, and keep steady. "

Then with a vigorous stroke of the boat-hook he sent the bark into themiddle of the stream. 

Three days later, thanks to the assistance of Pere Menoul, Gaston wasconcealed on the three-masted American vessel, Tom Jones, which was tostart the next day for Valparaiso. 

XIV

Cold and white as a marble statue, Valentine stood on the bank of theriver, watching the frail bark which was carrying her lover away. Itflew along the Rhone like a bird in a tempest, and after a few secondsappeared like a black speck in the midst of the heavy fog which floatedover the water, then was lost to view. 

Now that Gaston was gone, Valentine had no motive for concealing herdespair; she wrung her hands and sobbed as if her heart would break. Allher forced calmness, her bravery and hopefulness, were gone. She feltcrushed and lost, as if the sharp pain in her heart was the forerunnerof the torture in store for her; as if that swiftly gliding bark hadcarried off the better part of herself. 

While Gaston treasured in the bottom of his heart a ray of hope, shefelt there was nothing to look forward to but shame and sorrow. 

The horrible facts which stared her in the face convinced her thathappiness in this life was over; the future was worse than blank. Shewept and shuddered at the prospect. 

She slowly retraced her footsteps through the friendly little gate whichhad so often admitted poor Gaston; and, as she closed it behind her, she seemed to be placing an impassable barrier between herself andhappiness. 

Before entering, Valentine walked around the chateau, and looked up atthe windows of her mother's chamber. 

They were brilliantly lighted, as usual at this hour, for Mme. De laVerberie passed half the night in reading, and slept till late in theday. 

Enjoying the comforts of life, which are little costly in the country, the selfish countess disturbed herself very little about her daughter. 

Fearing no danger in their isolation, she left her at perfect liberty;and day and night Valentine might go and come, take long walks, and situnder trees for hours at a time, without restriction. 

But on this night Valentine feared being seen. She would be called uponto explain the torn, muddy condition of her dress, and what answer couldshe give?

Fortunately she could reach her room without meeting anyone. 

She needed solitude in order to collect her thoughts, and to pray forstrength to bear the heavy burden of her sorrows, and to withstand theangry storm about to burst over her head. 

Seated before her little work-table, she emptied the purse of jewels, and mechanically examined them. 

It would be a sweet, sad comfort to wear the simplest of the rings, shethought, as she slipped the sparkling gem on her finger; but her motherwould ask her where it came from. What answer could she give? Alas, none. 

She kissed the purse, in memory of Gaston, and then concealed the sacreddeposit in her bureau. 

When she thought of going to Clameran, to inform the old marquis of themiraculous preservation of his son's life, her heart sank. 

Blinded by his passion, Gaston did not think, when he requested thisservice, of the obstacles and dangers to be braved in its performance. 

But Valentine saw them only too clearly; yet it did not occur to her foran instant to break her promise by sending another, or by delaying to goherself. 

At sunrise she dressed herself. 

When the bell was ringing for early mass, she thought it a good time tostart on her errand. 

The servants were all up, and one of them named Mihonne, who alwayswaited on Valentine, was scrubbing the vestibule. 

"If mother asks for me, " said Valentine to the girl, "tell her I havegone to early mass. "

She often went to church at this hour, so there was nothing to be fearedthus far; Mihonne looked at her sadly, but said nothing. 

Valentine knew that she would have difficulty in returning to breakfast. She would have to walk a league before reaching the bridge, and it wasanother league thence to Clameran; in all she must walk four leagues. 

She set forth at a rapid pace. The consciousness of performing anextraordinary action, the feverish anxiety of peril incurred, increasedher haste. She forgot that she had worn herself out weeping all night;that this fictitious strength could not last. 

In spite of her efforts, it was after eight o'clock when she reached thelong avenue leading to the main entrance of the chateau of Clameran. 

She had only proceeded a few steps, when she saw old St. Jean comingdown the path. 

She stopped and waited for him; he hastened his steps at sight of her, as if having something to tell her. 

He was very much excited, and his eyes were swollen with weeping. 

To Valentine's surprise, he did not take off his hat to bow, and when hecame up to her, he said, rudely:

"Are you going up to the chateau, mademoiselle?"

"Yes. "

"If you are going after M. Gaston, " said the servant, with aninsolent sneer, "you are taking useless trouble. M. The count is dead, mademoiselle; he sacrificed himself for the sake of a worthless woman. "

Valentine turned white at this insult, but took no notice of it. St. Jean, who expected to see her overcome by the dreadful news, wasbewildered at her composure. 

"I am going to the chateau, " she said, quietly, "to speak to themarquis. "

St. Jean stifled a sob, and said:

"Then it is not worth while to go any farther. "

"Why?"

"Because the Marquis of Clameran died at five o'clock this morning. "

Valentine leaned against a tree to prevent herself from falling. 

"Dead!" she gasped. 

"Yes, " said St. Jean, fiercely; "yes, dead!"

A faithful servant of the old regime, St. Jean shared all the passions, weaknesses, friendships, and enmities of his master. He had a horror ofthe La Verberies. And now he saw in Valentine the woman who had causedthe death of the marquis whom he had served for forty years, and ofGaston whom he worshipped. 

"I will tell you how he died, " said the bitter old man. "Yesterdayevening, when those hounds came and told the marquis that his eldestson was dead, he who was as hardy as an oak, and could face any danger, instantly gave way, and dropped as if struck by lightning. I was there. He wildly beat the air with his hands, and fell without opening hislips; not one word did he utter. We put him to bed, and M. Louisgalloped into Tarascon for a doctor. But the blow had struck too deeply. When Dr. Raget arrived he said there was no hope. 

"At daybreak, the marquis recovered consciousness enough to ask for M. Louis, with whom he remained alone for some minutes. The last words heuttered were, 'Father and son the same day; there will be rejoicing atLa Verberie. '"

Valentine might have soothed the sorrow of the faithful servant, bytelling him Gaston still lived; but she feared it would be indiscreet, and, unfortunately, said nothing. 

"Can I see M. Louis?" she asked after a long silence. 

This question seemed to arouse all the anger slumbering in the breast ofpoor St. Jean. 

"You! You would dare take such a step, Mlle. De la Verberie? What! wouldyou presume to appear before him after what has happened? I will neverallow it! And you had best, moreover, take my advice, and return home atonce. I will not answer for the tongues of the servants here, when theysee you. "

And, without waiting for an answer, he hurried away. 

What could Valentine do? Humiliated and miserable, she could onlywearily drag her aching limbs back the way she had so rapidly come earlythat morning. On the road, she met many people coming from the town, where they had heard of the events of the previous night; and the poorgirl was obliged to keep her eyes fastened to the ground in orderto escape the insulting looks and mocking salutations with which thegossips passed her. 

When Valentine reached La Verberie, she found Mihonne waiting for her. 

"Ah, mademoiselle, " she said, "make haste, and go in the house. Madamehad a visitor this morning, and ever since she left has been cryingout for you. Hurry; and take care what you say to her, for she is in aviolent passion. "

Much has been said in favor of the patriarchal manners of our ancestors. 

Their manners may have been patriarchal years and years ago; but ourmothers and wives nowadays certainly have not such ready hands and quicktongues, and are sometimes, at least, elegant in manner, and choice intheir language. 

Mme. De La Verberie had preserved the manners of the good old times, when grand ladies swore like troopers, and impressed their remarks byslaps in the face. 

When Valentine appeared, she was overwhelmed with coarse epithets andviolent abuse. 

The countess had been informed of everything, with many gross additionsadded by public scandal. An old dowager, her most intimate friend, hadhurried over early in the morning, to offer her this poisoned dish ofgossip, seasoned with her own pretended condolences. 

In this sad affair, Mme. De la Verberie mourned less over her daughter'sloss of reputation, than over the ruin of her own projects--projectsof going to Paris, making a grand marriage for Valentine, and living inluxury the rest of her days. 

A young girl so compromised would not find it easy to get a husband. It would now be necessary to keep her two years longer in the country, before introducing her into Parisian society. The world must have timeto forget this scandal. 

"You worthless wretch!" cried the countess with fury; "is it thus yourespect the noble traditions of our family? Heretofore it has never beenconsidered necessary to watch the La Verberies; they could take care oftheir honor: but you must take advantage of your liberty to cover ourname with disgrace!"

With a sinking heart, Valentine had foreseen this tirade. She feltthat it was only a just punishment for her conduct. Knowing that theindignation of her mother was just, she meekly hung her head like arepentant sinner at the bar of justice. 

But this submissive silence only exasperated the angry countess. 

"Why do you not answer me?" she screamed with flashing eyes and athreatening gesture. "Speak! you----"

"What can I say, mother?"

"Say, miserable girl? Say that they lied when they accused a La Verberieof disgracing her name! Speak: defend yourself!"

Valentine mournfully shook her head, but said nothing. 

"It is true, then?" shrieked the countess, beside herself with rage;"what they said is true?"

"Forgive me, mother: have mercy! I am so miserable!" moaned the poorgirl. 

"Forgive! have mercy! Do you dare to tell me I have not been deceived bythis gossip to-day? Do you have the insolence to stand there and gloryin your shame? Whose blood flows in your veins? You seem to be ignorantthat some faults should be persistently denied, no matter how glaringthe evidence against them. And you are my daughter! Can you notunderstand that an ignominious confession like this should never beforced from a woman by any human power? But no, you have lovers, andunblushingly avow it. Why not run over the town and tell everybody?Boast of it, glory in it: it would be something new!"

"Alas! you are pitiless, mother!"

"Did you ever have any pity on me, my dutiful daughter? Did it everoccur to you that your disgrace would kill me? No: I suppose youand your lover have often laughed at my blind confidence; for I hadconfidence in you: I had perfect faith in you. I believed you to beas innocent as when you lay in your cradle. And it has come to this:drunken men make a jest of your name in a billiard-room, then fightabout you, and kill each other. I intrusted to you the honor ofour name, and what did you do with it? You handed it over to thefirst-comer!"

This was too much for Valentine. The words, "first-comer, " woundedher pride more than all the other abuse heaped upon her. She tried toprotest against this unmerited insult. 

"Ah, I have made a mistake in supposing this to be the first one, " saidthe countess. "Among your many lovers, you choose the heir of our worstenemy, the son of those detested Clamerans. Among all, you select acoward who publicly boasted of your favors; a wretch who tried to avengehimself for the heroism of our ancestors by ruining you and me--an oldwoman and a child!"

"No, mother, you do him wrong. He loved me, and hopes for your consent. "

"Wants to marry you, does he? Never, never shall that come to pass! Iwould rather see you lower than you are, in the gutter, laid in yourcoffin, than see you the wife of that man!"

Thus the hatred of the countess was expressed very much in the termswhich the old marquis had used to his son. 

"Besides, " she added, with a ferocity of which only a bad woman iscapable, "your lover is drowned, and the old marquis is dead. God isjust; we are avenged. "

The words of St. Jean, "There will be rejoicing at La Verberie, " rungin Valentine's ears, as she saw the countess's eyes sparkle with wickedjoy. 

This was too much for the unfortunate girl. 

For half an hour she had been exerting all of her strength to bear thiscruel violence from her mother; but her physical endurance was not equalto the task. She turned pale, and with half-closed eyes tried to seize atable, as she felt herself falling; but her head fell against a bracket, and with bleeding forehead she dropped at her mother's feet. 

The cold-hearted countess felt no revival of maternal love, as shelooked at her daughter's lifeless form. Her vanity was wounded, butno other emotion disturbed her. Hers was a heart so full of anger andhatred that there was no room for any nobler sentiment. 

She rang the bell; and the affrighted servants, who were trembling inthe passage at the loud and angry tones of that voice, of which they allstood in terror, came running in. 

"Carry mademoiselle to her room, " she ordered: "lock her up, and bringme the key. "

The countess intended keeping Valentine a close prisoner for a longtime. 

She well knew the mischievous, gossiping propensities of country people, who, from mere idleness, indulge in limitless scandal. A poor fallengirl must either leave the country, or drink to the very dregs thechalice of premeditated humiliations, heaped up and offered her by herneighbors. Each clown delights in casting a stone at her. 

The plans of the countess were destined to be disconcerted. 

The servants came to tell her that Valentine was restored toconsciousness, but seemed to be very ill. 

She replied that she would not listen to such absurdities, that it wasall affectation; but Mihonne insisted upon her going up and judging forherself. She unwillingly went to her daughter's room, and saw that herlife was in danger. 

The countess betrayed no apprehension, but sent to Tarascon for Dr. Raget, who was the oracle of the neighborhood; he was with the Marquisof Clameran when he died. 

Dr. Raget was one of those men who leave a blessed memory, which liveslong after they have left this world. 

Intelligent, noble-hearted, and wealthy, he devoted his life to his art;going from the mansions of the rich to the hovels of the poor, withoutever accepting remuneration for his services. 

At all hours of the night and day, his gray horse and old buggy mightbe seen, with a basket of wine and soup under the seat, for his poorerpatients. 

He was a little, bald-headed man of fifty, with a quick, bright eye, andpleasant face. 

The servant fortunately found him at home; and he was soon standingat Valentine's bed-side, with a grave, perplexed look upon his usuallycheerful face. 

Endowed with profound perspicacity, quickened by practice, he studiedValentine and her mother alternately; and the penetrating gaze whichhe fastened on the old countess so disconcerted her that she felt herwrinkled face turning very red. 

"This child is very ill, " he abruptly said. 

Mme. De la Verberie made no reply. 

"I desire, " continued the doctor, "to remain alone with her for a fewminutes. "

The countess dared not resist the authority of a man of Dr. Raget'scharacter, and retired to the next room, apparently calm, but in realitydisturbed by the most gloomy forebodings. 

At the end of half an hour--it seemed a century--the doctor entered theroom where she was waiting. He, who had witnessed so much sufferingand misery all his life, was agitated and nervous after talking withValentine. 

"Well, " said the countess, "what is the matter?"

"Summon all your courage, madame, " he answered sadly, "and be preparedto grant indulgence and pardon to your suffering child. Mlle. Valentinewill soon become a mother. "

"The worthless creature! I feared as much. "

The doctor was shocked at this dreadful expression of the countess'seye. He laid his hand on her arm, and gave her a penetrating look, beneath which she instantly quailed. 

The doctor's suspicions were correct. 

A dreadful idea had flashed across Mme. De la Verberie's mind--the ideaof destroying this child which would be a living proof of Valentine'ssin. 

Feeling that her evil intention was divined, the proud woman's eyes fellbeneath the doctor's obstinate gaze. 

"I do not understand you, Dr. Raget, " she murmured. 

"But I understand you, madame; and I simply tell you that a crime doesnot obliterate a fault. "

"Doctor!"

"I merely say what I think, madame. If I am mistaken in my impression, so much the better for you. At present, the condition of your daughteris serious, but not dangerous. Excitement and distress of mind haveunstrung her nerves, and she now has a high fever; but I hope by greatcare and good nursing that she will soon recover. "

The countess saw that the good doctor's suspicions were not dissipated;so she thought she would try affectionate anxiety, and said:

"At least, doctor, you can assure me that the dear child's life is notin danger?"

"No, madame, " answered Dr. Raget with cutting irony, "your maternaltenderness need not be alarmed. All the poor child needs is rest ofmind, which you alone can give her. A few kind words from you will doher more good than all of my prescriptions. But remember, madame, that the least shock or nervous excitement will produce the most fatalconsequences. "

"I am aware of that, " said the hypocritical countess, "and shall be verycareful. I must confess that I was unable to control my anger upon firsthearing your announcement. "

"But now that the first shock is over, madame, being a mother and aChristian, you will do your duty. My duty is to save your daughter andher child. I will call to-morrow. "

Mme. De la Verberie had no idea of having the doctor go off in thisway. She called him back, and, without reflecting that she was betrayingherself, cried out:

"Do you pretend to say, monsieur, that you will prevent my taking everymeans to conceal this terrible misfortune that has fallen upon me? Doyou wish our shame to be made public, to make me the laughing-stock ofthe neighborhood?"

The doctor reflected without answering; the condition of affairs wasgrave. 

"No, madame, " he finally said; "I cannot prevent your leaving LaVerberie: that would be overstepping my powers. But it is my duty tohold you to account for the child. You are at liberty to go where youplease; but you must give me proof of the child's living, or at leastthat no attempts have been made against its life. "

After uttering these threatening words he left the house, and it was ingood time; for the countess was choking with suppressed rage. 

"Insolent upstart!" she said, "to presume to dictate to a woman of myrank! Ah, if I were not completely at his mercy!"

But she was at his mercy, and she knew well enough that it would besafest to obey. 

She stamped her foot with anger, as she thought that all her ambitiousplans were dashed to the ground. 

No more hopes of luxury, of a millionaire son-in-law, of splendidcarriages, rich dresses, and charming card-parties where she could losemoney all night without disturbing her mind. 

She would have to die as she had lived, neglected and poor; and thisfuture life of deprivation would be harder to bear than the past, because she no longer had bright prospects to look forward to. It was acruel awakening from her golden dreams. 

And it was Valentine who brought this misery upon her. 

This reflection aroused all her inherent bitterness, and she felt towardher daughter one of those implacable hatreds which, instead of beingquenched, are strengthened by time. 

She wished she could see Valentine lying dead before her; above allwould she like the accursed infant to come to grief. 

But the doctor's threatening look was still before her, and she darednot attempt her wicked plans. She even forced herself to go and say afew forgiving words to Valentine, and then left her to the care of thefaithful Mihonne. 

Poor Valentine! she prayed that death might kindly end her sufferings. She had neither the moral nor physical courage to fight against herfate, but hopelessly sank beneath the first blow, and made no attempt torally herself. 

She was, however, getting better. She felt that dull, heavy sensationwhich always follows violent mental or physical suffering; she was stillable to reflect, and thought:

"Well, it is over; my mother knows everything. I no longer have heranger to fear, and must trust to time for her forgiveness. "

This was the secret which Valentine had refused to reveal to Gaston, because she feared that he would refuse to leave her if he knew it; andshe wished him to escape at any price of suffering to herself. Even nowshe did not regret having followed the dictates of duty, and remained athome. 

The only thought which distressed her was Gaston's danger. Had hesucceeded in embarking? How would she find out? The doctor had allowedher to get up; but she was not well enough to go out, and she did notknow when she should be able to walk as far as Pere Menoul's cabin. 

Happily the devoted old boatman was intelligent enough to anticipate herwishes. 

Hearing that the young lady at the chateau was very ill, he set aboutdevising some means of informing her of her friend's safety. He went toLa Verberie several times on pretended errands, and finally succeeded inseeing Valentine. One of the servants was present, so he could not speakto her; but he made her understand by a significant look that Gaston wasout of danger. 

This knowledge contributed more toward Valentine's recovery than all themedicines administered by the doctor, who, after visiting her daily forsix weeks, now pronounced his patient sufficiently strong to bear thefatigues of a journey. 

The countess had waited with the greatest impatience for this decision. In order to prevent any delay, she had already sold at a discount halfof her incoming rents, supposing that the sum thus raised, twenty-fivethousand francs, would suffice for all contingent expenses. 

For a fortnight she had been calling on all of her neighbors to bid themfarewell, saying that her daughter had entirely recovered her health, and that she was going to take her to England to visit a rich old uncle, who had repeatedly written for her. 

Valentine looked forward to this journey with terror, and shudderedwhen, on the evening that the doctor gave her permission to set out, hermother came to her room, and said:

"We will start the day after to-morrow. "

Only one day left! And Valentine had been unable to let Louis deClameran know that his brother was still living. 

In this extremity she was obliged to confide in Mihonne, and sent herwith a letter to Louis. 

But the faithful servant had a useless walk. 

The chateau of Clameran was deserted; all the servants had beendismissed, and M. Louis, whom they now called the marquis, had goneabroad. 

At last they started. Mme. De la Verberie, feeling that she could trustMihonne, decided to take her along; but first made her sacredly promiseeternal secrecy. 

It was in a little village near London that the countess, under theassumed name of Mrs. Wilson, took up her abode with her daughter andmaid-servant. 

She selected England, because she had lived there a long time, and waswell acquainted with the manners and habits of the people, and spoketheir language as well as she did her own. 

She had also kept up her acquaintanceship with some of the Englishnobility, and often dined and went to the theatre with her friends inLondon. On these occasions she always took the humiliating precaution oflocking up Valentine until she should return. 

It was in this sad, solitary house, in the month of May, that the sonof Valentine de la Verberie was born. He was taken to the parishpriest, and christened Valentin-Raoul Wilson. The countess had preparedeverything, and engaged an honest farmer's wife to adopt the child, bring him up as her own, and, when old enough, have him taught a trade. For doing this the countess paid her five hundred pounds. 

Little Raoul was given over to his adopted parent a few hours after hisbirth. 

The good woman thought him the child of an English lady, and thereseemed no probability that he would ever discover the secret of hisbirth. 

Restored to consciousness, Valentine asked for her child. She yearnedto clasp it to her bosom; she implored to be allowed to hold her babe inher arms for only one minute. 

But the cruel countess was pitiless. 

"Your child!" she cried, "you must be dreaming; you have no child. Youhave had brain fever, but no child. "

And as Valentine persisted in saying that she knew the child was alive, and that she must see it, the countess was forced to change her tactics. 

"Your child is alive, and shall want for nothing, " she said sharply;"let that suffice; and be thankful that I have so well concealed yourdisgrace. You must forget what has happened, as you would forget apainful dream. The past must be ignored--wiped out forever. You know mewell enough to understand that I will be obeyed. "

The moment had come when Valentine should have asserted her maternalrights, and resisted the countess's tyranny. 

She had the idea, but not the courage to do so. 

If, on one side, she saw the dangers of an almost culpableresignation--for she, too, was a mother!--on the other she felt crushedby the consciousness of her guilt. 

She sadly yielded; surrendered herself into the hands of a mother whoseconduct she refrained from questioning, to escape the painful necessityof condemning it. 

But she secretly pined, and inwardly rebelled against her saddisappointment; and thus her recovery was delayed for several months. 

Toward the end of July, the countess took her back to La Verberie. This time the mischief-makers and gossips were skilfully deceived. Thecountess went everywhere, and instituted secret inquiries, but heard nosuspicions of the object of her long trip to England. Everyone believedin the visit to the rich uncle. 

Only one man, Dr. Raget, knew the truth; and, although Mme. De laVerberie hated him from the bottom of her heart, she did him the justiceto feel sure that she had nothing to fear from his indiscretion. 

Her first visit was paid to him. 

When she entered the room, she abruptly threw on the table the officialpapers which she had procured especially for him. 

"These will prove to you, monsieur, that the child is living, and wellcared for at a cost that I can ill afford. "

"These are perfectly right, madame, " he replied, after an attentiveexamination of the papers, "and, if your conscience does not reproachyou, of course I have nothing to say. "

"My conscience reproaches me with nothing, monsieur. "

The old doctor shook his head, and gazing searchingly into her eyes, said:

"Can you say that you have not been harsh, even to cruelty?"

She turned away her head, and, assuming her grand air, answered:

"I have acted as a woman of my rank should act; and I am surprised tofind in you an advocate and abettor of misconduct. "

"Ah, madame, " said the doctor, "it is your place to show kindness to thepoor girl; and if you feel none yourself, you have no right to complainof it in others. What indulgence do you expect from strangers towardyour unhappy daughter, when you, her mother, are so pitiless?"

This plain-spoken truth offended the countess, and she rose to leave. 

"Have you finished what you have to say, Dr. Raget?" she asked, haughtily. 

"Yes, madame; I have done. My only object was to spare you eternalremorse. Good-day. "

The good doctor was mistaken in his idea of Mme. De la Verberie'scharacter. She was utterly incapable of feeling remorse; but shesuffered cruelly when her selfish vanity was wounded, or her comfortdisturbed. 

She resumed her luxurious mode of living, but, having disposed of a partof her income, found it difficult to make both ends meet. 

This furnished her with an inexhaustible text for complaint; and atevery meal she reproached Valentine so unmercifully, that the poor girlshrank from coming to the table. 

She seemed to forget her own command, that the past should be buried inoblivion, and constantly recurred to it for food for her anger; a dayseldom passed, that she did not say to Valentine:

"Your conduct has ruined me. "

One day her daughter could not refrain from replying:

"I suppose you would have pardoned the fault, had it enriched us. "

But these revolts of Valentine were rare, although her life was a seriesof tortures inflicted with inquisitorial cruelty. 

Even the memory of Gaston had become a suffering. 

Perhaps, discovering the uselessness of her sacrifice, of her courage, and her devotion to what she had considered her duty, she regretted nothaving followed him. What had become of him? Might he not have contrivedto send her a letter, a word to let her know that he was still alive?Perhaps he was not dead. Perhaps he had forgotten her. He had sworn toreturn a rich man before the lapse of three years. Would he ever return?

There was a risk in his returning under any circumstances. Hisdisappearance had not ended the terrible affair of Tarascon. He wassupposed to be dead; but as there was no positive proof of his death, and his body could not be found, the law was compelled to yield to theclamor of public opinion. 

The case was brought before the assize court; and, in default ofappearance, Gaston de Clameran was sentenced to several years of closeconfinement. 

As to Louis de Clameran, no one knew positively what had become ofhim. Some people said he was leading a life of reckless extravagance inParis. 

Informed of these facts by her faithful Mihonne, Valentine becamemore gloomy and hopeless than ever. Vainly did she question the drearyfuture; no ray appeared upon the dark horizon of her life. 

Her elasticity was gone; and she had finally reached that state ofpassive resignation peculiar to people who are oppressed and cowed athome. 

In this miserable way, passed four years since the fatal evening whenGaston left her. 

Mme. De la Verberie had spent these years in constant discomfort. Seeingthat she could not live upon her income, and having too much pride tosell her land, which was so badly managed that it only brought her intwo per cent, she mortgaged her estate in order to raise money only tobe spent as soon as borrowed. 

In such matters, it is the first step that costs; and, after having oncecommenced to live upon her capital, the countess made rapid strides inextravagance, saying to herself, "After me, the deluge!" Very much asher neighbor, the late Marquis of Clameran, had managed his affairs, shewas now conducting hers, having but one object in view--her own comfortand pleasure. 

She made frequent visits to the neighboring towns of Nimes and Avignon;she sent to Paris for the most elegant toilets, and entertained a greatdeal of company. All the luxury that she had hoped to obtain by theacquisition of a rich son-in-law, she determined to give herself, utterly regardless of the fact that she was reducing her child tobeggary. Great sorrows require consolation!

The summer that she returned from London, she did not hesitate toindulge her fancy for a horse; it was rather old, to be sure, but, whenharnessed to a second-hand carriage bought on credit at Beaucaire, madequite a good appearance. 

She would quiet her conscience, which occasionally reproached her forthis constant extravagance, by saying, "I am so unhappy!"

The unhappiness was that this luxury cost her dear, very dear. 

After having sold the rest of her rents, the countess first mortgagedthe estate of La Verberie, and then the chateau itself. 

In less than four years she owed more than forty thousand francs, andwas unable to pay the interest of her debt. 

She was racking her mind to discover some means of escape from herdifficulties, when chance came to her rescue. 

For some time a young engineer, employed in surveys along the Rhone, hadmade the village of Beaucaire the centre of his operations. 

Being handsome, agreeable, and of polished manners, he had been warmlywelcomed by the neighboring society, and the countess frequently methim at the houses of her friends where she went to play cards in theevenings. 

This young engineer was named Andre Fauvel. 

The first time he met Valentine he was struck by her beauty, and afteronce looking into her large, melancholy eyes, his admiration deepenedinto love; a love so earnest and passionate, that he felt that he couldnever be happy without her. 

Before being introduced to her, his heart had surrendered itself to hercharms. 

He was wealthy; a splendid career was open to him, he was free; and heswore that Valentine should be his. 

He confided all his matrimonial plans to an old friend of Mme. De laVerberie, who was as noble as a Montmorency, and as poor as Job. 

With the precision of a graduate of the polytechnic school, he hadenumerated all his qualifications for being a model son-in-law. 

For a long time the old lady listened to him without interruption;but, when he had finished, she did not hesitate to tell him that hispretensions were presumptuous. 

What! he, a man of no pedigree, a Fauvel, a common surveyor, to aspireto the hand of a La Verberie!

After having enumerated all the superior advantages of that superiororder of beings, the nobility, she condescended to take a common-senseview of the case, and said:

"However, you may succeed. The poor countess owes money in everydirection; not a day passes without the bailiffs calling upon her; sothat, you understand, if a rich suitor appeared, and agreed to her termsfor settlements--well, well, there is no knowing what might happen. "

Andre Fauvel was young and sentimental: the insinuations of the old ladyseemed to him preposterous. 

On reflection, however, when he had studied the character of thenobility in the neighborhood, who were rich in nothing but prejudices, he clearly saw that pecuniary considerations alone would be strongenough to decide the proud Countess de la Verberie to grant him herdaughter's hand. 

This certainly ended his hesitations, and he turned his whole attentionto devising a plan for presenting his claim. 

He did not find this an easy thing to accomplish. To go in quest of awife with her purchase-money in his hand was repugnant to his feelings, and contrary to his ideas of delicacy. But he had no one to urge hissuit for him on his own merits; so he was compelled to shut his eyes tothe distasteful features of his task, and treat his passion as a matterof business. 

The occasion so anxiously awaited, to explain his intentions, soonpresented itself. 

One day he entered a hotel at Beaucaire, and, as he sat down to dinner, he saw that Mme. De la Verberie was at the adjoining table. He blusheddeeply, and asked permission to sit at her table, which was granted witha most encouraging smile. 

Did the countess suspect the love of the young engineer? Had she beenwarned by her friend?

At any rate, without giving Andre time to gradually approach the subjectweighing on his mind, she began to complain of the hard times, thescarcity of money, and the grasping meanness of the trades-people. 

She had come to Beaucaire, indeed, to borrow money, and found every bankand cash-box closed against her; and her lawyer had advised her to sellher land for what it would bring. This made her very angry. 

Temper, joined to that secret instinct of the situation of affairs whichis the sixth sense of a woman, loosened her tongue, and made her morecommunicative to this comparative stranger than she had ever been toher bosom friends. She explained to him the horror of her situation, her present needs, her anxiety for the future, and, above all, her greatdistress at not being able to marry off her beloved daughter. If sheonly had a dowry for her child!

Andre listened to these complaints with becoming commiseration, but inreality he was delighted. 

Without giving her time to finish her tale, he began to state what hecalled his view of the matter. 

He said that, although he sympathized deeply with the countess, he couldnot account for her uneasiness about her daughter. 

What? Could she be disturbed at having no dowry for her? Why, the rankand beauty of Mlle. Valentine were a fortune in themselves, of which anyman might be proud. 

He knew more than one man who would esteem himself only too happy ifMlle. Valentine would accept his name, and confer upon him the sweetduty of relieving her mother from all anxiety and care. Finally, he didnot think the situation of the countess's affairs nearly so desperate asshe imagined. How much money would be necessary to pay off the mortgagesupon La Verberie? About forty thousand francs, perhaps? Indeed! That wasbut a mere trifle. 

Besides, this sum need not be a gift from the son-in-law; if she chose, it might be a loan, because the estate would be his in the end, and intime the land would be double its present value; it would be a pity tosell now. A man, too, worthy of Valentine's love could never let hiswife's mother want for the comforts and luxuries due to a lady of herage, rank, and misfortunes. He would be only too glad to offer her asufficient income, not only to provide comfort, but even luxury. 

As Andre spoke, in a tone too earnest to be assumed, it seemed to thecountess that a celestial dew was dropping upon her pecuniary wounds. Her countenance was radiant with joy, her fierce little eyes beamed withthe most encouraging tenderness, her thin lips were wreathed in the mostfriendly smiles. 

One thought disturbed the young engineer. 

"Does she understand me seriously?" he thought. 

She certainly did, as her subsequent remarks proved. He saw that thewould-be sentimental old lady had an eye to business. 

"Alas!" she sighed, "La Verberie cannot be saved by forty thousandfrancs; the principal and interest of the debt amount to sixtythousand. "

"Oh, either forty or sixty thousand is nothing worth speaking of. "

"Four thousand francs is not enough to support a lady respectably, "she said after a pause. "Everything is so dear in this section of thecountry! But with six thousand francs--yes, six thousand francs wouldmake me happy!"

The young man thought that her demands were becoming excessive, but withthe generosity of an ardent lover he said:

"The son-in-law of whom we are speaking cannot be very devoted to Mlle. Valentine, if the paltry sum of two thousand francs were objected to foran instant. "

"You promise too much!" muttered the countess. 

"The imaginary son-in-law, " she finally added, "must be an honorable manwho will fulfil his promises. I have my daughter's happiness too muchat heart to give her to a man who did not produce--what do you callthem?--securities, guarantees. "

"Decidedly, " thought Fauvel with mortification, "we are making a bargainand sale. "

Then he said aloud:

"Of course, your son-in-law would bind himself in the marriage contractto--"

"Never! monsieur, never! Put such an agreement in the marriage contract!Think of the impropriety of the thing! What would the world say?"

"Permit me, madame, to suggest that your pension should be mentioned asthe interest of a sum acknowledged to have been received from you. "

"Well, that might do very well; that is very proper. "

The countess insisted upon taking Andre home in her carriage. Duringthe drive, no definite plan was agreed upon between them; but theyunderstood each other so well, that, when the countess set the youngengineer down at his own door, she invited him to dinner the next day, and held out her skinny hand which Andre kissed with devotion, as hethought of the rosy fingers of Valentine. 

When Mme. De la Verberie returned home, the servants were dumb withastonishment at her good-humor: they had not seen her in this happyframe of mind for years. 

And her day's work was of a nature to elevate her spirits: she had beenunexpectedly raised from poverty to affluence. She, who boasted ofsuch proud sentiments, never stopped to think of the infamy of thetransaction in which she had been engaged: it seemed quite right in herselfish eyes. 

"A pension of six thousand francs!" she thought, "and a thousand crownsfrom the estate, that makes nine thousand francs a year! My daughterwill live in Paris after she is married, and I can spend the winterswith my dear children without expense. "

At this price, she would have sold, not only one, but three daughters, if she had possessed them. 

But suddenly her blood ran cold at a sudden thought, which crossed hermind. 

"Would Valentine consent?"

Her anxiety to set her mind at rest sent her straightway to herdaughter's room. She found Valentine reading by the light of aflickering candle. 

"My daughter, " she said abruptly, "an estimable young man has demandedyour hand in marriage, and I have promised it to him. "

On this startling announcement, Valentine started up and clasped herhands. 

"Impossible!" she murmured, "impossible!"

"Will you be good enough to explain why it is impossible?"

"Did you tell him, mother, who I am, what I am? Did you confess----"

"Your past fully? No, thank God, I am not fool enough for that, and Ihope you will have the sense to imitate my example, and keep silent onthe subject. "

Although Valentine's spirit was completely crushed by her mother'styranny, her sense of honor made her revolt against this demand. 

"You certainly would not wish me to marry an honest man, mother, withoutconfessing to him everything connected with the past? I could neverpractise a deception so base. "

The countess felt very much like flying into a passion; but she knewthat threats would be of no avail in this instance, where resistancewould be a duty of conscience with her daughter. Instead of commanding, she entreated. 

"Poor child, " she said, "my poor, dear Valentine. If you only knew thedreadful state of our affairs, you would not talk in this heartless way. Your folly commenced our ruin; now it is at its last stage. Do you knowthat our creditors threaten to drive us away from La Verberie? Then whatwill become of us, my poor child? Must I in my old age go begging fromdoor to door? We are on the verge of ruin, and this marriage is our onlyhope of salvation. "

These tearful entreaties were followed by plausible arguments. 

The fair-spoken countess made use of strange and subtle theories. What she formerly regarded as a monstrous crime, she now spoke of as apeccadillo. 

She could understand, she said, her daughter's scruples if there wereany danger of the past being brought to light; but she had taken suchprecautions that there was no fear of that. 

Would it make her love her husband any the less? No. Would he be madeany happier for hearing that she had loved before? No. Then why sayanything about the past?

Shocked, bewildered, Valentine asked herself if this was really hermother? The haughty woman, who had always been such a worshipper ofhonor and duty, to contradict every word she had uttered during herlife! Valentine could not understand the sudden change. 

But she would have understood it, had she known to what base deeds amind blunted by selfishness and vanity can lend itself. 

The countess's subtle arguments and shameful sophistry neither movednor convinced her; but she had not the courage to resist the tearfulentreaties of her mother, who ended by falling on her knees, and withclasped hands imploring her child to save her from worse than death. 

Violently agitated, distracted by a thousand conflicting emotions, daring neither to refuse nor to promise, fearing the consequences of adecision thus forced from her, the unhappy girl begged her mother for afew hours to reflect. 

Mme. De la Verberie dared not refuse this request, and acquiesced. 

"I will leave you, my daughter, " she said, "and I trust your own heartwill tell you how to decide between a useless confession and yourmother's salvation. "

With these words she left the room indignant but hopeful. 

And she had grounds for hope. Placed between two obligations equallysacred, equally binding, but diametrically opposite, Valentine'stroubled mind could no longer clearly discern the path of duty. Couldshe reduce her mother to want and misery? Could she basely deceive theconfidence and love of an honorable man? However she decided, her futurelife would be one of suffering and remorse. 

Alas! why had she not a wise and kind adviser to point out the rightcourse to pursue, and assist her in struggling against evil influences?Why had she not that gentle, discreet friend who had inspired her withhope and courage in her first dark sorrow--Dr. Raget?

Formerly the memory of Gaston had been her guiding star: now thisfar-off memory was nothing but a faint mist--a sort of vanishing dream. 

In romance we meet with heroines of lifelong constancy: real lifeproduces no such miracles. 

For a long time Valentine's mind had been filled with the image ofGaston. As the hero of her dreams she dwelt fondly on his memory; butthe shadows of time had gradually dimmed the brilliancy of her idol, andnow only preserved a cold relic, over which she sometimes wept. 

When she arose the next morning, pale and weak from a sleepless, tearfulnight, she had almost resolved to confess everything to her suitor. 

But when evening came, and she went down to see Andre Fauvel, thepresence of her mother's threatening, supplicating eye destroyed hercourage. 

She said to herself, "I will tell him to-morrow. " Then she said, "I willwait another day; one more day can make no difference. "

The countess saw all these struggles, but was not made uneasy by them. 

She knew by experience that, when a painful duty is put off, it is neverperformed. 

There was some excuse for Valentine in the horror of her situation. Perhaps, unknown to herself, she felt a faint hope arise within her. Anymarriage, even an unhappy one, offered the prospect of a change, ofa new life, a relief from the insupportable suffering she was nowenduring. 

Sometimes, in her ignorance of human life, she imagined that time andclose intimacy would take it easier for her to confess her terriblefault; that it would be the most natural thing in the world for Andre topardon her, and insist upon marrying her, since he loved her so deeply. 

That he sincerely loved her, she knew full well. It was not theimpetuous passion of Gaston, with its excitements and terrors, buta calm, steady affection, more lasting than the intoxicating love ofGaston was ever likely to be. She felt a sort of blissful rest in itslegitimacy and constancy. 

Thus Valentine gradually became accustomed to Andre's soothing presence, and was surprised into feeling very happy at the constant delicateattentions and looks of affection that he lavished upon her. She did notfeel any love for him yet; but a separation would have distressed herdeeply. 

During the courtship the countess's conduct was a masterpiece. 

She suddenly ceased to importune her daughter, and with tearfulresignation said she would not attempt to influence her decision, thather happy settlement in life was the only anxiety that weighed upon hermind. 

But she went about the house sighing and groaning as if she were uponthe eve of starving to death. She also made arrangements to be tormentedby the bailiffs. Attachments and notices to quit poured in at LaVerberie, which she would show to Valentine and, with tears in her eyes, say:

"God grant we may not be driven from the home of our ancestors beforeyour marriage, my darling!"

Knowing that her presence was sufficient to freeze any confession on herdaughter's lips, she never left her alone with Andre. 

"Once married, " she thought, "they can settle the matter to suitthemselves. I shall not then be disturbed by it. "

She was as impatient as Andre, and hastened the preparations for thewedding. She gave Valentine no opportunity for reflection. She kept herconstantly busy, either in driving to town to purchase some article ofdress, or in paying visits. 

At last the eve of the wedding-day found her anxious and oppressed withfear lest something should prevent the consummation of her hopes andlabors. She was like a gambler who had ventured his last stake. 

On this night, for the first time, Valentine found herself alone withthe man who was to become her husband. 

She was sitting at twilight, in the parlor, miserable and trembling, anxious to unburden her mind, and yet frightened at the very thought ofdoing so, when Andre entered. Seeing that she was agitated, he pressedher hand, and gently begged her to tell him the cause of her sorrow. 

"Am I not your best friend, " he said, "and ought I not to be theconfidant of your troubles, if you have any? Why these tears, mydarling?"

Now was the time for her to confess, and throw herself upon hisgenerosity. But her trembling lips refused to open when she thought ofhis pain and anguish, and the anger of her mother, which would be causedby the few words she would utter. She felt that it was too late; and, bursting into tears, she cried out, "I am afraid--What shall I do?"

Imagining that she was merely disturbed by the vague fears experiencedby most young girls when about to marry, he tried, with tender, lovingwords, to console and reassure her, promising to shield her from everycare and sorrow, if she would only trust to his devoted love. But whatwas his surprise to find that his affectionate words only increased herdistress; she buried her face in her hands, and wept as if her heartwould break. 

While she was thus summoning her courage, and he was entreating herconfidence, Mme. De la Verberie came hurrying into the room for them tosign the contract. 

The opportunity was lost; Andre Fauvel was left in ignorance. 

The next day, a lovely spring morning, Andre Fauvel and Valentine de laVerberie were married at the village church. 

Early in the morning, the chateau was filled with the bride's friends, who came, according to custom, to assist at her wedding toilet. 

Valentine forced herself to appear calm, even smiling; but her face waswhiter than her veil; her heart was torn by remorse. She felt as thoughthe sad truth were written upon her brow; and this pure white dress wasa bitter irony, a galling humiliation. 

She shuddered when her most intimate school-mate placed the wreath oforange-blossoms upon her head. These emblems of purity seemed to burnher like a band of red-hot iron. One of the wire stems of the flowersscratched her forehead, and a drop of blood fell upon her snowy robe. 

What an evil omen! Valentine was near fainting when she thought of thepast and the future connected by this bloody sign of woe. 

But presages are deceitful, as it proved with Valentine; for she becamea happy woman and a loving wife. 

Yes, at the end of her first year of married life, she confessed toherself that her happiness would be complete if she could only forgetthe terrible past. 

Andre adored her. He had been wonderfully successful in his businessaffairs; he wished to be immensely rich, not for himself, but for thesake of his beloved wife, whom he would surround with every luxury. Hethought her the most beautiful woman in Paris, and determined that sheshould be the most superbly dressed. 

Eighteen months after her marriage, Madame Fauvel presented her husbandwith a son. But neither this child, nor a second son born a year later, could make her forget the first one of all, the poor, forsaken babe whohad been thrown upon strangers, mercenaries, who valued the money, butnot the child for whom it was paid. 

She would look at her two sons, surrounded by every luxury which moneycould give, and murmur to herself:

"Who knows if the abandoned one has bread to eat?"

If she only knew where he was: if she only dared inquire! But she wasafraid. 

Sometimes she would be uneasy about Gaston's jewels, constantly fearingthat their hiding-place would be discovered. Then she would think, "Imay as well be tranquil; misfortune has forgotten me. "

Poor, deluded woman! Misfortune is a visitor who sometimes delays hisvisits, but always comes in the end. 

XV

Louis de Clameran, the second son of the marquis, was one of thoseself-controlled men who, beneath a cool, careless manner, conceal afiery temperament, and ungovernable passions. 

All sorts of extravagant ideas had begun to ferment in his disorderedbrain, long before the occurrence which decided the destiny of theClameran family. 

Apparently occupied in the pursuit of pleasure, this precocioushypocrite longed for a larger field in which to indulge his evilinclinations, secretly cursing the stern necessity which chained himdown to this dreary country life, and the old chateau, which to him wasmore gloomy than a prison, and as lifeless as the grave. 

This existence, dragged out in the country and the small neighboringtowns, was too monotonous for his restless nature. The paternalauthority, though so gently expressed, exasperated his rebellioustemper. He thirsted for independence, riches, excitement, and all theunknown pleasures that pall upon the senses simultaneously with theirattainment. 

Louis did not love his father, and he hated his brother Gaston. 

The old marquis, in his culpable thoughtlessness, had kindled thisburning envy in the heart of his second son. 

A strict observer of traditional rights, he had always declared that theeldest son of a noble house should inherit all the family possessions, and that he intended to leave Gaston his entire fortune. 

This flagrant injustice and favoritism inspired Louis with envioushatred for his brother. 

Gaston always said that he would never consent to profit by thispaternal partiality, but would share equally with his brother. Judgingothers by himself, Louis placed no faith in this assertion, which hecalled an ostentatious affectation of generosity. 

Although this hatred was unsuspected by the marquis and Gaston, it wasbetrayed by acts significant enough to attract the attention of theservants, who often commented upon it. 

They were so fully aware of Louis's sentiments toward his brother that, when he was prevented from escaping because of the stumbling horse, theyrefused to believe it an accident; and, whenever Louis came near wouldmutter, "Fratricide!"

A deplorable scene took place between Louis and St. Jean, who wasallowed, on account of his fifty years' faithful service, to takeliberties which he sometimes abused by making rough speeches to hissuperiors. 

"It is a great pity, " said the old servant, "that a skilful rider likeyourself should have fallen at the very moment when your brother's lifedepended upon your horsemanship. "

At this broad insinuation, Louis turned pale, and threateningly criedout:

"You insolent dog, what do you mean?"

"You know well enough what I mean, monsieur, " the old man said, significantly. 

"I do not know! Explain your impertinence: speak, I tell you!"

The man only answered by a meaning look, which so incensed Louis thathe rushed toward him with upraised whip, and would have beaten himunmercifully, had not the other servants interfered, and dragged St. Jean from the spot. 

This altercation occurred while Gaston was in the madder-field trying toescape his pursuers. 

After a while the gendarmes and hussars returned, with slow tread andsad faces, to say that Gaston de Clameran had plunged into the Rhone, and was instantly drowned. 

This melancholy news was received with groans and tears by everyone saveLouis, who remained calm and unmoved: not a single muscle of his facequivered. 

But his eyes sparkled with triumph. A secret voice cried within him, "Now you are assured of the family fortune, and a marquis's coronet. "

He was no longer the poverty-stricken younger son, but the sole heir ofthe Clamerans. 

The corporal of the gendarmes had said:

"I would not be the one to tell the poor old man that his son isdrowned. "

Louis felt none of the tender-hearted scruples of the brave old soldier. He instantly went to his father's sick-room, and said, in a firm voice:

"My brother had to choose between disgrace and death; he is dead. "

Like a sturdy oak stricken by lightning, the marquis tottered and fellwhen these fatal words sounded in his ears. The doctor soon arrived, butalas! only to say that science was of no avail. 

Toward daybreak, Louis, without a tear, received his father's last sigh. 

Louis was now the master. 

All the unjust precautions taken by the marquis to elude the law, andinsure beyond dispute the possession of his entire fortune to his eldestson, turned against him. 

By means of a fraudulent deed of trust drawn by his dishonest lawyer, M. De Clameran had disposed everything so that, on the day of his death, every farthing he owned would be Gaston's. 

Louis alone was benefited by this precaution. He came into possessionwithout even being called upon for the certificate of his brother'sdeath. 

He was now Marquis of Clameran; he was free, he was comparatively rich. He who had never had twenty-five crowns in his pocket at once, now foundhimself the possessor of two hundred thousand francs. 

This sudden, unexpected fortune so completely turned his head that heforgot his skilful dissimulation. His demeanor at the funeral of themarquis was much censured. He followed the coffin, with his head bowedand his face buried in a handkerchief; but this did not conceal thebuoyancy of his spirit, and the joy which sparkled in his eyes. 

The day after the funeral, Louis sold everything that he could disposeof, horses, carriages, and family plate. 

The next day he discharged all the old servants, who had hoped to endtheir days beneath the hospitable roof of Clameran. Several, withtears in their eyes, took him aside, and entreated him to let them staywithout wages. He roughly ordered them to be gone, and never appearbefore his eyes again. 

He sent for his father's lawyer, and gave him a power of attorney tosell the estate, and received in return the sum of twenty thousandfrancs as the first payment in advance. 

At the close of the week, he locked up the chateau, with a vow never tocross its sill again, and left the keys in the keeping of St. Jean, whoowned a little house near Clameran, and would continue to live in theneighborhood. 

Poor St. Jean! little did he think that, in preventing Valentine fromseeing Louis, he had ruined the prospects of his beloved Gaston. 

On receiving the keys he asked one question:

"Shall we not search for your brother's body, M. The marquis?" heinquired in broken-hearted tones. "And, if it is found, what must bedone with it?"

"I shall leave instructions with my notary, " replied Louis. And hehurried away from Clameran as if the ground burnt his feet. He wentto Tarascon, where he had already forwarded his baggage, and took thestage-coach which travelled between Marseilles and Paris, the railroadnot yet being finished. 

At last he was off. The lumbering old stage rattled along, drawn by sixhorses; and the deep gullies made by the wheels seemed so many abyssesbetween the past and the future. 

Lying back in a corner of the stage, Louis de Clameran enjoyed inanticipation the fields of pleasure spread before his dazzled eyes. Atthe end of the journey, Paris rose up before him, radiant, brilliantlydazzling as the sun. 

Yes, he was going to Paris, the promised land, the city of wonders, where every Aladdin finds a lamp. There all ambitions are crowned, all dreams realized, all passions, all desires, good and evil, can besatisfied. 

There the fast-fleeting days are followed by nights of ever-variedpleasure and excitement. In twenty theatres tragedy weeps, or comedylaughs; whilst at the opera the most beautiful women in the world, sparkling with diamonds, are ready to die with ecstasy at the sound ofdivine music; everywhere noise, excitement, luxury, and pleasure. 

What a dream! The heart of Louis de Clameran was swollen with desire, and he felt that he should go mad if the horses crawled with suchtorturing slowness: he would like to spring from the old stage, and flyto his haven of delight. 

He never once thought of the past with a pang of regret. What matteredit to him how his father and brother had died? All his energies weredevoted to penetrating the mysterious future that now awaited him. 

Was not every chance in his favor? He was young, rich, handsome, anda marquis. He had a constitution of iron; he carried twenty thousandfrancs in his pocket, and would soon have ten times as many more. 

He, who had always been poor, regarded this sum as an exhaustlesstreasure. 

And at nightfall, when he jumped from the stage upon the brilliantlylighted street of Paris, he seemed to be taking possession of the grandcity, and felt as though he could buy everything in it. 

His illusions were those natural to all young men who suddenly come intopossession of a patrimony after years of privation. 

It is this ignorance of the real value of money that squanders fortunes, and fritters away accumulated patrimonies so laboriously earned andsaved in the frugal provinces. 

Imbued with his own importance, accustomed to the deference of thecountry people, the young marquis came to Paris with the expectationof being a lion, supposing that his name and fortune were sufficient toplace him upon any pinnacle he might desire. 

He was mortified to discover his error. To his great surprise hediscovered that he possessed nothing which constituted a position inthis immense city. He found that in the midst of this busy, indifferentcrowd, he was lost, as unnoticed as a drop of water in a torrent. 

But this unflattering reality could not discourage a man who wasdetermined to gratify his passion at all costs. His ancestral namegained him but one privilege, disastrous for his future: it opened tohim the doors of the Faubourg St. Germain. 

There he became intimate with men of his own age and rank, whose incomeswere larger than his principal. 

Nearly all of them confessed that they only kept up their extravagantstyle of living by dint of skilful economy behind the scenes, and byregulating their vices and follies as judiciously as a hosier wouldmanage his Sunday holidays. 

This information astonished Louis, but did not open his eyes. Heendeavored to imitate the dashing style of these economically wastefulyoung men, without pretending to conform to their prudential rules. Helearned how to spend, but not how to settle his accounts as they did. 

He was Marquis of Clameran, and, having given himself a reputation ofgreat wealth, he was welcomed by the _elite_ of society; if he made nofriends, he had at least many acquaintances. Among the set into which hewas received immediately upon his arrival, he found ten satellites whotook pleasure in initiating him into the secrets of fashionable life, and correcting any little provincialisms betrayed in his manners andconversation. 

He profited well and quickly by their lessons. At the end of threemonths he was fairly launched; his reputation as a skilful gambler andone of the fastest men in Paris was fully established. 

He had rented handsome apartments, with a coach-house and stable forthree horses. 

Although he only furnished this bachelor's establishment with what wasnecessary and comfortable, he found that comforts were very costly inthis instance. 

So that the day he took possession of his apartments, and lookedover his bills, he made the startling discovery that this shortapprenticeship of Paris had cost him fifty-thousand francs, one-fourthof his fortune. 

Still he clung to his brilliant friends, although in a state ofinferiority which was mortifying to his vanity, like a poor squirestraining every nerve to make his nag keep up with blooded horses in arace. 

Fifty thousand francs! For a moment Louis had a faint idea of retreatingfrom the scene of temptation. But what a fall! Besides, his vicesbloomed and flourished in this charming centre. He had heretoforeconsidered himself fast; but the past was a state of unsophisticatedverdancy, compared with the thousand attractive sins in which he nowindulged. 

Then the sight of suddenly acquired fortunes, and the many examples ofthe successful results of hazardous ventures, inflamed his mind, andpersuaded him to try his fortune in the game of speculation. 

He thought that in this great, rich city, he certainly could succeed inseizing a share of the loaves and fishes. 

But how? He had no idea, and he did not seek to find one. He imaginedthat his good fortune would some day come, and that all he had to do wasto wait for it. 

This is one of the errors which it is time to destroy. 

Fortune is not to be wasted upon idle fools. 

In this furious race of self-interest, it requires great skill tobestride the capricious mare called Opportunity, and make her lead tothe end in view. Every winner must possess a strong will and a dexteroushand. But Louis did not devote much thought to the matter. Like thefoolish man who wished to draw the prize without contributing to theraffle, he thought:

"Bast! opportunity, chance, a rich marriage will put me all rightagain!"

The rich bride failed to appear, and his last louis had gone the way ofits predecessors. 

To a pressing demand for money, his notary replied by a refusal. 

"Your lands are all gone, " he wrote; "you now possess nothing but thechateau. It is very valuable, but it is difficult, if not impossible, to find a purchaser of so large an amount of real estate, in itspresent condition. I will use every effort to make a good sale, andif successful, will inform you of the fact immediately. " Louis wasthunderstruck at this final catastrophe, as much surprised as if hecould have expected any other result. But what could he do?

Ruined, with nothing to look forward to, the best course was to imitatethe large number of poor fools who each year rise up, shine a moment, then suddenly disappear. 

But Louis could not renounce this life of ease and pleasure which he hadbeen leading for the last three years. After leaving his fortune on thebattle-ground, he was willing to leave the shreds of his honor. 

He first lived on the reputation of his dissipated fortune; on thecredit remaining to a man who has spent much in a short space of time. 

This resource was soon exhausted. 

The day came when his creditors seized all they could lay their handsupon, the last remains of his opulence, his carriages, horses, andcostly furniture. 

He took refuge in a quiet hotel, but he could not keep away from thewealthy set whom he considered his friends. 

He lived upon them as he had lived upon the tradesmen who furnished hissupplies. Borrowing from one louis up to twenty-five, from anybody whowould lend to him, he never pretended to pay them. Constantly betting, no one ever saw him pay a wager. He piloted all the raw young men whofell into his hands, and utilized, in rendering shameful services, anexperience which had cost him two hundred thousand francs; he was halfcourtier, half adventurer. 

He was not banished, but was made to cruelly expiate the favor of beingtolerated. No one had the least regard for his feelings, or hesitated totell him to his face what was thought of his unprincipled conduct. 

Thus, when alone in his little den, he would give way to fits of violentrage. He had not yet reached a state of callousness to be able to endurethese humiliations without the keenest torture to his false pride andvanity. 

Envy and covetousness had long since stifled every sentiment of honorand self-respect in his base heart. For a few years of opulence he wasready to commit any crime. 

And, though he did not commit a crime, he came very near it, and wasthe principal in a disgraceful affair of swindling and extortion, whichraised such an outcry against him that he was obliged to leave Paris. 

Count de Commarin, an old friend of his father, hushed up the matter, and furnished him with money to take him to England. 

And how did he manage to live in London?

The detectives of the most corrupt capital in existence were the onlypeople who knew his means of support. 

Descending to the last stages of vice, the Marquis of Clameran finallyfound his level in a society composed of shameless women and gamblers. 

Compelled to quit London, he travelled over Europe, with no othercapital than his knavish audacity, deep depravity, and his skill atcards. 

Finally, in 1865, he had a run of good luck at Homburg, and returned toParis, where he imagined himself entirely forgotten. 

Eighteen years had passed since he left Paris. 

The first step which he took on his return, before even settling himselfin Paris, was to make a visit to his old home. 

Not that he had any relative or friend in that part of the country, fromwhom he could expect any assistance; but he remembered the old manor, which his notary had been unable to sell. 

He thought that perhaps by this time a purchaser had appeared, and hedetermined to go himself and ascertain how much he should receive forthis old chateau, which had cost one hundred thousand francs in thebuilding. 

On a beautiful October evening he reached Tarascon, and there learnedthat he was still the owner of the chateau of Clameran. The nextmorning, he set out on foot to visit the paternal home, which he had notseen for twenty-five years. 

Everything was so changed that he scarcely recognized this country, where he had been born, and passed his youth. 

Yet the impression was so strong, that this man, tried by such varied, strange adventures, for a moment felt like retracing his steps. 

He only continued his road because a secret, hopeful voice cried in him, "Onward, onward!"--as if, at the end of the journey, was to be found anew life and the long-wished-for good fortune. 

As Louis advanced, the changes appeared less striking; he began to befamiliar with the ground. 

Soon, through the trees, he distinguished the village steeple, then thevillage itself, built upon the gentle rising of a hill, crowned by awood of olive-trees. 

He recognized the first houses he saw: the farrier's shed covered withivy, the old parsonage, and farther on the village tavern, where he andGaston used to play billiards. 

In spite of what he called his scorn of vulgar prejudices, he felt athrill of strange emotion as he looked on these once familiar objects. 

He could not overcome a feeling of sadness as scenes of the past rose upbefore him. 

How many events had occurred since he last walked along this path, andreceived a friendly bow and smile from every villager. 

Then life appeared to him like a fairy scene, in which his every wishwas gratified. And now, he had returned, dishonored, worn out, disgustedwith the realities of life, still tasting the bitter dregs of the cupof shame, stigmatized, poverty-stricken, and friendless, with nothing tolose, and nothing to look forward to. 

The few villagers whom he met turned and stood gazing after thisdust-covered stranger, and wondered who he could be. 

Upon reaching St. Jean's house, he found the door open; he walked intothe immense empty kitchen. 

He rapped on the table, and was answered by a voice calling out:

"Who is there?"

The next moment a man of about forty years appeared in the doorway, andseemed much surprised at finding a stranger standing in his kitchen. 

"What will you have, monsieur?" he inquired. 

"Does not St. Jean, the old valet of the Marquis of Clameran, livehere?"

"My father died five years ago, monsieur, " replied the man in a sadtone. 

This news affected Louis painfully, as if he had expected this oldman to restore him some of his lost youth; the last link was gone. Hesighed, and, after a silence, said:

"I am the Marquis of Clameran. "

The farmer, at these words, uttered an exclamation of joy. He seizedLouis's hand, and, pressing it with respectful attention, cried:

"You are the marquis! Alas!" he continued, "why is not my poor fatheralive to see you? he would be so happy! His last words were about hisdear masters, and many a time did he sigh and mourn at not receiving anynews of you. He is beneath the sod now, resting after a well-spent life;but I, Joseph, his son, am here to take his place, and devote my life toyour service. What an honor it is to have you in my house! Ah, my wifewill be happy to see you; she has all her life heard of the Clamerans. "

Here he ran into the garden, and called: "Toinette! I say, Toinette!Come here quickly!"

This cordial welcome delighted Louis. So many years had gone by since hehad been greeted with an expression of kindness, or felt the pressure ofa friendly hand. 

In a few moments a handsome, dark-eyed young woman entered the room, andstood blushing with confusion at sight of the stranger. 

"This is my wife, monsieur, " said Joseph, leading her toward Louis, "butI have not given her time to put on her finery. This is M. The marquis, Antoinette. "

The farmer's wife bowed, and, having nothing to say, gracefully upliftedher brow upon which the marquis pressed a kiss. 

"You will see the children in a few minutes, M. The marquis, " saidJoseph; "I have sent to the school for them. "

The worthy couple overwhelmed the marquis with attentions. 

After so long a walk he must be hungry, they said; he must take a glassof wine now, and breakfast would soon be ready; they would be so proudand happy if M. The marquis would partake of a country breakfast!

Louis willingly accepted their invitation; and Joseph went to the cellarafter the wine, while Toinette ran to catch her fattest pullet. 

In a short time, Louis sat down to a table laden with the best ofeverything on the farm, waited upon by Joseph and his wife, who watchedhim with respectful interest and awe. 

The children came running in from school, smeared with the juice ofberries. After Louis had embraced them they stood off in a corner, andgazed at him with eyes wide open, as if he were a rare curiosity. 

The important news had spread, and a number of villagers and countrymenappeared at the open door, to speak to the Marquis of Clameran. 

"I am such a one, M. The marquis; don't you remember me?" "Ah! I shouldhave recognized you anywhere. " "The late marquis was very good to me. "Another would say, "Don't you remember the time when you lent me yourgun to go hunting?"

Louis welcomed with secret delight all these protestations and proofs ofdevotion which had not chilled with time. 

The kindly voices of these honest people recalled many pleasant momentsof the past, and made him feel once more the fresh sensations of hisyouth. 

Here, at least, no echoes of his stormy life had been heard; nosuspicions of his shameful career were entertained by these humblevillagers on the borders of the Rhone. 

He, the adventurer, the bully, the base accomplice of London swindlers, delighted in these marks of respect and veneration, bestowed upon him asthe representative of the house of Clameran; it seemed to make himonce more feel a little self-respect, as if the future were not utterlyhopeless. 

Ah, had he possessed only a quarter of his squandered inheritance, howhappy he would be to peacefully end his days in this his native village!

But this rest after so many vain excitements, this haven after so manystorms and shipwrecks, was denied him. He was penniless; how could helive here when he had nothing to live upon?

This thought of his pressing want gave him courage to ask Joseph for thekey of the chateau, that he might go and examine its condition. 

"You won't need the key, except the one to the front door, M. Themarquis, " replied Joseph. 

It was but too true. Time had done its work, and the lordly manorof Clameran was nothing but a ruin. The rain and sun had rotted theshutters so that they were crumbling and dilapidated. 

Here and there were traces of the friendly hand of St. Jean, who hadtried to retard the total ruin of the old chateau; but of what use werehis efforts?

Within, the desolation was still greater. All of the furniture whichLouis had not dared to sell stood in the position he left it, but inwhat a state! All of the tapestry hangings and coverings were moth-eatenand in tatters; nothing seemed left but the dust-covered woodwork of thechairs and sofas. 

Louis was almost afraid to enter these grand, gloomy rooms, where everyfootfall echoed until the air seemed to be filled with sounds strangeand ominous. 

He almost expected to see the angry old marquis start from some darkcorner, and heap curses on his head for having dishonored the name. 

He turned pale with terror, when he suddenly recalled the scene of hisfatal stumble and poor Gaston's death. The room was surely inhabited bythe spirits of these two murdered men. His nerves could not bear it, andhe hurried out into the open air and sunshine. 

After a while, he recovered sufficiently to remember the object of hisvisit. 

"Poor St. Jean was foolish to let the furniture in the chateau drop topieces. Why did he not use it?"

"My father would not have dared to touch anything without receiving anorder, M. The marquis. "

"He was very unwise to wait for an order, when anything was goingto destruction without benefiting anyone. As the chateau is fastapproaching the condition of the furniture, and my fortune does notpermit me to repair it, I will sell it before the walls crumble away. "

Joseph could scarcely believe his ears. He regarded the selling of thechateau of Clameran as a sacrilege; but he was not bold of speech, likehis father, so he dared not express an opinion. 

"Would there be difficulty in selling this ruin?" continued Louis. 

"That depends upon the price you ask, M. The marquis; I know a man whowould purchase the property if he could get it cheap. "

"Who is he?"

"M. Fougeroux, who lives on the other side of the river. He came fromBeaucaire, and twelve years ago married a servant-maid of the lateCountess de la Verberie. Perhaps M. The marquis remembers her--a plump, bright-eyed brunette, named Mihonne. "

Louis did not remember Mihonne. 

"When can we see this Fougeroux?" he inquired. 

"To-day; I will engage a boat to take us over. "

"Well, let us go now. I have no time to lose. "

An entire generation has passed away since Louis had last crossed theRhone in old Pilorel's boat. 

The faithful ferryman had been buried many years, and his duties werenow performed by his son, who, possessing great respect for traditionalopinions, was delighted at the honor of rowing the Marquis of Clameranin his boat, and soon had it ready for Louis and Joseph to take theirseats. 

As soon as they were fairly started, Joseph began to warn the marquisagainst the wily Fougeroux. 

"He is a cunning fox, " said the farmer; "I have had a bad opinion of himever since his marriage, which was a shameful affair altogether. Mihonnewas over fifty years of age, and he was only twenty-four, when hemarried her; so you may know it was money, and not a wife, that hewanted. She, poor fool, believed that the young scamp really loved her, and gave herself and her money up to him. Women will be trusting foolsto the end of time! And Fougeroux is not the man to let money lie idle. He speculated with Mihonne's gold, and is now very rich. But she, poorthing, does not profit by his wealth; one can easily understand his notfeeling any love for her, when she looks like his grandmother; but hedeprives her of the necessaries of life, and beats her cruelly. "

"He would like to plant her six feet under ground, " said the ferryman. 

"Well, it won't be long before he has the satisfaction of burying her, "said Joseph; "the poor old woman has been in almost a dying conditionever since Fougeroux brought a worthless jade to take charge of thehouse, and makes his wife wait upon her like a servant. "

When they reached the opposite shore, Joseph asked young Pilorel toawait their return. 

Joseph knocked at the gate of the well-cultivated farm, and inquired forthe master; the farm-boy said that "M. Fougeroux" was out in the field, but he would go and tell him. 

He soon appeared. He was an ill-looking little man, with a red beard andsmall, restless eyes. 

Although M. Fougeroux professed to despise the nobility and the clergy, the hope of driving a good bargain made him obsequious to Louis. Heinsisted upon ushering his visitor into "the parlor, " with may bows andrepetitions of "M. The marquis. "

Upon entering the room, he roughly ordered an old woman, who wascrouching over some dying embers, to make haste and bring some wine forM. The marquis of Clameran. 

At this name, the old woman started as if she had received an electricshock. She opened her mouth to say something, but a look from her tyrantfroze the words upon her lips. With a frightened air she hobbled out toobey his orders, and in a few minutes returned with a bottle of wine andthree glasses. 

Then she resumed her seat by the fire, and kept her eyes fastened uponthe marquis. 

Could this really be the merry, pretty Mihonne, who had been theconfidant of the little fairy of Verberie?

Valentine herself would never have recognized this poor, shrivelled, emaciated old woman. 

Only those who are familiar with country life know what hard work andworry can do to make a woman old. 

The bargain, meanwhile, was being discussed between Joseph andFougeroux, who offered a ridiculously small sum for the chateau, sayingthat he would only buy it to tear down, and sell the materials. Josephenumerated the beams, joists, ashlars, and the iron-work, and volublypraised the old domain. 

As for Mihonne, the presence of the marquis had a wonderful effect uponher. 

If the faithful servant had hitherto never breathed the secret confidedto her probity, it was none the less heavy for her to bear. 

After marrying, and being so harshly treated that she daily prayed fordeath to come to her relief, she began to blame everybody but herselffor her misfortunes. 

Weakly superstitious, she traced back the origin of her sorrows to theday when she took the oath on the holy gospel during mass. 

Her constant prayers that God would send her a child to soothe herwounded heart, being unanswered, she was convinced that she was cursedwith barrenness for having assisted in the abandonment of an innocent, helpless babe. 

She often thought, that by revealing everything, she could appease thewrath of Heaven, and once more enjoy a happy home. Nothing but herlove for Valentine gave her strength to resist a constant temptation toconfess everything. 

But to-day the sight of Louis decided her to relieve her mind. Shethought there could be no danger in confiding in Gaston's brother. Alasfor woman's tongue!

The sale was finally concluded. It was agreed that Fougeroux should givefive thousand two hundred and eighty francs in cash for the chateau, andland attached; and Joseph was to have the old furniture. 

The marquis and the new owner of the chateau shook hands, and noisilycalled out the essential word:

"Agreed!"

Fougeroux went himself to get the "bargain bottle" of old wine. 

The occasion was favorable to Mihonne; she walked quickly over to wherethe marquis stood, and said in a nervous whisper:

"M. The marquis, I must speak with you apart. "

"What can you want to tell me, my good woman?"

"It is a secret of life and death. This evening, at dusk, meet me in thewalnut wood, and I will tell you everything. "

Hearing her husband's approaching step, she darted back to her corner bythe fire. 

Fougeroux filled the glasses, and drank to the health of Clameran. 

As they returned to the boat, Louis tried to think what could be theobject of this singular rendezvous. 

"Joseph, what the deuce can that old witch want with me?" he saidmusingly. 

"Who can tell? She used to be in the service of a lady who was veryintimate with M. Gaston; so my father used to say. If I were in yourplace I would go and see what she wanted, monsieur. You can dine withme, and, after dinner, Pilorel will row you over. "

Curiosity decided Louis to go, about seven o'clock, to the walnut wood, where he found Mihonne impatiently awaiting him. 

"Ah, here you are, at last, M. The marquis, " she said, in a tone ofrelief. "I was afraid you would disappoint me. "

"Yes, here I am, my good woman, to listen to what you have to say. "

"I have many things to say. But first tell me some news of yourbrother. "

Louis regretted having come, supposing from this request that the oldwoman was childish, and might bother him for hours with her senselessgabble. 

"You know well enough that my poor brother was drowned in the Rhone. "

"Good heavens!" cried Mihonne, "are you ignorant, then, of his escape?Yes, he did what has never been done before; he swam across the swollenRhone. The next day Mlle. Valentine went to Clameran to tell the news;but St. Jean prevented her from seeing you. Afterward I carried a letterfrom her, but you had left the country. "

Louis could not believe this strange revelation. 

"Are you not mixing up dreams with real events, my good woman?" he saidbanteringly. 

"No, " she replied, mournfully shaking her head. "If Pere Menoul werealive, he would tell you how he took charge of your brother until heembarked for Marseilles. But that is nothing compared to the rest. M. Gaston has a son. "

"My brother had a son! You certainly have lost your mind, my poorwoman. "

"Alas, no. Unfortunately for my happiness in this world and in theworld to come, I am only telling the truth; he had a child, and Mlle. Valentine was its mother. I took the poor babe, and carried it to awoman whom I paid to take charge of it. "

Then Mihonne described the anger of the countess, the journey to London, and the abandonment of little Raoul. 

With the accurate memory natural to people unable to read and write, she related the most minute particulars--the names of the village, thenurse, the child's Christian name, and the exact date of everythingwhich had occurred. 

Then she told of Valentine's wretched suffering, of the impending ruinof the countess, and finally how everything was happily settled by thepoor girl's marriage with an immensely rich man, who was now one of therichest bankers in Paris, and was named Fauvel. 

A harsh voice calling, "Mihonne! Mihonne!" here interrupted the oldwoman. 

"Heavens!" she cried in a frightened tone, "that is my husband, lookingfor me. "

And, as fast as her trembling limbs could carry her, she hurried to thefarm-house. 

For several minutes after her departure, Louis stood rooted to the spot. 

Her recital had filled his wicked mind with an idea so infamous, sodetestable, that even his vile nature shrank for a moment from itsenormity. 

He knew Fauvel by reputation, and was calculating the advantages hemight gain by the strange information of which he was now possessed bymeans of the old Mihonne. It was a secret, which, if skilfully managed, would bring him in a handsome income. 

The few faint scruples he felt were silenced by the thought of an oldage spent in poverty. After the price of the chateau was spent, to whatcould he look forward? Beggary. 

"But first of all, " he thought, "I must ascertain the truth of the oldwoman's story; then I will decide upon a plan. "

This was why, the next day, after receiving the five thousand twohundred and eighty francs from Fougeroux, Louis de Clameran set out forLondon. 

XVI

During the twenty years of her married life, Valentine had experiencedbut one real sorrow; and this was one which, in the course of nature, must happen sooner or later. 

In 1859 her mother caught a violent cold during one of her frequentjourneys to Paris, and, in spite of every attention which money couldprocure, she became worse, and died. 

The countess preserved her faculties to the last, and with her dyingbreath said to her daughter:

"Ah, well! was I not wise in prevailing upon you to bury the past? Yoursilence has made my old age peaceful and happy, and I now thank you forhaving done your duty to yourself and to me. You will be rewarded onearth and in heaven, my dear daughter. "

Mme. Fauvel constantly said that, since the loss of her mother, she hadnever had cause to shed a tear. 

And what more could she wish for? As years rolled on, Andre's loveremained steadfast; he was as devoted a husband as the most exactingwoman could wish. To his great love was added that sweet intimacy whichresults from long conformity of ideas and unbounded confidence. 

Everything prospered with this happy couple. Andre was twice as wealthyas he had ever hoped to be even in his wildest visions; every wish ofValentine was anticipated by Andre; their two sons, Lucien and Abel, were handsome, intelligent young men, whose honorable charactersand graceful bearing reflected credit upon their parents, who had socarefully watched over their education. 

Nothing seemed wanting to insure Valentine's felicity. When her husbandand sons were at their business, her solitude was cheered by theintelligent, affectionate companionship of a young girl whom she lovedas her own daughter, and who in return filled the place of a devotedchild. 

Madeleine was M. Fauvel's niece, and when an infant had lost bothparents, who were poor but very worthy people. Valentine begged to adoptthe babe, thinking she could thus, in a measure, atone for the desertionof the poor little creature whom she had abandoned to strangers. 

She hoped that this good work would bring down the blessings of God uponher. 

The day of the little orphan's arrival, M. Fauvel invested for her tenthousand francs, which he presented to Madeleine as her dowry. 

The banker amused himself by increasing this ten thousand francs in themost marvellous ways. He, who never ventured upon a rash speculationwith his own money, always invested it in the most hazardous schemes, and was always so successful, that at the end of fifteen years the tenthousand francs had become half a million. 

People were right when they said that the Fauvel family were to beenvied. 

Time had dulled the remorse and anxiety of Valentine. In thegenial atmosphere of a happy home, she had found rest, and almostforgetfulness. She had suffered so much at being compelled to deceiveAndre that she hoped she was now at quits with fate. 

She began to look forward to the future, and her youth seemed buriedin an impenetrable mist, and was, as it were, the memory of a painfuldream. 

Yes, she believed herself saved, and her very feeling of security madethe impending danger more fearful in its shock. 

One rainy November day, her husband had gone to Provence on business. She was sitting, gazing into the bright fire, and thankfully meditatingupon her present happiness, when the servant brought her a letter, whichhad been left by a stranger, who refused to give his name. 

Without the faintest presentiment of evil, she carelessly broke theseal, and in an instant was almost petrified by the words which met herterrified eye:

"MADAME--Would it be relying too much upon the memories of the past tohope for half an hour of your time?

"To-morrow, between two and three, I will do myself the honor of callingupon you. 

"THE MARQUIS OF CLAMERAN. "

Fortunately, Mme. Fauvel was alone. 

Trembling like a leaf, she read the letter over and over again, as ifto convince herself that she was not the victim of a horriblehallucination. 

Half a dozen times, with a sort of terror, she whispered that name onceso dear--Clameran! spelling it aloud as if it were a strange name whichshe could not pronounce. And the eight letters forming the name seemedto shine like the lightning which precedes a clap of thunder. 

Ah! she had hoped and believed that the fatal past was atoned for, and buried in oblivion; and now it stood before her, pitiless andthreatening. 

Poor woman! As if all human will could prevent what was fated to be!

It was in this hour of security, when she imagined herself pardoned, that the storm was to burst upon the fragile edifice of her happiness, and destroy her every hope. 

A long time passed before she could collect her scattered thoughtssufficiently to decide upon a course of conduct. 

Then she began to think she was foolish to be so frightened. Thisletter was written by Gaston, of course; therefore she need feel noapprehension. Gaston had returned to France, and wished to see her. Shecould understand this desire, and she knew too well this man, upon whomshe had lavished her young affection, to attribute any bad motives tohis visit. 

He would come; and finding her the wife of another, the mother of grownsons, they would exchange thoughts of the past, perhaps a few regrets;she would restore the jewels which she had faithfully kept for him; hewould assure her of his lifelong friendship, and--that would be all. 

But one distressing doubt beset her agitated mind. Should she concealfrom Gaston the birth of his son?

To confess was to expose herself to many dangers. It was placing herselfat the mercy of a man--a loyal, honorable man to be sure--confidingto him not only her own peace, honor, and happiness, but the honor andhappiness of her family, of her noble husband and loving sons. 

Still silence would be a crime. She had abandoned her child, denied himthe cares and affection of a mother; and now should she add to her sinby depriving him of the name and fortune of his father?

She was still undecided when the servant announced dinner. 

But she had not the courage to meet the glance of her sons. She sentword that she was not well, and would not be down to dinner. For thefirst time in her life she rejoiced at her husband's absence. 

Madeleine came hurrying into her aunt's room to see what was the matter;but Valentine dismissed her, saying she would try to sleep off herindisposition. 

She wished to be alone in her trouble, and see if she could decide uponsome plan for warding off this impending ruin. 

The dreaded morrow came. 

She counted the hours until two o'clock. After that, she counted theminutes. 

At half-past two the servant announced:

"M. The Marquis of Clameran. "

Mme. Fauvel had promised herself to be calm, even cold. During a long, sleepless night, she had mentally arranged beforehand every detail ofthis painful meeting. She had even decided upon what she should say. She would reply this, and ask that; her words were all selected, and herspeech ready. 

But, at the dreaded moment, her strength gave way; she turned as cold asmarble, and could not rise from her seat; she was speechless, and, witha frightened look, silently gazed upon the man who respectfully bowed, and stood in the middle of the room. 

Her visitor was about fifty years of age, with iron-gray hair andmustache, and a cold, severe cast of countenance; his expression was oneof haughty severity as he stood there in his full suit of black. 

The agitated woman tried to discover in his face some traces of theman whom she had so madly loved, who had pressed her to his heart, andbesought her to remain faithful until he should return from a foreignland, and lay his fortune at her feet--the father of her son. 

She was surprised to discover no resemblance to the youth whose memoryhad haunted her life; no, never would she have recognized this strangeras Gaston. 

As he continued to stand motionless before her, she faintly murmured:

"Gaston!"

He sadly shook his head, and replied:

"I am not Gaston, madame. My brother succumbed to the misery andsuffering of exile: I am Louis de Clameran. "

What! it was not Gaston, then, who had written to her; it was not Gastonwho stood before her!

She trembled with terror; her head whirled, and her eyes grew dim. 

It was not he! And she had committed herself, betrayed her secret bycalling him "Gaston. "

What could this man want?--this brother in whom Gaston had neverconfided? What did he know of the past?

A thousand probabilities, each one more terrible than the other, flashedacross her brain. 

Yet she succeeded in overcoming her weakness so that Louis scarcelyperceived it. 

The fearful strangeness of her situation, the very imminence of peril, inspired her with coolness and self-possession. 

Haughtily pointing to a chair, she said to Louis with affectedindifference:

"Will you be kind enough, monsieur, to explain the object of thisunexpected visit?"

The marquis, seeming not to notice this sudden change of manner, took aseat without removing his eyes from Mme. Fauvel's face. 

"First of all, madame, " he began, "I must ask if we can be overheard byanyone?"

"Why this question? You can have nothing to say to me that my husbandand children should not hear. "

Louis shrugged his shoulders, and said:

"Be good enough to answer me, madame; not for my sake, but for yourown. "

"Speak, then, monsieur; you will not be heard. "

In spite of this assurance, the marquis drew his chair close to the sofawhere Mme. Fauvel sat, so as to speak in a very low tone, as if almostafraid to hear his own voice. 

"As I told you, madame, Gaston is dead; and it was I who closed hiseyes, and received his last wishes. Do you understand?"

The poor woman understood only too well, but was racking her brain todiscover what could be the purpose of this fatal visit. Perhaps it wasonly to claim Gaston's jewels. 

"It is unnecessary to recall, " continued Louis, "the painfulcircumstances which blasted my brother's life. However happy your ownlot has been, you must sometimes have thought of this friend of youryouth, who unhesitatingly sacrificed himself in defence of your honor. "

Not a muscle of Mme. Fauvel's face moved; she appeared to be trying torecall the circumstances to which Louis alluded. 

"Have you forgotten, madame?" he asked with bitterness: "then I mustexplain more clearly. A long, long time ago you loved my unfortunatebrother. "

"Monsieur!"

"Ah, it is useless to deny it, madame: I told you that Gaston confidedeverything to me--everything, " he added significantly. 

But Mme. Fauvel was not frightened by this information. This"everything" could not be of any importance, for Gaston had gone abroadin total ignorance of her secret. 

She rose, and said with an apparent assurance she was far from feeling:

"You forget, monsieur, that you are speaking to a woman who is nowadvanced in life, who is married, and who has grown sons. If yourbrother loved me, it was his affair, and not yours. If, young andignorant, I was led into imprudence, it is not your place to remind meof it. This past which you evoke I buried in oblivion twenty years ago. "

"Thus you have forgotten all that happened?"

"Absolutely all; everything. "

"Even your child, madame?"

This question, uttered in a sneer of triumph, fell upon Mme. Fauvel likea thunder-clap. She dropped tremblingly into her seat, murmuring:

"My God! How did he discover it?"

Had her own happiness alone been at stake, she would have instantlythrown herself upon a Clameran's mercy. But she had her family todefend, and the consciousness of this gave her strength to resist him. 

"Do you wish to insult me, monsieur?" she asked. 

"Do you pretend to say you have forgotten Valentin-Raoul?"

She saw that this man did indeed know all. How? It little mattered. Hecertainly knew; but she determined to deny everything, even the mostpositive proofs, if he should produce them. 

For an instant she had an idea of ordering the Marquis of Clameranto leave the house; but prudence stayed her. She thought it best todiscover how much he really knew. 

"Well, " she said with a forced laugh, "will you be kind enough to statewhat you wish with me?"

"Certainly, madame. Two years ago the vicissitudes of exile took mybrother to London. There, at the house of a friend, he met a young manby the name of Raoul. Gaston was so struck by the youth's appearance andintelligence, that he inquired who he was, and discovered that beyond adoubt this boy was his son, and your son, madame. "

"This is quite a romance you are relating. "

"Yes, madame, a romance the denouement of which is in your hands. Yourmother certainly used every precaution to conceal your secret; but thebest-laid plans always have some weak point. After your marriage, one ofyour mother's London friends came to Tarascon, and spread the reportof what had taken place at the English village. This lady also revealedyour true name to the nurse who was bringing up the child. Thuseverything was discovered by my brother, who had no difficulty inobtaining the most positive proofs of the boy's parentage. "

Louis closely watched Mme. Fauvel's face to see the effect of his words. 

To his astonishment she betrayed not the slightest agitation or alarm;she was smiling as if entertained by the recital of his romance. 

"Well, what next?" she asked carelessly. 

"Then, madame, Gaston acknowledged the child. But the Clamerans arepoor; my brother died on a pallet in a lodging-house; and I have onlyan income of twelve hundred francs to live upon. What is to become ofRaoul, alone with no relations or friends to assist him? My brother'slast moments were embittered by anxiety for the welfare of his child. "

"Really, monsieur----"

"Allow me to finish, " interrupted Louis. "In that supreme hour Gastonopened his heart to me. He told me to apply to you. 'Valentine, ' saidhe, 'Valentine will remember the past, and will not let our son want foranything; she is wealthy, she is just and generous; I die with my mindat rest. '"

Mme. Fauvel rose from her seat, and stood, evidently waiting for hervisitor to retire. 

"You must confess, monsieur, " she said, "that I have shown greatpatience. "

This imperturbable assurance amazed Louis. 

"I do not deny, " she continued, "that I at one time possessed theconfidence of M. Gaston de Clameran. I will prove it by restoring to youyour mother's jewels, with which he intrusted me on his departure. "

While speaking she took from beneath the sofa-cushion the purse ofjewels, and handed it to Louis. 

"These jewels would have been given to the owner the instant theywere called for, monsieur, and I am surprised that your brother neverreclaimed them. "

Louis betrayed his astonishment at the sight of the jewels. He tried tocover his embarrassment by boldly saying:

"I was told not to mention this sacred trust. "

Mme. Fauvel, without making any reply, laid her hand on the bell-ropeand quietly said:

"You will allow me to end this interview, monsieur, which was onlygranted for the purpose of placing in your hands these precious jewels. "

Thus dismissed, M. De Clameran was obliged to take his leave withoutattaining his object. 

"As you will, madame, " he said, "I leave you; but before doing so Imust tell you the rest of my brother's dying injunctions: 'If Valentinedisregards the past, and refuses to provide for our son, I enjoin itupon you to compel her to do her duty. ' Meditate upon these words, madame, for what I have sworn to do, upon my honor, shall be done!"

At last Mme. Fauvel was alone. She could give vent to her despair. 

Exhausted at her efforts at self-restraint during the presence ofClameran, she felt weary and crushed in body and spirit. 

She had scarcely strength to drag herself up to her chamber, and lockthe door. 

Now there was no room for doubt; her fears had become realities. Shecould fathom the abyss into which she was about to be hurled, and knewthat in her fall she would drag her family with her. 

God alone, in this hour of danger, could help her, could save her fromdestruction. She prayed. 

"Oh, my God!" she cried, "punish me for my great sin, and I willevermore adore thy chastising hand! I have been a bad daughter, anunworthy mother, and a perfidious wife. Smite me, oh, God, and only me!In thy just anger spare the innocent, have pity upon my husband and mychildren!"

What were her twenty years of happiness compared to this hour of misery?A bitter remorse; nothing more. Ah, why did she listen to her mother?Why had she committed moral suicide?

Hope had fled; despair had come. 

This man who had left her presence with a threat upon his lips wouldreturn to torture her now. How could she escape him?

To-day she had succeeded in subduing her heart and conscience; would sheagain have the strength to master her feelings?

She well knew that her calmness and courage were entirely due to theinaptness of Clameran. 

Why did he not use entreaties instead of threats?

When Louis spoke of Raoul, she could scarcely conceal her emotion; hermaternal heart yearned toward the innocent child who was expiating hismother's faults. 

A chill of horror passed over her at the idea of his enduring the pangsof hunger. 

Her child wanting bread, when she, his mother, was rolling in wealth!

Ah, why could she not lay all her possessions at his feet? With whatdelight would she undergo the greatest privations for his sake! If shecould but send him enough money to support him comfortably!

But no; she could not take this step without compromising herself andher family. 

Prudence forbade her acceptance of the intervention of Louis deClameran. 

To confide in him, was placing herself, and all she held dear, at hismercy--at the mercy of a man who inspired her with instinctive terror. 

Then she began to ask herself if he had spoken the truth, or had trumpedup this story to frighten her?

In thinking over Louis's story, it seemed improbable and disconnected. 

If Gaston had been living in Paris, in the poverty described by hisbrother, why had he not demanded of the married woman the depositintrusted to the maiden?

Why, when anxious about the future of their child, had he not come toher, if he had such confidence in her generosity? If he intrusted her onhis death-bed, why had he not shown this trust while living?

A thousand vague apprehensions beset her mind; she felt suspicion anddistrust of everyone and everything. 

She was aware that the time had come for her to take a decisive step, and upon this step depended her whole future peace and happiness. If sheonce yielded, what would not be exacted of her in the future? She wouldcertainly be made to suffer if she refused to yield. If she had onlysome wise friend to advise her!

For a moment she thought of throwing herself at her husband's feet andconfessing all. 

Unfortunately, she thrust aside this means of salvation. She picturedto herself the mortification and sorrow that her noble-hearted husbandwould suffer upon discovering, after a lapse of twenty years, howshamefully he had been deceived, how his confidence and love had beenbetrayed. 

Having been once deceived, would he ever trust her again? Would hebelieve in her fidelity as a wife, when he discovered that she haduttered her marriage vows to love and honor him, when her heart wasalready given to another?

She knew Andre was too magnanimous to ever allude to her horrible fault, and would use every means to conceal it. But his domestic happinesswould be gone forever. His chair at the fireside would be left empty;his sons would shun her presence, and every family bond would besevered. 

Then again, would peace be preserved by her silence? Would not Clameranend by betraying her to Andre?

She thought of ending her doubts by suicide; but her death would notsilence her implacable enemy, who, not being able to disgrace her whilealive, would dishonor her memory. 

Fortunately, the banker was still absent; and, during the two dayssucceeding Louis's visit, Mme. Fauvel could keep her room under pretenceof sickness. 

But Madeleine, with her feminine instinct, saw that her aunt wastroubled by something worse than nervous headache, for which thephysician was prescribing all sorts of remedies, with no beneficialeffect. 

She remembered that this sudden illness dated from the visit of themelancholy looking stranger, who had been closeted for a long time withher aunt. 

Madeleine supposed something was weighing upon the miserable woman'smind, and the second day of her sickness ventured to say:

"What makes you so sad, dear aunt? If you will not tell me, do let mebring our good cure to see you. "

With a sharpness foreign to her nature, which was gentleness itself, Mme. Fauvel refused to assent to her niece's proposition. 

What Louis calculated upon happened. 

After long reflection, not seeing any issue to her deplorable situation, Mme. Fauvel determined to yield. 

By consenting to everything demanded of her, she had a chance of savingher husband from suffering and disgrace. 

She well knew that to act thus was to prepare a life of torture forherself; but she alone would be the victim, and, at any rate, she wouldbe gaining time. Heaven might at last interpose, and save her from ruin. 

In the meantime, M. Fauvel had returned home, and Valentine resumed heraccustomed duties. 

But she was no longer the happy mother and devoted wife, whose smilingpresence was wont to fill the house with sunshine and comfort. She wasmelancholy, anxious, and at times irritable. 

Hearing nothing of Clameran, she expected to see him appear at anymoment; trembling at every knock, and turning pale when a strange stepwas heard to enter, she dared not leave the house, for fear he shouldcome during her absence. 

Her agony was like that of a condemned man, who, each day as he wakesfrom his uneasy slumber, asks himself, "Am I to die to-day?"

Clameran did not come; he wrote, or rather, as he was too prudent tofurnish arms which could be used against him, he had a note written, which Mme. Fauvel alone might understand, in which he said that he wasquite ill, and unable to call upon her; and hoped she would be so goodas to come to his room the next day; she had only to ask for 317, Hoteldu Louvre. 

The letter was almost a relief for Mme. Fauvel. Anything was preferableto suspense. She was ready to consent to everything. 

She burned the letter, and said, "I shall go. "

The next day at the appointed hour, she dressed herself in a plain blacksilk, a large bonnet which concealed her face, and, putting a thick veilin her pocket to be used if she found it necessary, started forth. 

After hurriedly walking several squares, she thought she might, withoutfear of being recognized, call a coach. In a few minutes she was setdown at the Hotel du Louvre. Here her uneasiness increased. Her circleof acquaintances being large, she was in terror of being recognized. What would her friends think if they saw her at the Hotel du Louvredisguised in this old dress?

Anyone would naturally suspect an intrigue, a rendezvous; and hercharacter would be ruined forever. 

This was the first time since her marriage that she had had occasion formystery; and her efforts to escape notice were in every way calculatedto attract attention. 

The porter said that the Marquis of Clameran's rooms were on the thirdfloor. 

She hurried up the stairs, glad to escape the scrutinizing glances ofseveral men standing near; but, in spite of the minute directions givenby the porter, she lost her way in one of the long corridors of thehotel. 

Finally, after wandering about for some time, she found a door bearingthe number sought--317. 

She stood leaning against the wall with her hand pressed to herthrobbing heart, which seemed bursting. 

Now, at the moment of risking this decisive step, she felt paralyzedwith fright. She would have given all she possessed to find herself safein her own home. 

The sight of a stranger entering the corridor ended her hesitation. 

With a trembling hand she knocked at the door. 

"Come in, " said a voice from within. 

She entered the room. 

It was not the Marquis of Clameran who stood in the middle of theroom, but a young man, almost a youth, who bowed to Mme. Fauvel with asingular expression on his handsome face. 

Mme. Fauvel thought that she had mistaken the room. 

"Excuse me, monsieur, " she said, blushing deeply. "I thought that thiswas the Marquis of Clameran's room. "

"It is his room, madame, " replied the young man; then, seeing she wassilent and about to leave, he added:

"I presume I have the honor of addressing Mme. Fauvel?"

She bowed affirmatively, shuddering at the sound of her own name, frightened at this proof of Clameran's betrayal of her secret to astranger. 

With visible anxiety she awaited an explanation. 

"Reassure yourself, madame, " said the young man: "you are as safe hereas if you were in your own house. M. De Clameran desired me to make hisexcuses; he will not have the honor of seeing you to-day. "

"But, monsieur, from an urgent letter sent by him yesterday, I was ledto suppose--to infer--that he----"

"When he wrote to you, madame, he had projects in view which he hassince renounced. "

Mme. Fauvel was too agitated and troubled to think clearly. Beyond thepresent she could see nothing. 

"Do you mean, " she asked with distrust, "that he has changed hisintentions?"

The young man's face was expressive of sad compassion, as if he sharedthe sufferings of the unhappy woman before him. 

"The marquis has renounced, " he said, in a melancholy tone, "what hewrongly considered a sacred duty. Believe me, he hesitated a long timebefore he could decide to apply to you on a subject painful to youboth. When he began to explain his apparent intrusion upon your privateaffairs, you refused to hear him, and dismissed him with indignantcontempt. He knew not what imperious reasons dictated your conduct. Blinded by unjust anger, he swore to obtain by threats what you refusedto give voluntarily. Resolved to attack your domestic happiness, he hadcollected overwhelming proofs against you. Pardon him: an oath given tohis dying brother bound him. 

"These convincing proofs, " he continued, as he tapped his finger on abundle of papers which he had taken from the mantel, "this evidence thatcannot be denied, I now hold in my hand. This is the certificate of theRev. Dr. Sedley; this is the declaration of Mrs. Dobbin, the farmer'swife; and these others are the statements of the physician and ofseveral persons of high social position who were acquainted with Mme. Dela Verberie during her stay in London. Not a single link is missing. Ihad great difficulty in getting these papers away from M. De Clameran. Had he anticipated my intention of thus disposing of them, they wouldnever have been surrendered to my keeping. "

As he finished speaking, the young man threw the bundle of papers intothe fire where they blazed up; and in a moment nothing remained of thembut a little heap of ashes. 

"All is now destroyed, madame, " he said, with a satisfied air. "Thepast, if you desire it, is as completely annihilated as those papers. If anyone, thereafter, dares accuse you of having had a son before yourmarriage, treat him as a vile calumniator. No proof against you can beproduced; none exists. You are free. "

Mme. Fauvel began to understand the sense of this scene; the truthdawned upon her bewildered mind. 

This noble youth, who protected her from the anger of De Clameran, whorestored her peace of mind and the exercise of her own free will, bydestroying all proofs of her past, was, must be, the child whom she hadabandoned: Valentin-Raoul. 

In an instant, all was forgotten save the present. Maternal tenderness, so long restrained, now welled up and overflowed as with intense emotionshe murmured:

"Raoul!"

At this name, uttered in so thrilling a tone, the youth started andtottered, as if overcome by an unhoped-for happiness. 

"Yes, Raoul, " he cried, "Raoul, who would a thousand times rather diethan cause his mother a moment's pain; Raoul, who would shed his life'sblood to spare her one tear. "

She made no attempt to struggle against nature's yearnings; her longingto clasp to her heart this long-pined-for first-born must be gratifiedat all costs. 

She opened her arms, and Raoul sprang forward with a cry of joy:

"Mother! my blessed mother! Thanks be to God for this first kiss!"

Alas! this was the sad truth. The deserted child had never been blest bya mother's kiss. This dear son whom she had never seen before, hadbeen taken from her, despite her prayers and tears, without a mother'sblessing, a mother's embrace. After twenty years waiting, should it bedenied him now?

But joy so great, following upon so many contending emotions, was morethan the excited mother could bear; she sank back in her chair almostfainting, and with distended eyes gazed in a bewildered, eager way uponher long-lost son, who was now kneeling at her feet. 

With tenderness she stroked the soft chestnut curls, and drank in thetenderness of his soft dark eyes, and expressive mouth, as he murmuredwords of filial affection in her craving ear. 

"Oh, mother!" he said, "words cannot describe my feelings of painand anguish upon hearing that my uncle had dared to threaten you. Hethreaten you! He repents already of his cruelty; he did not know you asI do. Yes, my mother, I have known you for a long, long time. Often havemy father and I hovered around your happy home to catch a glimpse of youthrough the window. When you passed by in your carriage, he would sayto me, 'There is your mother, Raoul!' To look upon you was our greatestjoy. When we knew you were going to a ball, we would wait near the doorto see you enter, in your satin and diamonds. How often have I followedyour fast horses to see you descend from the carriage and enter wealthydoors, which I could never hope to penetrate! And how my noble fatherloved you always! When he told his brother to apply to you in my behalf, he was unconscious of what he said; his mind was wandering. "

Tears, the sweetest tears she had ever shed, coursed down Mme. Fauvel'scheeks, as she listened to the musical tones of Raoul's voice. 

This voice was so like Gaston's, that she seemed once more to belistening to the lover of her almost forgotten youth. 

She was living over again those stolen meetings, those long hours ofbliss, when Gaston was at her side, as they sat and watched the riverrippling beneath the trees. 

It seemed only yesterday that Gaston had pressed her to his faithfulheart; she saw him still saying gently:

"In three years, Valentine! Wait for me!"

Andre, her two sons, Madeleine, all were forgotten in this new-foundaffection. 

Raoul continued in tender tones:

"Only yesterday I discovered that my uncle had been to demand for me afew crumbs of your wealth. Why did he take such a step? I am poor, it istrue, very poor; but I am too familiar with poverty to bemoan it. I havea clear brain and willing hands: that is fortune enough for a young man. You are very rich. What is that to me? Keep all your fortune, my belovedmother; but do not repel my affection; let me love you. Promise methat this first kiss shall not be the last. No one will ever know ofmy new-found happiness; not by word or deed will I do aught to let theworld suspect that I possess this great joy. "

And Mme. Fauvel had dreaded this son! Ah, how bitterly did she nowreproach herself for not having flown to meet him the instant she heardthat he was living!

She questioned him regarding the past; she wished to know how he hadlived, what he had been doing. 

He replied that he had nothing to conceal; his existence had been thatof every poor boy, who had nothing to look forward to but a life oflabor and privation. 

The farmer's wife who had brought him up was a kind-hearted woman, and had always treated him with affection. She had even given him aneducation superior to his condition in life, because, as she alwayssaid, he would make himself a great name, and attain to wealth, if hewere taught. 

When about sixteen years of age, she procured him a situation in abanking-house; and he was getting a salary, which, though small, wasenough to support him and supply a few luxuries for his adopted mother. 

One day a stranger came to him and said:

"I am your father: come with me. "

Since then nothing was wanting to his happiness, save a mother'stenderness. He had suffered but one great sorrow, and that was the daywhen Gaston de Clameran, his father, had died in his arms. 

"But now, " he said, "all is forgotten, that one sorrow is forgotten inmy present happiness. Now that I see you and possess your love, I forgetthe past, and ask for nothing more. "

Mme. Fauvel was oblivious of the lapse of time, and was startled whenRaoul exclaimed:

"Why, it is seven o'clock!"

Seven o'clock! What would her family think of this long absence? Herhusband must be even now awaiting dinner. 

"Shall I see you again, mother?" asked Raoul in a beseeching tone, asthey were about to separate. 

"Oh, yes!" she replied, fondly, "yes, often; every day, to-morrow. "

But now, for the first time since her marriage, Mme. Fauvel perceivedthat she was not mistress of her actions. Never before had she hadoccasion to wish for uncontrolled liberty. 

She left her heart and soul behind her in the Hotel du Louvre, where shehad just found her son. She was compelled to leave him, to undergo theintolerable agony of composing her face to conceal this great happiness, which had changed her whole life and being. She was angry with fatebecause she could not remain with her first-born son. 

Having some difficulty in procuring a carriage, it was half-past sevenbefore she reached the Rue de Provence, when she found the familywaiting for her. 

She thought her husband silly, and even vulgar, when he joked her uponletting her poor children starve to death, while she was promenading theboulevards. 

So strange are the sudden effects of a new passion, that she regardedalmost with contempt this unbounded confidence reposed in her. 

She replied to his jest with a forced calmness, as if her mind werereally as free and undisturbed as it had been before Clameran's visit. 

So intoxicated had been her sensations while with Raoul, that in her joyshe was incapable of desiring anything else, of dreaming of aught savethe renewal of these delightful emotions. 

No longer was she a devoted wife, an affectionate mother to thishousehold which looked up to her as though she were a superior being. She took no interest in the two sons who were a short while since herchief pride and joy. They had always been petted and indulged in everyway; they had a father, they were rich; whist the other, the other! oh, how much reparation was due to him!

She almost regarded her family as responsible for Raoul's sufferings, soblinded was she in her devotion to her martyr, as she called him. 

Her folly was complete. No remorse for the past, no apprehensions forthe future, disturbed the satisfied present. To her the future wasto-morrow; eternity was the sixteen hours which must elapse beforeanother interview. 

She seemed to think that Gaston's death absolved the past, and changedthe present. 

Her sole regret was her marriage. Free, with no family ties, she couldhave consecrated herself exclusively to Raoul. How gladly would she havesacrificed her affluence to enjoy poverty with him!

She felt no fear that her husband and sons would suspect the thoughtswhich absorbed her mind; but she dreaded her niece. 

She imagined that Madeleine looked at her strangely on her return fromthe Hotel du Louvre. She must suspect something; but did she suspect thetruth?

For several days she asked embarrassing questions, as to where her auntwent, and with whom she had been during these long absences from home. 

This disquietude and seeming curiosity changed the affection which Mme. Fauvel had hitherto felt for her adopted daughter into positive dislike. 

She regretted having placed over herself a vigilant spy from whom shecould not escape. She pondered what means she could take to avoid thepenetrating watchfulness of a girl who was accustomed to read in herface every thought that crossed her mind. 

With unspeakable satisfaction she solved the difficulty in a way whichshe thought would please all parties. 

During the last two years the banker's cashier and _protege_, ProsperBertomy, had been devoted in his attentions to Madeleine. Mme. Fauveldecided to do all in her power to hasten matters, so that, Madeleineonce married and out of the house, there would be no one to criticiseher own movements. She could then spend most of her time with Raoulwithout fear of detection. 

That evening, with a duplicity of which she would have been incapable afew weeks before, she began to question Madeleine about her sentimentstoward Prosper:

"Ah, ha, mademoiselle, " she said, gayly, "I have discovered your secret. You are going on at a pretty rate! The idea of your choosing a husbandwithout my permission!"

"Why, aunt! I thought you----"

"Yes, I know; you thought I had suspected the true state of affairs!That is precisely what I have done. "

Then, in a serious tone, she said:

"Therefore nothing remains to be done except to obtain the consent ofMaster Prosper. Do you think he will grant it?"

"Oh, Aunt Valentine! he would be too happy. "

"Ah, indeed! you seem to know all about it; perhaps you do not care forany assistance in carrying out your wishes?"

Madeleine, blushing and confused, hung her head, and said nothing. Mme. Fauvel drew her toward her, and continued affectionately:

"My dear child, do not be distressed: you have done nothing wrong, andneed fear no opposition to your wishes. Is it possible that a person ofyour penetration supposed us to be in ignorance of your secret? Did youthink that Prosper would have been so warmly welcomed by your uncle andmyself, had we not approved of him in every respect?"

Madeleine threw her arms around her aunt's neck, and said:

"Oh, my dear aunt, you make me so happy! I am very grateful for yourlove and kindness. I am very glad that you are pleased with my choice. "

Mme. Fauvel said to herself:

"I will make Andre speak to Prosper, and before two months are over themarriage must take place. Madeleine once married, I shall have nothingto fear. "

Unfortunately, Mme. Fauvel was so engrossed by her new passion that sheput off from day to day her project of hastening the marriage, until itwas too late. Spending a portion of each day at the Hotel du Louvre withRaoul, and, when separated from him, devoting her thoughts to insuringhim an independent fortune and a good position, she could think ofnothing else. 

She had not yet spoken to him of money or business. 

She imagined that she had discovered in him his father's noblequalities; that the sensitiveness which is so easily wounded wasexpressed in his every word and action. 

She anxiously wondered if he would ever accept the least assistance fromher. The Marquis of Clameran quieted her doubts on this point. 

She had frequently met him since the day on which he had so frightenedher, and to her first aversion had succeeded a secret sympathy. She feltkindly toward him for the affection he lavished on her son. 

If Raoul, with the heedlessness of youth, mocked at the future, Louis, the man of the world, looked upon it with different eyes. He was anxiousfor the welfare of his nephew, and constantly complained of the idlelife he was now leading. 

One day, after praising the attractive qualities of Raoul, he said:

"This pleasant life is very well, as long as it lasts; but people cannotlive upon air, and, as my handsome nephew has no fortune, it would beonly prudent for us to procure him some employment. "

"Ah, my dear uncle, do let me enjoy my present happiness. What is theuse of any change? What do I want?"

"You want for nothing at present, Raoul; but when your resources areexhausted, and mine, too--which will be in a short time--what willbecome of you?"

"_Bast!_ I will enter the army. All the Clamerans are born soldiers; andif a war comes----"

Mme. Fauvel laid her hand upon his lips, and said in a tone ofreproachful tenderness:

"Cruel boy, become a soldier? would you, then, deprive me of the joy ofseeing you?"

"No, my mother; no. "

"You must agree to whatever plans we make for your good, " said Louis;"and not be talking of any wild schemes of your own. "

"I am ready to obey; but not yet. One of these days I will go to work, and make a fortune. "

"How, poor, foolish boy? What can you do?"

"_Dame!_ I don't know now; but set your mind at rest, I will find away. "

Finding it impossible to make this self-sufficient youth listen toreason, Louis and Mme. Fauvel, after discussing the matter fully, decided that assistance must be forced upon him, and his path in lifemarked out for him. 

It was difficult, however, to choose a profession; and Clameran thoughtit prudent to wait awhile, and study the bent of the young man's mind. In the meanwhile it was decided that Mme. Fauvel should place funds atClameran's disposal for Raoul's support. 

Regarding Gaston's brother in the light of a father to her child, Mme. Fauvel soon found him indispensable. She continually longed to seehim, either to consult him concerning some step to be taken for Raoul'sbenefit, or to impress upon him some good advice to be given. 

Thus she was well pleased, when one day he requested the honor of beingallowed to call upon her at her own house. 

Nothing was easier than to introduce the Marquis of Clameran to herhusband as an old friend of her family; and, after once being admitted, he might come as often as he chose. 

Mme. Fauvel congratulated herself upon this arrangement. 

Afraid to go to Raoul every day, and in constant terror lest her lettersto him should be discovered, and his replies fall into her husband'shands, she was delighted at the prospect of having news of him fromClameran. 

For a month, things went on very smoothly, when one day the marquisconfessed that Raoul was giving him a great deal of trouble. Hishesitating, embarrassed manner frightened Mme. Fauvel. She thoughtsomething dreadful had happened, and that he was trying to break the badnews gently. 

"What is the matter?" she said, turning pale. 

"I am sorry to say, " replied Clameran, "that this young man hasinherited all the pride and passions of his ancestors. He is oneof those natures who stop at nothing, who only find incitement inopposition; and I can think of no way of checking him in his madcareer. "

"Merciful Heaven! what has he been doing?"

"Nothing especially censurable; that is, nothing irreparable, thus far;but I am afraid of the future. He is unaware of the liberal allowancewhich you have placed in my hands for his benefit; and, although hethinks that I support him, there is not a single indulgence whichhe denies himself; he throws away money as if he were the son of amillionaire. "

Like all mothers, Mme. Fauvel attempted to excuse her son. 

"Perhaps you are a little severe, " she said. "Poor child, he hassuffered so much! He has undergone so many privations during hischildhood, that this sudden happiness and wealth has turned his head;he seizes it as a starving man seizes a piece of bread. Is it surprisingthat he should refuse to listen to reason until hungry nature shall havebeen gratified? Ah, only have patience, and he will soon return tothe path of sober duty. He has too noble a heart to do anything reallywrong. "

"He has suffered so much!" was Mme. Fauvel's constant excuse for Raoul. This was her invariable reply to M. De Clameran's complaints of hisnephew's conduct. 

And, having once commenced, he was now constant in his accusationsagainst Raoul. 

"Nothing restrains his extravagance and dissipation, " Louis would say ina mournful voice; "the instant a piece of folly enters his head, it iscarried out, no matter at what cost. "

Mme. Fauvel saw no reason why her son should be thus harshly judged. 

"You must remember, " she said in an aggrieved tone, "that from infancyhe has been left to his own unguided impulses. The unfortunate boy neverhad a mother to tend and counsel him. You must remember, too, that hehas never known a father's guidance. "

"There is some excuse for him, to be sure; but nevertheless he mustchange his present course. Could you not speak seriously to him, madame?You have more influence over him than I. "

She promised, but forgot her good resolution when with Raoul. She hadso little time to devote to him, that it seemed cruel to spend it inreprimands. Sometimes she would hurry from home for the purpose offollowing the marquis's advice; but, the instant she saw Raoul, hercourage failed; a pleading look from his soft, dark eyes silenced therebuke upon her lips; the sound of his voice banished every anxiousthought, and lulled her mind to the present happiness. 

But Clameran was not a man to lose sight of the main object, in what heconsidered a sentimental wasting of time. He would have no compromise ofduty. 

His brother had bequeathed to him, as a precious trust, his son Raoul;he regarded himself, he said, as his guardian, and would be heldresponsible in another world for his welfare. 

He entreated Mme. Fauvel to use her influence, when he found himselfpowerless in trying to check the heedless youth in his headlong career. She ought, for the sake of her child, to see more of him, study hisdisposition, and daily admonish him in his duty to himself and to her. 

"Alas, " the poor woman replied, "that would be my heart's desire. Buthow can I do it? Have I the right to ruin myself? I have other children, for whom I must be careful of my reputation. "

This answer appeared to astonish Clameran. A fortnight before, Mme. Fauvel would not have alluded to her other sons. 

"I will think the matter over, " said Louis, "And perhaps when I seeyou next I shall be able to submit to you a plan which will reconcileeverything. "

The reflections of a man of so much experience could not be fruitless. He had a relieved, satisfied look, when he called to see Mme. Fauvel onthe following week. 

"I think I have solved the problem, " he said. 

"What problem?"

"The means of saving Raoul. "

He explained himself by saying, that as Mme. Fauvel could not, withoutarousing her husband's suspicions, continue her daily visits to Raoul, she must receive him at her own house. 

This proposition shocked Mme. Fauvel; for though she had been imprudent, even culpable, she was the soul of honor, and naturally shrank from theidea of introducing Raoul into the midst of her family, and seeing himwelcomed by her husband, and perhaps become the friend of his sons. Her instinctive sense of justice made her declare that she would neverconsent to such an infamous step. 

"Yes, " said the marquis, thoughtfully, "there is some risk; but then, itis the only chance of saving your child. "

She resisted with so much firmness and indignation that Louis wasastonished, and for a time nonplussed; though he by no means let thesubject drop, but seized every opportunity of impressing upon hertortured mind that Raoul's salvation depended entirely upon her. 

"No, " she would always reply, "no! Never will I be so base andperfidious to my husband!"

Unfortunate woman! little did she know of the pitfalls which stand everready to swallow up wanderers from the path of virtue. 

Before a week had passed, she listened to this project, which at firsthad filled her with horror, with a willing ear, and even began to devisemeans for its speedy execution. 

Yes, after a cruel struggle, she finally yielded to the pressure ofClameran's politely uttered threats and Raoul's wheedling entreaties. 

"But how, " she asked, "upon what pretext can I receive Raoul?"

"It would be the easiest thing in the world, " replied Clameran, "toadmit him as an ordinary acquaintance, and, indeed, to place him onthe same footing which I myself occupy--that of an intimate friend andhabitue of your drawing-rooms. But Raoul must have more than this; heneeds your constant care. "

After torturing Mme. Fauvel for a long time, he finally revealed hisscheme. 

"We have in our hands, " he said, "the solution of this problem, whichmay be so easily reached that I regard it as an inspiration. "

Mme. Fauvel eagerly scanned his face as she listened with the pitiableresignation of a martyr. 

"Have you not a cousin, a widow lady, who had two daughters, living atSt. Remy?" asked Louis. 

"Yes, Mme. De Lagors. "

"Precisely so. What fortune has she?"

"She is poor, monsieur, very poor. "

"And, but for the assistance you render her secretly, she would bethrown upon the charity of the world. "

Mme. Fauvel was bewildered at finding the marquis so well informed ofher private affairs. 

"How could you have discovered this?" she asked. 

"Oh, I know all about this affair, and many others besides. I know, forexample, that your husband has never met any of your relatives, and thathe is not even aware of the existence of your cousin De Lagors. Do youbegin to comprehend my plan?"

She not only understood it, but also knew that she would end by being aparty to it. 

"All will succeed if you follow my instructions, " said Louis. "To-morrowor next day, you will receive a letter from your cousin at St. Remy, telling you that she has sent her son to Paris on a visit, and begs youto receive and watch over him. Naturally you show this letter to yourhusband; and a few days afterward he warmly welcomes your nephew, Raoulde Lagors, a handsome, rich, attractive young man, who does everythinghe can to please you both. "

"Monsieur, " replied Mme. Fauvel, "my cousin is a pious, honorable woman, and nothing would induce her to countenance so shameful a transaction. "

The marquis smiled scornfully, and said:

"Who told you that I intended to confide in her?"

"But you would be obliged to do so! How else?"

"You are very simple, madame. The letter which you will receive, andshow to your husband, will be dictated by me, and posted at St. Remyby a friend of mine. If I spoke of the obligations under which you haveplaced your cousin, it was merely to show you that, in case of accident, her own interest would make her serve you. Do you see any obstacle tothis plan, madame?"

Mme. Fauvel's eyes flashed with indignation. 

"Is my will of no account?" she exclaimed. "You seem to have made yourarrangements without consulting me at all. "

"Excuse me, " said the marquis, with ironical politeness, "but I knewthat you would take the same view of the matter as myself. Your goodsense would convince you of the necessity of using every possible meansof rescuing your child from destruction. "

"But it is a crime, monsieur, that you propose--an abominable crime! Mymind revolts at the very idea of it!"

This speech seemed to arouse all the bad passions slumbering inClameran's bosom; and his pale face had a fiendish expression as hefiercely replied:

"We had better end this humbuggery, and come to a clear understanding atonce. Before you begin to talk about crime, think over your past life. You were not so timid and scrupulous when you gave yourself up to yourlover; neither did you hesitate to faithlessly refuse to share hisexile, although for your sake he had just jeopardized his life bykilling two men. You felt no scruples at abandoning your child inLondon; although rolling in wealth, you never even inquired if this poorwaif had bread to eat. You felt no scruples about marrying M. Fauvel. Did you tell your confiding husband of the lines of shame concealedbeneath that orange wreath? Did you hesitate to confirm and strengthenhis happy delusion, that his lips had pressed the first kiss upon yourbrow? No! All these crimes you indulged in; and, when in Gaston's nameI demand reparation, you indignantly refuse. But, mark my words, madame, it is too late! You ruined the father; but you shall save the son, or, by all the saints in heaven, I swear you shall no longer cheat the worldof its esteem. "

"I will obey you, monsieur, " murmured the trembling, frightened woman. 

The following week Raoul, now Raoul de Lagors, was seated at thebanker's dinner-table, between Mme. Fauvel and Madeleine. 

XVII

It was not without the most painful suffering and self-condemnation thatMme. Fauvel submitted to the will of the pitiless Marquis of Clameran. 

She had used every argument and entreaty to soften him; but he merelylooked upon her with a triumphant, sneering smile, when she knelt at hisfeet, implored him to be merciful and spare her the shame and remorseof committing another crime. Spare her this torture, and she would grantanything else he wished, give Raoul all she possessed while alive, andinsure him a handsome competency after her death. 

Alas! neither tears nor prayers moved him. Disappointed, and almostdesperate, she sought the intercession of her son. 

Raoul was in a state of furious indignation at the sight of his mother'sdistress, and hastened to demand an apology from Clameran. 

But he had reckoned without his host. He soon returned with downcasteyes, and moodily angry at his own powerlessness, declaring that safetydemanded a complete surrender to the tyrant. 

Now only did the wretched woman fully fathom the abyss into which shewas being dragged, and clearly see the labyrinth of crime of which shewas becoming the victim. 

And all this suffering was the consequence of a fault, an interviewgranted to Gaston. Ever since that fatal day she had been vainlystruggling against the implacable logic of events. Her life had beenspent in trying to overcome the past, and now it had risen to crush her. 

The hardest thing of all to do, the act that most wrung her heart, wasshowing to her husband the forged letter from St. Remy, and saying thatshe expected to see her rich young nephew in a day or two. 'Tis hard todeceive those who trust and love us. 

But words cannot paint the torture she endured on the evening that sheintroduced Raoul to her family, and saw the honest banker cordiallyshake hands with this nephew of whom he had never heard before, andaffectionately say to him:

"I am not surprised that a rich young fellow like yourself should preferParis to St. Remy, and nothing will give me more pleasure than yourvisit; for I seldom have an opportunity of welcoming a relative of mydear wife, for whose sake I take an interest in everyone coming from St. Remy. "

Raoul exerted his utmost to deserve this warm reception. 

If his early education had been neglected, and he lacked those delicaterefinements of manner and conversation which home influence imparts, hissuperior tact concealed these defects. 

He possessed the happy faculty of reading characters, and adapting hisconversation to the minds of his listeners. 

Before a week had gone by, he was a favorite with M. Fauvel, intimatewith Abel and Lucien, and inseparable from Prosper Bertomy, the cashier, who spent all his evenings with the banker's family. 

Charmed at the favorable impression made by Raoul, Mme. Fauvel recoveredcomparative ease of mind, and at times almost congratulated herselfupon having obeyed the marquis, as she saw all around her contented andhappy. Once more she began to hope that peace had not deserted her, thatGod had forgiven her. 

Alas! she rejoiced too soon. 

Raoul's intimacy with his cousins threw him among a set of rich youngmen, whose extravagance he not only imitated, but surpassed. He dailygrew more dissipated and reckless. Gambling, racing, expensive suppers, made money slip through his fingers like grains of sand. 

This proud young man, whose sensitive delicacy not long since madehim refuse to accept aught save affection from his mother, now neverapproached her without demanding large sums of money. 

At first she gave with pleasure, not stopping to count the rolls ofnotes she would eagerly run to bring him. But as he each time increasedhis demands, until they finally reached a sum far larger than shecould bestow, her eyes were opened to the ruinous effects of her lavishgenerosity. 

This rich woman, whose magnificent diamonds, elegant toilets, andsuperb equipages were the admiration and envy of Paris, now sufferedthe keenest torture. She had no more money to give her son; and whatso pains the female heart as being unable to gratify the wishes of abeloved being?

Her husband never thought of giving her a fixed sum for the year'sexpenses, or of asking how she disposed of her money. The day after thewedding he gave her a key to his secretary, and told her, that what washis was hers, to use as she thought best. And, ever since, she had beenin the habit of freely taking all the money necessary for keeping up thehospitable, elegant house over which she so gracefully presided; for herown dress, and many charitable purposes that the world never knew of. 

But the fact of her having always been so modest in her personalexpenses that her husband used to jestingly say that he was afraid shewould end by being a miser; and her judicious, well-regulated managementof household expenditures, causing her to spend much the same amounteach year--prevented her now being able to dispose of large sums, without giving rise to embarrassing questions. 

M. Fauvel, the most generous of millionaires, delighted to see hiswife indulge in any extravagance, no matter how foolish; but he wouldnaturally expect to see traces of the money spent, something to show forit. 

The banker might suddenly discover that double the usual amount ofmoney was used in the house; and, if he should ask the cause of thisastonishing outlay, what answer could she give?

In three months, Raoul had squandered a little fortune. In the firstplace, he was obliged to have bachelor's apartments, prettily furnished, and a handsome outfit from a fashionable tailor, besides the thousandlittle things indispensable to a society man; he must have a bloodedhorse and a coupe. His doting mother felt it her duty to give him theseluxuries, when her other sons were enjoying everything of the sort, besides many other advantages of which her poor Raoul was deprived. But each day the extravagance of his fancies increased, and Mme. Fauvelbegan to be alarmed when his demands far exceeded her ability to gratifythem. 

When she would gently remonstrate, Raoul's beautiful eyes would fillwith tears, and in a sad, humble tone he would say:

"Alas! you are right to refuse me this gratification. What claim have I?I must not forget that I am only the poor son of Valentine, not the richbanker's child!"

This touching repentance wrung her heart, so that she always ended bygranting him more than he had asked for. The poor boy had sufferedso much that it was her duty to console him, and atone for her pastneglect. 

She soon discovered that he was jealous and envious of his twobrothers--for, after all, they were his brothers--Abel and Lucien. 

"You never refuse them anything, " he would resentfully say: "they werefortunate enough to enter life by the golden gate. Their every wishis gratified; they enjoy wealth, position, home affection, and have asplendid future awaiting them. "

"But what is lacking to your happiness, my son? Have you not everythingthat money can give? and are you not first in my affections?" asked hisdistressed mother. 

"What do I want? Apparently nothing, in reality everything. Do I possessanything legitimately? What right have I to your affection, to thecomforts and luxuries you heap upon me, to the name I bear? Is not mylife an extortion, my very birth a fraud?"

When Raoul talked in this strain, she would weep, and overwhelm him withcaresses and gifts, until she imagined that every jealous thought wasvanished from his mind. 

As spring approached, she told Raoul she designed him to spend thesummer in the country, near her villa at St. Germain. She wanted to havehim with her all the time, and this was the only way of gratifying herwish. She was surprised to find her proposal readily acquiesced in. Ina few days he told her he had rented a little house at Vesinet, andintended having his furniture moved into it. 

"Then, just think, dear mother, what a happy summer we will spendtogether!" he said, with beaming eyes. 

She was delighted for many reasons, one of which was that the expensesof the prodigal son would necessarily be lessened. Anxiety as to theexhausted state of her finances made her bold enough to chide him at thedinner-table one day for having lost two thousand francs at the racesthat morning. 

"You are severe, my dear, " said M. Fauvel with the carelessness of arich man, who considered this sum a mere trifle. "Mamma Lagors won'tobject to footing his bills; mammas are created for the special purposeof paying bills. "

And, not observing that his wife had turned pale at these jocular words, he turned to Raoul, and added:

"Don't disturb yourself about a small sum like this, my boy; when youwant money, come to me. "

What could Mme. Fauvel say? Had she not followed Clameran's orders, andtold her husband that Raoul was wealthy? She could not go now and tellhim that he would never recover any money which he lent to a pennilessspendthrift. 

Why had she been made to tell this unnecessary lie?

She suspected the snare laid for her; but now it was too late to escapeit: struggles would only more deeply entangle her in its meshes. 

The banker's offer was soon accepted. That same week Raoul went to hisuncle's bank, and boldly borrowed ten thousand francs. 

When Mme. Fauvel heard of this piece of audacity, she wrung her hands indespair. 

"What can he want with so much money?" she moaned to herself: "whatwicked extravagance is it for?" For some time Clameran had kept awayfrom Mme. Fauvel's house. She decided to write and ask him to come andadvise her as to what steps should be taken to check Raoul. 

She hoped that this energetic, determined man, who was so fully awaketo his duties as a guardian and an uncle, would make Raoul listen toreason, and instantly refund the borrowed money. 

When Clameran heard what his graceless nephew had done, his surprise andanger were unbounded. He expressed so much indignation against Raoul, that Mme. Fauvel was frightened at the storm she had raised, and beganto make excuses for her son. 

While they were discussing the matter, Raoul came in, and a violentaltercation ensued between him and Clameran. 

But the suspicions of Mme. Fauvel were aroused; she watched them, and itseemed to her--could it be possible--that their anger was feigned; that, although they abused and even threatened each other in the bitterestlanguage, their eyes twinkled with amusement. 

She dared not breathe her doubts; but, like a subtle poison whichdisorganizes everything with which it comes in contact, this newsuspicion filled her thoughts, and added to her already intolerablesufferings. 

Yet she never once thought of blaming Raoul; nor for a moment did shefeel displeased with her idolized son. She accused the marquis of takingadvantage of the youthful weakness and inexperience of his nephew. 

She knew that she would have to suffer insolence and extortion from thisman who had her completely in his power; but she could not imagine whatobject he now had in view, for she plainly saw that he was aimingat something more than his nephew's success in life. He constantlyconcealed some plan to benefit himself at her expense; but assuredly herdarling Raoul could not be an accomplice in any plot to harass her. 

Clameran himself soon cleared her mind of all doubts. 

One day, after complaining more bitterly than usual of Raoul, andproving to Mme. Fauvel that it was impossible for this state of affairsto continue much longer, and a catastrophe was inevitable, he would upby saying there was one means of salvation left. 

This was that he, Clameran, must marry Madeleine!

Mme. Fauvel was prepared for almost any base proposal save this one. Sheknew that his cupidity and insolence stopped at nothing, but never didshe imagine he would have the wild presumption to aspire to Madeleine'shand. 

If she had renounced all hope of happiness for herself, if she consentedto the sacrifice of her own peace of mind, it was because she thus hopedto insure the undisturbed felicity of her household, of her husband, whom she had sinned against. 

This unexpected declaration shocked her, and for a moment she wasspeechless. 

"Do you suppose for an instant, monsieur, " she indignantly exclaimed, "that I will consent to any such disgraceful project? SacrificeMadeleine, and to you!"

"I certainly do suppose so, madame; in fact, I am certain of it, " heanswered with cool insolence. 

"What sort of a woman do you think I am, monsieur? Alas, I am toeternally suffer for a fault committed twenty years ago; have I notalready been more than adequately punished? And does it become you tobe constantly reproaching me with my long-past imprudence? You have noright to be thus harassing me, till I dare not say my life is my own!Your power is at an end, and God only knows how deeply I regret havingbeen insane enough to yield to its base sway! So long as I alone wasto be the tool, you found me weak and timid; but, now that you seek theruin of those I love, I rebel against your usurped authority. I havestill a little conscience left, and nothing under heaven will force meto sacrifice my gentle, pure-hearted Madeleine!"

"May I inquire, madame, why you regard Mlle. Madeleine's becoming theMarchioness of Clameran as a disgrace and a sacrifice?"

"My niece chose, of her own free will, a husband whom she will shortlymarry. She loves M. Prosper Bertomy. "

The marquis disdainfully shrugged his shoulders. 

"A school-girl love-affair, " said he; "she will forget all about it, ifyou wish her to do so. "

"I do not wish it. I wish her to marry him. "

"Listen to me, " he replied, in the low, suppressed tone of a man tryingto control himself: "let us not waste time in these idle discussions. Hitherto you have always commenced by protesting against my proposedplans, and in the end acknowledge the good sense and justness of myarguments; now, for once why not yield without going through with thecustomary preliminaries? I ask it as a favor. "

"Never, " said Mme. Fauvel, "never will I yield. "

Clameran paid no attention to this interruption, but went on:

"I insist upon this marriage, mainly on your account, although it willenable me to re-establish my own affairs, as well as yours and Raoul's. Of course you see that the allowance you give your son is insufficientfor his extravagant style of living. The time approaches when, havingnothing more to give him, you will have to encroach upon your husband'smoney-drawer to such an extent that longer concealment will beimpossible. When that day comes what is to be done? Perhaps you havesome feasible plan of escape?"

Mme. Fauvel shuddered. The dreadful day of discovery could not be faroff, and no earthly way was there to escape it. 

The marquis went on:

"Assist me now, and, instead of having to make a shameful confession, you will thank me for having saved you. Mlle. Madeleine is rich: herdowry will enable me to supply the deficiency, and spare you all furtheranxiety about Raoul. "

"I would rather be ruined than be saved by such means. "

"But I will not permit you to ruin us all. Remember, madame, that we areassociated in a common cause, the future welfare of Raoul; and, althoughyou have a right to rush upon destruction yourself, you certainly shallnot drag us with you. "

"Cease your importunities, " she said, looking him steadily in the eye. "I have made up my mind irrevocably. "

"To what?"

"To do everything and anything to escape your shameful persecution. Oh! you need not smile. I shall throw myself at M. Fauvel's feet, andconfess everything. He is noble-hearted and generous, and, knowing how Ihave suffered, will forgive me. "

"Do you think so?" said Clameran derisively. 

"You mean to say that he will be pitiless, and banish me from his roof. So be it; it will only be what I deserve. There is no torture that Icannot bear, after what I have suffered through you. "

This inconceivable resistance so upset all the marquis's plans that helost all constraint, and, dropping the mask of politeness, appeared inhis true character. 

"Indeed!" he said in a fierce, brutal tone, "so you have decided toconfess to your loving, magnanimous husband! A famous idea! What apity you did not think of it before; it is rather late to try it now. Confessing everything the first day I called on you, you might have beenforgiven. Your husband might have pardoned a youthful fault atoned forby twenty years of irreproachable conduct; for none can deny that youhave been a faithful wife and a good mother. But picture the indignationof your trusting husband when you tell him that this pretended nephew, whom you imposed upon his family circle, who sat at his table, whoborrowed his money, is your illegitimate son! M. Fauvel is, no doubt, an excellent, kind-hearted man; but I scarcely think he will pardon adeception of this nature, which betrays such depravity, duplicity, andaudacity. "

All that the angry marquis said was horribly true; yet Mme. Fauvellistened unflinchingly, as if the coarse cruelty of his wordsstrengthened her resolution to have nothing more to do with him, but tothrow herself on her husband's mercy. 

"Upon my soul, " he went on, "you must be very much infatuated with thisM. Bertomy! Between the honor of your husband's name, and pleasingthis love-sick cashier, you refuse to hesitate. Well, I suppose he willconsole you. When M. Fauvel divorces you, and Abel and Lucien averttheir faces at your approach, and blush at being your sons, you will beable to say, 'I have made Prosper happy!'"

"Happen what may, I shall do what is right, " said Mme. Fauvel. 

"You shall do what I say!" cried Clameran, threateningly. "Do yousuppose that I will allow your sentimentality to blast all my hopes?I shall tolerate no such folly, madame, I can assure you. Your niece'sfortune is indispensable to us, and, more than that--I love the fairMadeleine, and am determined to marry her. "

The blow once struck, the marquis judged it prudent to await the result. With cool politeness, he continued:

"I will leave you now, madame, to think the matter over, and you cannotfail to view it in the same light as I do. You had better take myadvice, and consent to this sacrifice of prejudice, as it will be thelast required of you. Think of the honor of your family, and not of yourniece's love-affair. I will return in three days for your answer. "

"Your return is unnecessary, monsieur: I shall tell my husbandeverything to-night. "

If Mme. Fauvel had not been so agitated herself, she would have detectedan expression of alarm upon Clameran's face. 

But this uneasiness was only momentary. With a shrug, which meant, "Justas you please, " he said:

"I think you have sense enough to keep your secret. "

He bowed ceremoniously, and left the room, but slammed the front doorafter him so violently as to prove that his restrained anger burst forthbefore leaving the house. 

Clameran had cause for fear. Mme. Fauvel's determination was notfeigned. She was firm in her resolve to confess. 

"Yes, " she cried, with the enthusiasm of a noble resolution, "yes, Iwill tell Andre everything!"

She believed herself to be alone, but turned around suddenly at thesound of footsteps, and found herself face to face with Madeleine, whowas pale and swollen-eyed with weeping. 

"You must obey this man, aunt, " she quietly said. 

Adjoining the parlor was a little card-room separated only by a heavysilk curtain, instead of a door. 

Madeleine was sitting in this little room when the marquis arrived, and, as there was no egress save through the parlor, had remained, and thusoverheard the conversation. 

"Good Heaven!" cried Mme. Fauvel with terror, "do you know----"

"I know everything, aunt. "

"And you wish me to sacrifice you to this fiend?"

"I implore you to let me save you from misery. "

"You certainly despise and hate M. De Clameran; how can you think Iwould let you marry him?"

"I do despise him, aunt, and shall always regard him as the basest ofmen; nevertheless I will marry him. "

Mme. Fauvel was overcome by the magnitude of this devotion. 

"And what is to become of Prosper, my poor child--Prosper, whom youlove?"

Madeleine stifled a sob, and said in a firm voice:

"To-morrow I will break off my engagement with M. Bertomy. "

"I will never permit such a wrong, " cried Mme. Fauvel. "I will not addto my sins by suffering an innocent girl to bear their penalty. "

The noble girl sadly shook her head, and replied:

"Neither will I suffer dishonor to fall upon this house, which is myhome, while I have power to prevent it. Am I not indebted to you formore than life? What would I now be had you not taken pity on me? Afactory girl in my native village. You warmly welcomed the poor orphan, and became a mother to her. Is it not to your husband that I owe thefortune which excites the cupidity of this wicked Clameran? Are not Abeland Lucien brothers to me? And now, when the happiness of all who havebeen loving and generous to me is at stake, do you suppose I wouldhesitate? No. I will become the wife of Clameran. "

Then began a struggle of self-sacrifice between Mme. Fauvel and herniece, as to which should be the victim; only the more sublime, becauseeach offered her life to the other, not from any sudden impulse, butdeliberately and willingly. 

But Madeleine carried the day, fired as she was by that holy enthusiasmof sacrifice which is the sustaining element of martyrs. 

"I am responsible to none but myself, " said she, well knowing this to bethe most vulnerable point she could attack; "whilst you, dear aunt, areaccountable to your husband and children. Think of the pain and sorrowof M. Fauvel if he should learn the truth; it would kill him. "

The generous girl was right. She knew her uncle's heart. 

After having sacrificed her husband to her mother, Mme. Fauvel was aboutto immolate her husband and children for Raoul. 

As a general thing, a first fault draws many others in its train. As animpalpable flake is the beginning of an avalanche, so an imprudence isoften the prelude to a great crime. 

To false situations there is but one safe issue: truth. 

Mme. Fauvel's resistance grew weaker and more faint, as her niecepointed out the line for her to pursue: the path of wifely duty. 

"But, " she faintly argued, "I cannot accept your sacrifice. What sort ofa life will you lead with this man?"

"We can hope for the best, " replied Madeleine with a cheerfulness shewas far from feeling; "he loves me, he says; perhaps he will be kind tome. "

"Ah, if I only knew where to obtain money! It is money that the graspingman wants; money alone will satisfy him. "

"Does he not want it for Raoul? Has not Raoul, by his extravagantfollies, dug an abyss which must be bridged over by money? If I couldonly believe M. De Clameran!"

Mme. Fauvel looked at her niece with bewildered curiosity. 

What! this inexperienced girl had weighed the matter in its differentlights before deciding upon a surrender; whereas, she, a wife and amother, had blindly yielded to the inspirations of her heart!

"What do you mean? Madeleine, what do you suspect?"

"I mean this, aunt: that I do not believe that Clameran has any thoughtof his nephew's welfare. Once in possession of my fortune, he may leaveyou and Raoul to your fates. And there is another dreadful suspicionthat tortures my mind. "

"A suspicion?"

"Yes, and I would reveal it to you, if I dared; if I did not fear thatyou--"

"Speak!" insisted Mme. Fauvel. "Alas! misfortune has given me strengthto bear all things. There is nothing worse than has already happened. Iam ready to hear anything. "

Madeleine hesitated; she wished to enlighten her credulous aunt, and yethesitated to distress her. 

"I would like to be certain, " she said, "that some secret understandingbetween M. De Clameran and Raoul does not exist. Do you not think theyare acting a part agreed upon for the purpose of extorting money?"

Love is blind and deaf. Mme. Fauvel would not remember the laughingeyes of the two men, upon the occasion of the pretended quarrel in herpresence. Infatuation had drowned suspicion. She could not, she wouldnot, believe in such hypocrisy. Raoul plot against the mother? Never!

"It is impossible, " she said, "the marquis is really indignant anddistressed at his nephew's mode of life, and he certainly would notcountenance any disgraceful conduct. As to Raoul, he is vain, trifling, and extravagant; but he has a good heart. Prosperity has turned hishead, but he loves me still. Ah, if you could see and hear him, whenI reproach him for his faults, your suspicions would fly to the winds. When he tearfully promises to be more prudent, and never again give metrouble, he means to keep his word; but perfidious friends enticehim away, and he commits some piece of folly without thinking of theconsequences. "

Mothers always blame themselves and everyone else for the sins of theirsons. The innocent friends come in for the principal share of censure, each mother's son leading the other astray. 

Madeleine had not the heart to undeceive her aunt. 

"God grant that what you say may be true, " she said; "if so, thismarriage will not be useless. We will write to M. De Clameran to-night. "

"Why to-night, Madeleine? We need not hurry so. Let us wait a little;something else might happen to save us. "

These words, this confidence in chance, in a mere nothing, revealedMme. Fauvel's true character, and accounted for her troubles. Timid, hesitating, easily swayed, she never could come to a firm decision, forma resolution, and abide by it, in spite of all arguments brought tobear against it. In the hour of peril she would always shut her eyes andtrust to chance for a relief which never came. Never once did she thinkto ward off trouble by her own exertions. 

Quite different was Madeleine's character. Beneath her gentle timiditylay a strong, self-reliant will. Once decided upon what was right andjust, nothing could change her. If it was her duty to make a sacrifice, it was to be carried out to the letter; no hesitation and sighs forwhat might have been; she shut out all deceitful illusions, and walkedstraight forward without one look back. 

"We had better end the matter at once, dear aunt, " she said, in agentle, but firm tone. "Believe me, the reality of misfortune is not aspainful as its apprehension. You cannot bear the shocks of sorrow, anddelusive hopes of happiness, much longer. Do you know what anxiety ofmind has done to you? Have you looked in the mirror during the last fourmonths?"

She led her aunt up to the glass, and said:

"Look at yourself. "

Mme. Fauvel was indeed a mere shadow of her former self. 

She had reached the perfidious age when a woman's beauty, like afull-blown rose, fades in a day. 

Four months of trouble had made her an old woman. Sorrow had stamped itsfatal seal upon her brow. Her fair, soft skin was wrinkled, her goldenhair was streaked with silver, and her large, soft eyes had a painfullyfrightened look. 

"Do you not agree with me, " continued Madeleine, pityingly, "that peaceof mind is necessary to you? Do you not see that you are a wreck of yourformer self? It is a miracle that M. Fauvel has not noticed this sadchange in you!"

Mme. Fauvel, who flattered herself that she had displayed wonderfuldissimulation, shook her head. 

"Alas, my poor aunt! you think you concealed your secret from all: youmay have blinded my uncle, but I suspected all along that somethingdreadful was breaking your heart. "

"You suspected what, Madeleine? Not the truth?"

"No, I was afraid--Oh, pardon an unjust suspicion, my dear aunt, but Iwas wicked enough to suppose----"

She stopped, too distressed to finish her sentence; then, making apainful effort, she added, as her aunt signed to her to go on:

"I was afraid that perhaps you loved another man than my uncle; it wasthe only construction that I could put upon your strange conduct. "

Mme. Fauvel buried her face, and groaned. Madeleine's suspicion was, nodoubt, entertained by others. 

"My reputation is gone, " she moaned. 

"No, dear aunt, no; do not be alarmed about that. No one has hadoccasion to observe you as I have; it was only a dreadful thought whichpenetrated my mind in spite of my endeavors to dispel it. Have courage:we two can fight the world and silence our enemies. You shall be saved, aunt: only trust in me. "

The Marquis of Clameran was agreeably surprised that evening byreceiving a letter from Mme. Fauvel, saying that she consented toeverything, but must have a little time to carry out the plan. 

Madeleine, she said, could not break off her engagement with M. Bertomyin a day. M. Fauvel would make objections, for he had an affection forProsper, and had tacitly approved of the match. It would be wiser toleave to time the smoothing away of certain obstacles which a suddenattack might render insurmountable. 

A line from Madeleine, at the bottom of the letter, assured him that shefully concurred with her aunt. 

Poor girl! she did not spare herself. The next day she took Prosperaside, and forced from him the fatal promise to shun her in thefuture, and to take upon himself the responsibility of breaking theirengagement. 

He implored Madeleine to at least explain the reason of this banishment, which destroyed all of his hopes for happiness. 

She quietly replied that her peace of mind and honor depended upon hisblind obedience to her will. 

He left her with death in his soul. 

As he went out of the house, the marquis entered. 

Yes, he had the audacity to come in person, to tell Mme. Fauvel that, now he had the promise of herself and Madeleine, he would consent towait awhile. 

He himself saw the necessity of patience, knowing that he was not likedby the banker. 

Having the aunt and niece on his side, or rather in his power, he wascertain of success. He said to himself that the moment would come when adeficit impossible to be paid would force them to hasten the wedding. 

Raoul did all he could to bring matters to a crisis. 

Mme. Fauvel went sooner than usual to her country seat, and Raoul atonce moved into his house at Vesinet. But living in the country did notlessen his expenses. 

Gradually he laid aside all hypocrisy, and now only came to see hismother when he wanted money; and his demands were frequent and moreexorbitant each time. 

As for the marquis, he prudently absented himself, awaiting thepropitious moment. 

At the end of three weeks he met the banker at a friend's, and wasinvited to dinner the next day. 

Twenty people were seated at the table; and, as the dessert was beingserved, the banker suddenly turned to Clameran and said:

"I have a piece of news for you, monsieur. Have you any relatives ofyour name?"

"None that I know of, monsieur. "

"I am surprised. About a week ago, I became acquainted with anotherMarquis of Clameran. "

Although so hardened by crime, impudent enough to deny anything, Clameran was so taken aback that he sat with pale face and a blank look, silently staring at M. Fauvel. 

But he soon recovered enough self-control to say hurriedly:

"Oh, indeed! That is strange. A Clameran may exist; but I cannotunderstand the title of marquis. "

M. Fauvel was not sorry to have the opportunity of annoying a guestwhose aristocratic pretensions had often piqued him. 

"Marquis or not, " he replied, "the Clameran in question seems to be ableto do honor to the title. "

"Is he rich?"

"I have reason to suppose that he is very wealthy. I have been notifiedto collect for him four hundred thousand francs. "

Clameran had a wonderful faculty of self-control; he had so schooledhimself that his face never betrayed what was passing in his mind. Butthis news was so startling, so strange, so pregnant of danger, that hisusual assurance deserted him. 

He detected a peculiar look of irony in the banker's eye. 

The only persons who noticed this sudden change in the marquis's matterwere Madeleine and her aunt. They saw him turn pale, and exchange ameaning look with Raoul. 

"Then I suppose this new marquis is a merchant, " said Clameran after amoment's pause. 

"That I don't know. All that I know is, that four hundred thousandfrancs are to be deposited to his account by some ship-owners at Havre, after the sale of the cargo of a Brazilian ship. "

"Then he comes from Brazil?"

"I do not know, but I can give you his Christian name. "

"I would be obliged. "

M. Fauvel arose from the table, and brought from the next room amemorandum-book, and began to read over the names written in it. 

"Wait a moment, " he said, "let me see--the 22nd, no, it was later thanthat. Ah, here it is: Clameran, Gaston. His name is Gaston, monsieur. "

But this time Louis betrayed no emotion or alarm; he had had sufficienttime to recover his self-possession, and nothing could not throw him offhis guard. 

"Gaston?" he queried, carelessly. "I know who he is now. He must be theson of my father's sister, whose husband lived at Havana. I suppose, upon his return to France, he must have taken his mother's name, whichis more sonorous than his father's, that being, if I recollect aright, Moirot or Boirot. "

The banker laid down his memorandum-book, and, resuming his seat, wenton:

"Boirot or Clameran, " said he, "I hope to have the pleasure of invitingyou to dine with him before long. Of the four hundred thousand francswhich I was ordered to collect for him, he only wishes to draw onehundred, and tells me to keep the rest on running account. I judge fromthis that he intends coming to Paris. "

"I shall be delighted to make his acquaintance. "

Clameran broached another topic, and seemed to have entirely forgottenthe news told him by the banker. 

Although apparently engrossed in the conversation of his neighbor at thetable, he closely watched Mme. Fauvel and her niece. 

He saw that they were unable to conceal their agitation, and stealthilyexchanged significant looks. 

Evidently the same terrible idea had crossed their minds. 

Madeleine seemed more nervous and startled than her aunt. When M. Fauveluttered Gaston's name, she saw Raoul begin to draw back in his chair andglance in a frightened manner toward the window, like a detected thieflooking for means of escape. 

Raoul, less experienced than his uncle, was thoroughly discountenanced. He, the original talker, the lion of a dinner-party, never at a lossfor some witty speech, was now perfectly dumb; he sat anxiously watchingLouis. 

At last the dinner ended, and as the guests passed into thedrawing-room, Clameran and Raoul managed to remain last in thedining-room. 

When they were alone, they no longer attempted to conceal their anxiety. 

"It is he!" said Raoul. 

"I have no doubt of it. "

"Then all is lost; we had better make our escape. "

But a bold adventurer like Clameran had no idea of giving up the shiptill forced to do so. 

"Who knows what may happen?" he asked, thoughtfully. "There is hope yet. Why did not that muddle-headed banker tell us where this Clameran is tobe found?"

Here he uttered a joyful exclamation. He saw M. Fauvel's memorandum-booklying on the table. 

"Watch!" he said to Raoul. 

Seizing the note-book, he hurriedly turned over the leaves, and, in anundertone, read:

"Gaston, Marquis of Clameran, Oloron, Lower Pyrenees. "

"Well, does finding out his address assist us?" inquired Raoul, eagerly. 

"It may save us: that is all. Let us return to the drawing-room; ourabsence might be observed. Exert yourself to appear unconcerned and gay. You almost betrayed us once by your agitation. "

"The two women suspect something. "

"Well, suppose they do?"

"The best thing that we can do is escape; the sooner we leave Paris, thebetter. "

"Do you think we should do any better in London? Don't be so easilyfrightened. I am going to plant my batteries, and I warrant they willprove successful. "

They joined the other guests. But, if their conversation had not beenoverheard their movements had been watched. 

Madeleine looked through the half-open door, and saw Clameran consultingher uncle's note-book, and whispering to Raoul. But what benefit wouldshe derive from this proof of the marquis's villany? She knew now thathe was plotting to obtain her fortune, and she would be forced to yieldit to him; that he had squandered his brother's fortune, and was nowfrightened at the prospect of having to account for it. Still this didnot explain Raoul's conduct. Why did he show such fear?

Two hours later, Clameran was on the road to Vesinet with Raoul, explaining to him his plans. 

"It is my precious brother, and no mistake, " he said. "But that need notalarm you so easily, my lovely nephew. "

"Merciful powers! Doesn't the banker expect to see him any day? Is henot liable to pounce down on me to-morrow?"

"Don't be an idiot!" interrupted Clameran. "Does he know that Fauvelis Valentine's husband? That is what we must find out. If he knows thatlittle fact, we must take to our heels; if he is ignorant of it, ourcase is not desperate. "

"How will you find out?"

"By simply asking him. "

Raoul exclaimed at his ally's cunning:

"That is a dangerous thing to do, " he said. 

"'Tis not as dangerous as sitting down with our hands folded. And, as torunning away at the first suspicion of alarm, it would be imbecility. "

"Who is going to look for him?"

"I am. "

"Oh, oh, oh!" exclaimed Raoul in three different tones. Clameran'saudacity confounded him. 

"But what am I going to do?" he inquired after a moment's silence. 

"You will oblige me by remaining here and keeping quiet. I will send youa despatch if there is danger; and then you can decamp. "

As they parted at Raoul's door, Clameran said:

"Now, remember. Stay here, and during my absence be very intimate atyour devoted mother's. Be the most dutiful of sons. Abuse me as much asyou please to her; and, above all, don't indulge in any folly; make nodemands for money; keep your eyes open. Good-by. To-morrow evening Iwill be at Oloron talking with this new Clameran. "

XVIII

After leaving Valentine de la Verberie, Gaston underwent great peril anddifficulty in effecting his escape. 

But for the experienced and faithful Menoul, he never would havesucceeded in embarking. 

Having left his mother's jewels with Valentine, his sole fortuneconsisted of not quite a thousand francs; and with this paltry sum inhis pocket, the murderer of two men, a fugitive from justice, and withno prospect of earning a livelihood, he took passage for Valparaiso. 

But Menoul was a bold and experienced sailor. 

While Gaston remained concealed in a farm-house at Camargue, Menoul wentto Marseilles, and that very evening discovered, from some of his sailorfriends, that a three-masted American vessel was in the roadstead, whosecommander, Captain Warth, a not over-scrupulous Yankee, would be glad towelcome on board an able-bodied man who would be of assistance to him atsea. 

After visiting the vessel, and finding, during a conversation overa glass of rum with the captain, that he was quite willing to take asailor without disturbing himself about his antecedents, Menoul returnedto Gaston. 

"Left to my own choice, monsieur, " he said, "I should have settled thismatter on the spot; but you might object to it. "

"What suits you, suits me, " interrupted Gaston. 

"You see, the fact is, you will be obliged to work very hard. A sailor'slife is not boy's play. You will not find much pleasure in it. And Imust confess that the ship's company is not the most moral one I eversaw. You never would imagine yourself in a Christian company. And thecaptain is a regular swaggering bully. "

"I have no choice, " said Gaston. "Let us go on board at once. "

Old Menoul's suspicions were correct. 

Before Gaston had been on board the Tom Jones forty-eight hours, he sawthat chance had cast him among a collection of the most depraved banditsand cut-throats. 

The vessel, which seemed to have recruited at all points of the compass, possessed a crew composed of every variety of thievish knaves; eachcountry had contributed a specimen. 

But Gaston's mind was undisturbed as to the character of the people withwhom his lot was cast for several months. 

It was only his miserable wounded body, that the vessel was carryingto a new country. His heart and soul rested in the shady park of LaVerberie, beside his lovely Valentine. He took no note of the men aroundhim, but lived over again those precious hours of bliss beneath the oldtree on the banks of the Rhone, where his beloved had confided her heartto his keeping, and sworn to love him forever. 

And what would become of her now, poor child, when he was no longerthere to love, console, and defend her?

Happily, he had no time for sad reflections. 

His every moment was occupied in learning the rough apprenticeship of asailor's life. All his energies were spent in bearing up under the heavyburden of labor allotted to him. Being totally unaccustomed to manualwork, he found it difficult to keep pace with the other sailors, and forthe first week or two he was often near fainting at his post, from sheerfatigue; but indomitable energy kept him up. 

This was his salvation. Physical suffering calmed and deadened hismental agony. The few hours relaxation granted him were spent in heavysleep; the instant his weary body touched his bunk, his eyes closed, andno moment did he have to mourn over the past. 

At rare intervals, when the weather was calm, and he was relievedfrom his constant occupation of trimming the sails, he would anxiouslyquestion the future, and wonder what he should do when this irksomevoyage was ended. 

He had sworn that he would return before the end of three years, richenough to satisfy the exactions of Mme. De la Verberie. How should he beable to keep this boastful promise? Stern reality had convinced himthat his projects could never be realized, except by hard work andlong waiting. What he hoped to accomplish in three years was likely torequire a lifetime. 

Judging from the conversation of his companions, he was not now on theroad to fortune. 

The Tom Jones set sail for Valparaiso, but certainly went in aroundabout way to reach her destination. 

The real fact was, that Captain Warth proposed visiting the Gulf ofGuinea. 

A friend of his, the "Black Prince, " he said, with a loud laugh, waswaiting for him at Badagri, to exchange a cargo of "_ebony_" for somepipes of rum, and a hundred flint-lock muskets which were on board theTom Jones. 

Gaston soon saw that he was serving his apprenticeship on a slaver, oneof the many ships sent yearly by the free and philanthropic Americans, who made immense fortunes by carrying on the slave-trade. 

Although this discovery filled Gaston with indignation and shame, he wasprudent enough to conceal his impressions. 

His remonstrances, no matter how eloquent, would have made no change inthe opinions of Captain Warth regarding a traffic which brought himin more than a hundred per cent, in spite of the French and Englishcruisers, the damages, sometimes entire loss of cargoes, and many otherrisks. 

The crew admired Gaston when they learned that he had cut two men intomince-meat when they were insolent to him; this was the account ofGaston's affair, as reported to the captain by old Menoul. 

Gaston wisely determined to keep on friendly terms with the villains, aslong as he was in their power. To express disapproval of their conductwould have incurred the enmity of the whole crew, without bettering hisown situation. 

He therefore kept quiet, but swore mentally that he would desert on thefirst opportunity. 

This opportunity, like everything impatiently longed for, came not. 

By the end of three months, Gaston had become so useful and popular thatCaptain Warth found him indispensable. 

Seeing him so intelligent and agreeable, he liked to have him at his owntable, and would spend hours at cards with him or consulting abouthis business matters. The mate of the ship dying, Gaston was chosen toreplace him. In this capacity he made two successful voyages to Guinea, bringing back a thousand blacks, whom he superintended during a trip offifteen hundred leagues, and finally landed them on the coast of Brazil. 

When Gaston had been with Captain Warth about three years, the Tom Jonesstopped at Rio Janeiro for a month, to lay in supplies. He now decidedto leave the ship, although he had become somewhat attached to thefriendly captain, who was after all a worthy man, and never would haveengaged in the diabolical traffic of human beings, but for his littleangel daughter's sake. He said that his child was so good and beautiful, that she deserved a large fortune. Each time that he sold a black, hewould quiet any faint qualms of conscience by saying, "It is for littleMary's good. "

Gaston possessed twelve thousand francs, as his share of the profits, when he landed at Brazil. 

As a proof that the slave-trade was repugnant to his nature, he left theslaver the moment he possessed a little capital with which to enter somehonest business. 

But he was no longer the high-minded, pure-hearted Gaston, who hadso devotedly loved and perilled his life for the little fairy of LaVerberie. 

It is useless to deny that evil examples are pernicious to morals. The most upright characters are unconsciously influenced by badsurroundings. As the exposure to rain, sun, and sea-air first darkenedand then hardened his skin, so did wicked associates first shock andthen destroy the refinement and purity of Gaston's mind. His hearthad become as hard and coarse as his sailor hands. He still rememberedValentine, and sighed for her presence; but she was no longer the soleobject of affection, the one woman in the world to him. Contact with sinhad lowered his standard of women. 

The three years, after which he had pledged himself to return, hadpassed; perhaps Valentine was expecting him. Before deciding on anydefinite project, he wrote to an intimate friend at Beaucaire to learnwhat had happened during his long absence. He expressed great anxietyabout his family and neighbors. 

He also wrote to his father, asking why he had never answered the manyletters which he had sent to him by returning sailors, who would havesafely forwarded the replies. 

At the end of a year, he received an answer from his friend. 

The letter almost drove him mad. 

It told him that his father was dead; that his brother had left France, Valentine was lately married, and that he, Gaston, had been sentenced toten years' imprisonment for murder. 

Henceforth he was alone in the world; with no country, no family, nohome, and disgraced by a public sentence. 

Valentine was married, and he had no object in life! He would hereafterhave faith in no one, since she, Valentine, had cast him off, forgottenhim. What could he expect of others, when she had broken her troth, hadlacked the courage to keep her promise and wait for him?--she, whom hehad so trusted. 

In his despair, he almost regretted the Tom Jones. Yes, he sighed forthe wicked slaver crew, his life of excitement and peril. The dangersand triumphs of those bold pirates whose only care was to heap up moneywould have been preferable to his present wretchedness. 

But Gaston was not a man to be long cast down. 

"Money is the cause of it all!" he said with rage. "If the lack of moneycan bring such misery, its possession must bestow intense happiness. Henceforth I will devote all my energies to getting money. "

He set to work with a greedy activity, which increased each day. Hetried all the many speculations open to adventurers. Alternately hetraded in furs, worked in a mine, and cultivated lands. 

Five times he went to bed rich, and waked up ruined; five times, withthe patience of the castor, whose hut is swept away by each returningtide, he recommenced the foundation of his fortune. 

Finally, after long weary years of toil and struggle, he was worth amillion in gold, besides immense tracts of land. 

He had often said that he would never leave Brazil, that he wanted toend his days in Rio. He had forgotten that love for his native landnever dies in the heart of a Frenchman. Now that he was rich, he wishedto die in France. 

He made inquiries, and found that the law of limitations would permithim to return without being disturbed by the authorities. He left hisproperty in charge of an agent, and embarked for France, taking a largeportion of his fortune with him. 

Twenty-three years and four months had elapsed since he fled from home. 

On a bright, crisp day in January, 1866, he once again stepped onFrench soil. With a sad heart, he stood upon the quays at Bordeaux, andcompared the past with the present. 

He had departed a young man, ambitious, hopeful, and beloved; hereturned gray-haired, disappointed, trusting no one. 

Gold could not supply the place of affection. He had said that richeswould bring happiness: his wealth was immense, and he was miserable. 

His health, too, began to suffer from this sudden change of climate. Rheumatism confined him to his bed for several months. As soon ashe could sit up, the physicians sent him to the warm baths, where herecovered his health, but not his spirits. He felt his lonely conditionmore terribly in his own country than when in a foreign land. 

He determined to divert his mind by engaging in some occupation whichwould keep him too busy to think of himself and his disappointment. Charmed with the beauty of the Pyrenees, and the lovely valley of Aspe, he resolved to take up his abode there. 

An iron-mill was for sale near Oloron, on the borders of the Gara; hebought it with the intention of utilizing the immense quantity of wood, which, for want of means of transportation, was being wasted in themountains. 

He was soon settled comfortably in his new home, and enjoying a busy, active life. 

One evening, as he was ruminating over the past, his servant brought hima card, and said the gentleman was waiting to see him. 

He read the name on the card: _Louis de Clameran_. 

Many years had passed since Gaston had experienced such violentagitation. His blood rushed to his face, and he trembled like a leaf. 

The old home affections which he thought dead now sprung up anew in hisheart. A thousand confused memories rushed through his mind. Like onein a dream, he tottered toward the door, gasping, in a smothered, brokenvoice:

"My brother! oh, my brother!"

Hurriedly passing by the frightened servant, he ran downstairs. 

In the passage stood a man: it was Louis de Clameran. 

Gaston threw his arms around his neck and held him in a close embracefor some minutes, and then drew him into the room. 

Seated close beside him, with his two hands tightly clasped in those ofLouis, Gaston gazed at his brother as a fond mother would gaze at herson just returned from the battle-field. 

There was scarcely any danger and excitement which the mate of theredoubtable Captain Warth had not experienced; nothing had ever beforecaused him to lose his calm presence of mind, to force him to betraythat he had a heart. The sight of this long unseen brother seemed tohave changed his nature; he was like a woman, weeping and laughing atonce. 

"And is this really Louis?" he cried. "My dear brother! Why, I shouldhave recognized you among a thousand; the expression of your face isjust the same; your smile takes me back twenty-three years. "

Louis did indeed smile, just as he smiled on that fatal night when hishorse stumbled, and prevented Gaston's escape. 

He smiled now as if he was perfectly happy at meeting his brother. 

And he was much more at ease than he had been a few moments before. Hehad exerted all the courage he possessed to venture upon this meeting. Nothing but pressing necessity would have induced him to face thisbrother, who seemed to have risen from the dead to reproach him for hiscrimes. 

His teeth chattered and he trembled in every limb when he rang Gaston'sbell, and handed the servant his card, saying:

"Take this to your master. "

The few moments before Gaston's appearance seemed to be centuries. Hesaid to himself:

"Perhaps it is not he; if it is he, does he know? Does he suspectanything? How will he receive me?"

He was so anxious, that when he saw Gaston running downstairs, he feltlike fleeing from the house without speaking to him. 

Not knowing the nature of Gaston's feelings, whether he was hasteningtoward him in anger or brotherly love, he stood perfectly motionless. But one glance at his brother's face convinced him that he was the sameaffectionate, credulous, trusting Gaston of old; and, now that he wascertain that his brother harbored no suspicions, he smilingly receivedthe demonstrations lavished upon him. 

"After all, " continued Gaston, "I am not alone in the world; I shallhave someone to love, someone to care for me. "

Then, as if suddenly struck by a thought, he said:

"Are you married, Louis?"

"No. "

"That is a pity, a great pity. It would so add to my happiness to seeyou the husband of a good, affectionate woman, the father of bright, lovely children! It would be a comfort to have a happy family about me. I should look upon them all as my own. To live alone, without a lovingwife to share one's joys and sorrows, is not living at all: it is a sortof living death. There is no joy equal to having the affection of a truewoman whose happiness is in your keeping. Oh the sadness of having onlyone's self to care for! But what am I saying? Louis, forgive me. Ihave you now, and ought not that to be enough? I have a brother, a kindfriend who will be interested in me, and afford me company, instead ofthe weariness of solitude. "

"Yes, Gaston, yes: I am your best friend. "

"Of course you are. Being my brother, you are naturally my true friend. You are not married, you say. Then we will have to do the best wecan, and keep house for ourselves. We will live together like two oldbachelors, as we are, and be as happy as kings; we will lead a gay life, and enjoy everything that can be enjoyed. I feel twenty years youngeralready. The sight of your face renews my youth, and I feel as activeand strong as I did the night I swam across the swollen Rhone. And thatwas long, long ago. The struggles, privations, and anxieties enduredsince, have been enough to age any man. I feel old, older than myyears. "

"What an idea!" interrupted Louis: "why, you look younger than I do. "

"You are jesting. "

"I swear I think you look the younger. "

"Would you have recognized me?"

"Instantly. You are very little changed. "

And Louis was right. He himself had an old, worn-out, used-upappearance; while Gaston, in spite of his gray hair and weather-beatenface, was a robust man, in the full maturity of his prime. 

It was a relief to turn from Louis's restless eyes and crafty smile toGaston's frank, honest face. 

"But, " said Gaston, "how did you know that I was living? What kindchance guided you to my house?"

Louis was prepared for this question. During his eighteen hours' ride bythe railway, he had arranged all his answers, and had his story ready. 

"We must thank Providence for this happy meeting, " he replied. "Threedays ago, a friend of mine returned from the baths, and mentioned thathe had heard that a Marquis of Clameran was near there, in the Pyrenees. You can imagine my surprise. I instantly supposed that some impostor hadassumed our name. I took the next train, and finally found my way here. "

"Then you did not expect to see me?"

"My dear brother, how could I hope for that? I thought that you weredrowned twenty-three years ago. "

"Drowned! Mlle. De la Verberie certainly told you of my escape? Shepromised that she would go herself, the next day, and tell my father ofmy safety. "

Louis assumed a distressed look, as if he hesitated to tell a sad truth, and said, in a regretful tone:

"Alas! she never told us. "

Gaston's eyes flashed with indignation. He thought that perhapsValentine had been glad to get rid of him. 

"She did not tell you?" he exclaimed. "Did she have the cruelty to letyou mourn my death? to let my old father die of a broken heart? Ah, shemust have been very fearful of what the world says. She sacrificed me, then, for the sake of her reputation. "

"But why did you not write to us?" asked Louis. 

"I did write as soon as I had an opportunity; and Lafourcade wrote back, saying that my father was dead, and that you had left the country. "

"I left Clameran because I believed you to be dead. "

After a long silence, Gaston arose, and walked up and down the room asif to shake off a feeling of sadness; then he said, cheerfully:

"Well, it is of no use to mourn over the past. All the memories in theworld, good or bad, are not worth one slender hope for the future; andthank God, we have a bright future before us. Let us bury the past, andenjoy life together. "

Louis was silent. His footing was not sure enough to risk any questions. 

"But here I have been talking incessantly for an hour, " said Gaston, "and I dare say that you have not dined. "

"No, I have not, I confess. "

"Why did you not say so before? I forgot that I had not dined myself. I will not let you starve, the first day of your arrival. I will makeamends by giving you some splendid old Cape wine. "

He pulled the bell, and ordered the servant to hasten dinner, addingthat it must be an excellent one; and within an hour the two brotherswere seated at a sumptuous repast. 

Gaston kept up an uninterrupted stream of questions. He wished to knowall that had happened during his absence. 

"What about Clameran?" he abruptly asked. 

Louis hesitated a moment. Should he tell the truth, or not?

"I have sold Clameran, " he finally said. 

"The chateau too?"

"Yes. "

"You acted as you thought best, " said Gaston sadly; "but it seems to methat, if I had been in your place, I should have kept the old homestead. Our ancestors lived there for many generations, and our father liesburied there. "

Then seeing Louis appear sad and distressed, he quickly added:

"However, it is just as well; it is in the heart that memory dwells, andnot in a pile of old stones. I myself had not the courage to return toProvence. I could not trust myself to go to Clameran, where I would haveto look into the park of La Verberie. Alas, the only happy moments of mylife were spent there!"

Louis's countenance immediately cleared. The certainty that Gaston hadnot been to Provence relieved his mind of an immense weight. 

The next day Louis telegraphed to Raoul:

"Wisdom and prudence. Follow my directions. All goes well. Be sanguine. "

All was going well; and yet Louis, in spite of his skilfully appliedquestions, had obtained none of the information which he had come toobtain. 

Gaston was communicative on every subject except the one in which Louiswas interested. Was this silence premeditated, or simply unconscious?Louis, like all villains, was ever ready to attribute to others the badmotives by which he himself would be influenced. 

Anything was better than this uncertainty; he determined to ask hisbrother plainly what his intentions were in regard to money matters. 

He thought the dinner-table a favorable opportunity, and began bysaying:

"Do you know, my dear Gaston, that thus far we have discussed everytopic except the most important one?"

"Why do you look so solemn, Louis? What is the grave subject of whichyou speak?"

"Our father's estate. Supposing you to be dead, I inherited, and havedisposed of it. "

"Is that what you call a serious matter?" said Gaston with an amusedsmile. 

"It certainly is very serious to me; as you have a right to half of theestate, I must account to you for it. You have--"

"I have, " interrupted Gaston, "a right to ask you never to allude to thesubject again. It is yours by limitation. "

"I cannot accept it upon those terms. "

"But you must. My father only wished to have one of us inherit hisproperty; we will be carrying out his wishes by not dividing it. "

Seeing that Louis's face still remained clouded, he went on:

"Ah, I see what annoys you, my dear Louis; you are rich, and think thatI am poor, and too proud to accept anything from you. Is it not so?"

Louis started at this question. How could he reply so as not to commithimself?

"I am not rich, " he finally said. 

"I am delighted to hear it, " cried Gaston. "I wish you were as poor asJob, so that I might share what I have with you. "

Dinner over, Gaston rose and said:

"Come, I want to visit with you, my--that is, our property. You must seeeverything about the place. "

Louis uneasily followed his brother. It seemed to him that Gastonobstinately shunned anything like an explanation. 

Could all this brotherly confidence be assumed to blind him as to hisreal plans? Why did Gaston inquire into his brother's past and future, without revealing his own? Louis's suspicions were aroused, and heregretted his over-hasty seeking of Gaston. 

But his calm, smiling face betrayed none of the anxious thoughts whichfilled his mind. 

He was called upon to praise everything. First he was taken over thehouse and servants' quarters, then to the stable, kennels, and thevast, beautifully laid-out garden. Across a pretty meadow was theiron-foundery in full operation. Gaston, with all the enthusiasm ofa new proprietor, explained everything, down to the smallest file andhammer. 

He detailed all his projects; how he intended substituting wood forcoal, and how, besides having plenty to work the forge, he could makeimmense profits by felling the forest trees, which had hitherto beenconsidered impracticable. He would cut a hundred cords of wood thatyear. 

Louis approved of everything; but only answered in monosyllables, "Ah, indeed! excellent idea; quite a success. "

His mind was tortured by a new pain; he was paying no attention toGaston's remarks, but enviously comparing all this wealth and prosperitywith his own poverty. 

He found Gaston rich, respected, and happy, enjoying the price of hisown labor and industry; whilst he--Never had he so cruelly felt themisery of his own condition; and he had brought it on himself, whichonly made it more aggravating. 

After a lapse of twenty-three years, all the envy and hate he had felttoward Gaston, when they were boys together, revived. 

"What do you think of my purchase?" asked Gaston, when the inspectionwas over. 

"I think you possess, my dear brother, a most splendid piece ofproperty, and on the loveliest spot in the world. It is enough to excitethe envy of any poor Parisian. "

"Do you really think so?"

"Certainly. "

"Then, my dear Louis, " said Gaston joyfully, "this property is yours, aswell as mine. You like this lovely Bearn more than the dusty streets ofParis? I am very glad that you prefer the comforts of living on yourown estate, to the glitter and show of a city life. Everything you canpossibly want is here, at your command. And, to employ our time, thereis the foundery. Does my plan suit you?"

Louis was silent. A year ago this proposal would have been eagerlywelcomed. How gladly he would have seized this offer of a comfortable, luxurious home, after having been buffeted about the world so long! Howdelightful it would have been to turn over a new leaf, and become anhonest man!

But he saw with disappointment and rage that he would now be compelledto decline it. 

He was no longer free. He could not leave Paris. 

He had become entangled in one of those hazardous plots which are fatalif neglected, and whose failure generally leads the projector to thegalleys. 

Alone, he could easily remain where he was: but he was trammelled withan accomplice. 

"You do not answer me, " said Gaston with surprise; "are there anyobstacles to my plans?"

"None. "

"What is the matter, then?"

"The matter is, my dear brother, that the salary of an office which Ihold in Paris is all that I have to support me. "

"Is that your only objection? Yet you just now wanted to pay me backhalf of the family inheritance! Louis, that is unkind; you are notacting as a brother should. "

Louis hung his head. Gaston was unconsciously telling the truth. 

"I should be a burden to you, Gaston. "

"A burden! Why, Louis, you must be mad! Did I not tell you I am veryrich? Do you suppose that you have seen all I possess? This house andthe iron-works do not constitute a fourth of my fortune. Do you thinkthat I would have risked my twenty years' savings in an experiment ofthis sort? The forge may be a failure; and then what would become of me, if I had nothing else?

"I have invested money which yields me an income of eighty thousandfrancs. Besides, my grants in Brazil have been sold, and my agent hasalready deposited four hundred thousand francs to my credit as partpayment. "

Louis trembled with pleasure. He was, at last, to know the extent of thedanger hanging over him. Gaston had finally broached the subject whichhad caused him so much anxiety, and he determined that it should now beexplained before their conversation ended. 

"Who is your agent?" he asked with assumed indifference. 

"My old partner at Rio. He deposited the money at my Paris banker's. "

"Is this banker a friend of yours?"

"No; I never heard of him until my banker at Pau recommended him to meas an honest, reliable man; he is immensely wealthy, and stands at thehead of the financiers in Paris. His name is Fauvel, and he lives on theRue de Provence. "

Although prepared for hearing almost anything, and determined to betrayno agitation, Louis turned deadly pale. 

"Do you know this banker?" asked Gaston. 

"Only by reputation. "

"Then we can make his acquaintance together; for I intend accompanyingyou to Paris, when you return there to settle up your affairs beforeestablishing yourself here to superintend the forge. "

At this unexpected announcement of a step which would prove his utterruin, Louis was stupefied. In answer to his brother's questioning look, he gasped out. 

"You are going to Paris?"

"Certainly I am. Why should I not go?"

"There is no reason why. "

"I hate Paris, although I have never been there. But I am called thereby interest, by sacred duties, " he hesitatingly said. "The truth is, Iunderstand that Mlle. De la Verberie lives in Paris, and I wish to seeher. "

"Ah!"

Gaston was silent and thoughtful for some moments, and then said, nervously:

"I will tell you, Louis, why I wish to see her. I left our family jewelsin her charge, and I wish to recover them. "

"Do you intend, after a lapse of twenty-three years, to claim thesejewels?"

"Yes--or rather no. I only make the jewels an excuse for seeing her. I must see her because--because--she is the only woman I ever reallyloved!"

"But how will you find her?"

"Oh! that is easy enough. Anyone can tell me the name of her husband, and then I will go to see her. Perhaps the shortest way to find out, would be to write to Beaucaire. I will do so to-morrow. "

Louis made no reply. 

Men of his character, when brought face to face with imminent danger, always weigh their words, and say as little as possible, for fear ofcommitting themselves by some indiscreet remark. 

Above all things, Louis was careful to avoid raising any objectionsto his brother's proposed trip to Paris. To oppose the wishes of adetermined man has the effect of making him adhere more closely to them. Each argument is like striking a nail with a hammer. Knowing this, Louischanged the conversation, and nothing more during the day was said ofValentine or Paris. 

At night, alone in his room, he brought his cunning mind to bear uponthe difficulties of his situation, and wondered by what means he couldextricate himself. 

At first the case seemed hopeless, desperate. During twenty years, Louishad been at war with society, trusted by none, living upon his wits, and the credulity of foolish men enabling him to gain an income withoutlabor; and, though he generally attained his ends, it was not withoutgreat danger and constant dread of detection. 

He had been caught at the gaming-table with his hands full of duplicatecards; he had been tracked all over Europe by the police, and obliged tofly from city to city under an assumed name; he had sold to cowards hisskilful handling of the sword and pistol; he had been repeatedly throwninto prison, and always made his escape. He had braved everything, andfeared nothing. He had often conceived and carried out the most criminalplans, without the slightest hesitation or remorse. And now here he sat, utterly bewildered, unable to think clearly; his usual impudence andready cunning seemed to have deserted him. 

Thus driven to the wall, he saw no means of escape, and was almosttempted to confess all, and throw himself upon his brother's clemency. Then he thought that it would be wiser to borrow a large sum fromGaston, and fly the country. 

Vainly did he think over the wicked experiences of the past: none of theformer successful stratagems could be resorted to in the present case. 

Fatally, inevitably, he was about to be caught in a trap laid byhimself. 

The future was fraught with danger, worse than danger--ruin anddisgrace. 

He had to fear the wrath of M. Fauvel, his wife and niece. Gaston wouldhave speedy vengeance the moment he discovered the truth; and Raoul, his accomplice, would certainly turn against him, and become his mostimplacable enemy. 

Was there no possible way of preventing a meeting between Valentine andGaston?

None that he could think of. 

Their meeting would be his destruction. 

Lost in reflection, he paid no attention to the flight of time. Daybreakstill found him sitting at the window with his face buried in his hands, trying to come to some definite conclusion what he should say and do tokeep Gaston away from Paris. 

"It is vain for me to think, " he muttered. "The more I rack my brain, the more confused it becomes. There is nothing to be done but gain time, and wait for an opportunity. "

The fall of the horse at Clameran was what Louis called "anopportunity. "

He closed the window, and, throwing himself upon the bed, was soon in asound sleep; being accustomed to danger, it never kept him awake. 

At the breakfast-table, his calm, smiling face bore no traces of awakeful, anxious night. 

He was in a gayer, more talkative mood than usual, and said he wouldlike to ride over the country, and visit the neighboring towns. Beforeleaving the table, he had planned several excursions which were to takeplace during the week. 

He hoped to keep Gaston so amused and occupied, that he would forget allabout going to Paris in search of Valentine. 

He thought that with time, and skilfully put objections, he coulddissuade his brother from seeking out his former love. He relied uponbeing able to convince him that this absolutely unnecessary interviewwould be painful to both, embarrassing to him, and dangerous to her. 

As to the jewels, if Gaston persisted in claiming them, Louis couldsafely offer to go and get them for him, as he had only to redeem themfrom the pawnbroker. 

But his hopes and plans were soon scattered to the winds. 

"You know, " said Gaston, "I have written. "

Louis knew well enough to what he alluded, but pretended to be very muchsurprised, and said:

"Written? To whom? Where? For what?"

"To Beaucaire, to ask Lafourcade the name of Valentine's husband. "

"You are still thinking of her?"

"She is never absent from my thoughts. "

"You have not given up your idea of going to see her?"

"Of course not. "

"Alas, Gaston! you forget that she whom you once loved is now the wifeof another, and possibly the mother of a large family. How do you knowthat she will consent to see you? Why run the risk of destroying herdomestic happiness, and planting seeds of remorse in your own bosom?"

"I know I am a fool; but my folly is dear to me, and I would not cure itif I could. "

The quiet determination of Gaston's tone convinced Louis that allremonstrances would be unavailing. 

Yet he remained the same in his manner and behavior, apparentlyengrossed in pleasure parties; but, in reality, his only thought was themail. He always managed to be at the door when the postman came, so thathe was the first to receive his brother's letters. 

When he and Gaston were out together at the time of the postman's visit, he would hurry into the house first, so as to look over the letterswhich were always laid in a card-basket on the hall table. 

His watchfulness was at last rewarded. 

The following Sunday, among the letters handed to him by the postman, was one bearing the postmark of Beaucaire. 

He quickly slipped it into his pocket; and, although he was on the pointof mounting his horse to ride with Gaston, he said that he must run upto his room to get something he had forgotten; this was to gratify hisimpatient desire to read the letter. 

He tore it open, and, seeing "Lafourcade" signed at the bottom of threeclosely written pages, hastily devoured the contents. 

After reading a detailed account of events entirely uninteresting tohim, Louis came to the following passage relating to Valentine:

"Mlle. De la Verberie's husband is an eminent banker named Andre Fauvel. I have not the honor of his acquaintance, but I intend going to see himshortly. I am anxious to submit to him a project that I have conceivedfor the benefit of this part of the country. If he approves of it, Ishall ask him to invest in it, as his name will be of great assistanceto the scheme. I suppose you have no objections to my referring him toyou, should he ask for my indorsers. "

Louis trembled like a man who had just made a narrow escape from death. He well knew that he would have to fly the country if Gaston receivedthis letter. 

But though the danger was warded off for the while, it might return anddestroy him at any moment. 

Gaston would wait a week for an answer, then he would write again;Lafourcade would instantly reply to express surprise that his firstletter had not been received; all of this correspondence would occupyabout twelve days. In those twelve days Louis would have to think oversome plan for preventing Lafourcade's visit to Paris; since, the instanthe mentioned the name of Clameran to the banker, everything would bediscovered. 

Louis's meditations were interrupted by Gaston, who called from thelower passage:

"What are you doing, Louis? I am waiting for you. "

"I am coming now, " he replied. 

Hastily thrusting Lafourcade's letter into his trunk, Louis ran down tohis brother. 

He had made up his mind to borrow a large sum from Gaston, and go off toAmerica; and Raoul might get out of the scrape as best he could. 

The only thing which now disturbed him was the sudden failure of themost skilful combination he had ever conceived; but he was not a man tofight against destiny, and determined to make the best of the emergency, and hope for better fortune in his next scheme. 

The next day about dusk, while walking along the pretty road leadingfrom the foundery to Oloron, he commenced a little story which was toconclude by asking Gaston to lend him two hundred thousand francs. 

As they slowly went along arm in arm, about half a mile from thefoundery they met a young laborer who bowed as he passed them. 

Louis dropped his brother's arm, and started back as if he had seen aghost. 

"What is the matter?" asked Gaston, with astonishment. 

"Nothing, except I struck my foot against a stone, and it is verypainful. "

Gaston might have known by the tremulous tones of Louis's voice thatthis was a lie. Louis de Clameran had reason to tremble; in this workmanhe recognized Raoul de Lagors. 

Instinctive fear paralyzed and overwhelmed him. 

The story he had planned for the purpose of obtaining the two hundredthousand francs was forgotten; his volubility was gone; and he silentlywalked along by his brother's side, like an automaton, totally incapableof thinking or acting for himself. 

He seemed to listen, he did listen; but the words fell upon his earunmeaningly; he could not understand what Gaston was saying, andmechanically answered "yes" or "no, " like one in a dream. 

Whilst necessity, absolute necessity, kept him here at Gaston's side, his thoughts were all with the young man who had just passed by. 

What had brought Raoul to Oloron? What plot was he hatching? Why was hedisguised as a laborer? Why had he not answered the many letters whichLouis had written him from Oloron? He had ascribed this silence toRaoul's carelessness, but now he saw it was premeditated. Somethingdisastrous must have happened at Paris; and Raoul, afraid to commithimself by writing, had come himself to bring the bad news. Had he cometo say that the game was up, and they must fly?

But, after all, perhaps he was mistaken in supposing this to be hisaccomplice. It might be some honest workman bearing a strong resemblanceto Raoul. 

If he could only run after this stranger, and speak to him! But no, hemust walk on up to the house with Gaston, quietly, as if nothing hadhappened to arouse his anxiety. He felt as if he would go mad if hisbrother did not move faster; the uncertainty was becoming intolerable. 

His mind filled with these perplexing thoughts, Louis at last reachedthe house; and Gaston, to his great relief, said that he was so tiredthat he was going directly to bed. 

At last he was free!

He lit a cigar, and, telling the servant not to sit up for him, wentout. 

He knew that Raoul, if it was Raoul, would be prowling near the house, waiting for him. 

His suspicions were well founded. 

He had barely proceeded thirty yards, when a man suddenly sprang frombehind a tree, and stood before him. 

The night was clear, and Louis recognized Raoul. 

"What is the matter?" he impatiently demanded; "what has happened?"

"Nothing. "

"What! Do you mean to say that nothing has gone wrong in Paris--that noone is on our track?"

"Not the slightest danger of any sort. And moreover, but for yourinordinate greed of gain, everything would have succeeded admirably; allwas going on well when I left Paris. "

"Then why have you come here?" cried Louis fiercely. "Who gave youpermission to desert your post, when your absence might bring ruin uponus? What brought you here?"

"That is my business, " said Raoul with cool impertinence. 

Louis seized the young man's wrists, and almost crushed them in hisvicelike grasp. 

"Explain this strange conduct of yours, " he said, in a tone ofsuppressed rage. "What do you mean by it?"

Without apparent effort Raoul released his hands from theirimprisonment, and jeeringly said:

"Hein! Gently, my friend! I don't like being roughly treated; and, ifyou don't know how to behave yourself, I have the means of teachingyou. "

At the same time he drew a revolver from his pocket. 

"You must and shall explain yourself, " insisted Louis: "if youdon't----"

"Well, if I don't? Now, you might just as well spare yourself thetrouble of trying to frighten me. I intend to answer your questions whenI choose; but it certainly won't be here, in the middle of the road, with the bright moonlight showing us off to advantage. How do you knowpeople are not watching us this very minute? Come this way. "

They strode through the fields, regardless of Gaston's plants, whichwere trampled under foot in order to take a short cut. 

"Now, " began Raoul, when they were at a safe distance from the road, "now, my dear uncle, I will tell you what brings me here. I havereceived and carefully read your letters. I read them over again. Youwished to be prudent; and the consequence was, that your letters wereunintelligible. Only one thing did I understand clearly: we are indanger. "

"Only the more reason for your watchfulness and obedience. "

"Very well put: only, before braving danger, my venerable and beloveduncle, I want to know its extent. I am not a man to retreat in the hourof peril, but I want to know exactly how much risk I am running. "

"I told you to keep quiet, and follow my directions. "

"But to do this would imply that I have perfect confidence in you, mydear uncle, " said Raoul, sneeringly. 

"And why should you not? What reasons for distrust have you after allthat I have done for you? Who went to London, and rescued you from astate of privation and ignominy? I did. Who gave you a name and positionwhen you had neither? I did. And who is working now to maintain yourpresent life of ease, and insure you a splendid future? I am. And how doyou repay me?"

"Superb, magnificent, inimitable!" said Raoul, with mocking derision. "But, while on the subject, why don't you prove that you have sacrificedyourself for my sake? You did not need me as a tool for carrying outplans for your own benefit; did you? oh no, not at all! Dear, kind, generous, disinterested uncle! You ought to have the Montyon prize;I think I must recommend you as the most deserving person I have evermet!"

Clameran was so angry at these jeering words that he feared to trusthimself to speak. 

"Now, my good uncle, " continued Raoul more seriously, "we had better endthis child's play, and come to a clear understanding. I follow you here, because I thoroughly understand your character, and have just as muchconfidence in you as you deserve, and not a particle more. If it werefor your advantage to ruin me, you would not hesitate one instant. Ifdanger threatened us, you would fly alone, and leave your dutiful nephewto make his escape the best way he could. Oh! don't look shocked, andpretend to deny it; your conduct is perfectly natural, and in your placeI would act the same way. Only remember this, that I am not a man tobe trifled with. Now let us cease these unnecessary recriminations, andcome to the point: what is your present plan?"

Louis saw that his accomplice was too shrewd to be deceived, and thatthe safest course was to trust all to him, and to pretend that he hadintended doing so all along. 

Without any show of anger, he briefly and clearly related all that hadoccurred at his brother's. 

He told the truth about everything except the amount of his brother'sfortune, the importance of which he lessened as much as possible. 

"Well, " said Raoul, when the report was ended, "we are in a nice fix. And do you expect to get out of it?"

"Yes, if you don't betray me. "

"I wish you to understand, marquis, that I have never betrayed anyoneyet; don't judge me by yourself, I beg. What steps will you take to getfree of this entanglement?"

"I don't know; but something will turn up. Oh, don't be alarmed; I'llfind some means of escape: so you can return home with your mind atrest. You run no risk in Paris, and 'tis the best place for you. I willstay here to watch Gaston. "

Raoul reflected for some moments, and then said:

"Are you sure I am not in danger at Paris?"

"What are you afraid of? We have Mme. Fauvel so completely in our powerthat she would not dare speak a word against you; even if she knew thewhole truth, what no one but you and I know, she would not open herlips, but be only too glad to hush up matters so as to escape punishmentfor her fault from her deceived husband and a censuring world. "

"I know we have a secure hold on her, " said Raoul. "I am not afraid ofher giving any trouble. "

"Who, then?"

"An enemy of your own making, my respected uncle; a most implacableenemy--Madeleine. "

"Fiddlesticks!" replied Clameran, disdainfully. 

"It is very well for you to treat her with contempt, " said Raoul, gravely; "but I can tell you, you are much mistaken in your estimate ofher character. I have studied her lately, and see that she is devoted toher aunt, and ready to make any sacrifice to insure her happiness. Butshe has no idea of doing anything blindly, of throwing herself awayif she can avoid it. She has promised to marry you. Prosper isbroken-hearted at being discarded, it is true; but he has not given uphope. You imagine her to be weak and yielding, easily frightened? It's agreat mistake. She is self-reliant and fearless. More than that, she isin love, my good uncle; and a woman will defend her lover as a tigressdefends her young. She will fight to the bitter end before marryinganyone save Prosper. "

"She is worth five hundred thousand francs. "

"So she is; and at five per cent we would each have an income of twelvethousand five hundred francs. But, for all that, you had better take myadvice, and give up Madeleine. "

"Never; I swear by Heaven!" exclaimed Clameran. "Rich or poor, she shallbe mine! I first wanted her money, but now I want her; I love her forherself, Raoul!"

Raoul seemed to be amazed at this declaration of his uncle. 

He raised his hands, and started back with astonishment. 

"Is it possible, " he said, "that you are in love with Madeleine?--you!"

"Yes, " replied Louis, sullenly. "Is there anything so very extraordinaryin it?"

"Oh, no, certainly not! only this sentimental view of the matterexplains your strange behavior. Alas, you love Madeleine! Then, myvenerable uncle, we might as well surrender at once. "

"Why so?"

"Because you know the axiom, 'When the heart is interested the head islost. ' Generals in love always lose their battles. The day is not faroff when your infatuation of Madeleine will make you sell us both fora smile. And, mark my words, she is shrewd, and watching us as only anenemy can watch. "

With a forced laugh Clameran interrupted his nephew. 

"Just see how you fire up for no cause, " he said; "you must dislike thecharming Madeleine very much, if you abuse her in this way. "

"She will prove to be our ruin: that is all. "

"You might as well be frank, and say you are in love with her yourself. "

"I am only in love with her money, " replied Raoul, with an angry frown. 

"Then what are you complaining of? I shall give you half her fortune. You will have the money without being troubled with the wife; the profitwithout the burden. "

"I am not over fifty years old, " said Raoul conceitedly. "I canappreciate a pretty woman better than you. "

"Enough of that, " interrupted Louis angrily. "The day I relieved yourpressing wants, and brought you to Paris, you promised to follow mydirections, to help me carry out my plan; did you not?"

"Yes; but not the plot you are hatching now! You forget that my liberty, perhaps my life, is at stake. You may hold the cards, but I must havethe right of advising you. "

It was midnight before the accomplices separated. 

"I won't stand idle, " said Louis. "I agree with you that something mustbe done at once. But I can't decide what it shall be on the spur of themoment. Meet me here at this hour to-morrow night, and I will have someplan ready for you. "

"Very good. I will be here. "

"And remember, don't be imprudent!"

"My costume ought to convince you that I am not anxious to be recognizedby anyone. I left such an ingenious alibi, that I defy anybody toprove that I have been absent from my house at Vesinet. I even took theprecaution to travel in a third-class car. Well, good-night. I am goingto the inn. "

Raoul went off after these words, apparently unconscious of havingaroused suspicion in the breast of his accomplice. 

During his adventurous life, Clameran had transacted "business" with toomany scamps not to know the precise amount of confidence to place in aman like Raoul. 

The old adage, "Honor among thieves, " seldom holds good after the"stroke. " There is always a quarrel over the division of the spoils. 

This distrustful Clameran foresaw a thousand difficulties andcounter-plots to be guarded against in his dealings with Raoul. 

"Why, " he pondered, "did the villain assume this disguise? Why thisalibi at Paris? Can he be laying a trap for me? It is true that I havea hold upon him; but then I am completely at his mercy. Those accursedletters which I have written to him, while here, are so many proofsagainst me. Can he be thinking of cutting loose from me, and making offwith all the profits of our enterprise?"

Louis never once during the night closed his eyes; but by daybreak hehad fully made up his mind how to act, and with feverish impatiencewaited for evening to come, to communicate his views with Raoul. 

His anxiety made him so restless that the unobserving Gaston finallynoticed it, and asked him what the matter was; if he was sick, ortroubled about anything. 

At last evening came, and, at the appointed hour, Louis went to thefield where they had met the night previous, and found Raoul lying onthe grass smoking a fragrant cigar, as if he had no other object in lifeexcept to blow little clouds of smoke in the air, and count the stars inthe clear sky above him. 

"Well?" he carelessly said, as Louis approached, "have you decided uponanything?"

"Yes. I have two projects, either of which would probably accomplish ourobject. "

"I am listening. "

Louis was silently thoughtful for a minute, as if arranging his thoughtsso as to present them as clearly and briefly as possible. 

"My first plan, " he began, "depends upon your approval. What would yousay, if I proposed to you to renounce the affair altogether?"

"What!"

"Would you consent to disappear, leave France, and return to London, ifI paid you a good round sum?"

"What do you call a good round sum?"

"I will give you a hundred and fifty thousand francs. "

"My respected uncle, " said Raoul with a contemptuous shrug, "I amdistressed to see how little you know me! You try to deceive me, tooutwit me, which is ungenerous and foolish on your part; ungenerous, because it fails to carry out our agreement; foolish, because as youknow well enough, my power equals yours. "

"I don't understand you. "

"I am sorry for it. I understand myself, and that is sufficient. Oh!I understand you, my dear uncle. I have watched you with careful eyes, which are not to be deceived; I see through you clearly. If you offer meone hundred and fifty thousand francs, it is because you intend to walkoff with half a million for yourself. "

"You are talking like a fool, " said Clameran with virtuous indignation. 

"Not at all; I only judge the future by the past. Of all the large sumsextorted from Mme. Fauvel, often against my wishes, I never received atenth part. "

"But you know we have a reserve fund. "

"All very good; but you have the keeping of it, my good uncle. It isvery nice for you, but not so funny for me. If our little plot wereto be discovered to-morrow, you would walk off with the money-box, andleave your devoted nephew to be sent to prison. "

"Ingrate!" muttered Louis, as if distressed at these undeservedreproaches of his protege. 

"You have hit on the very word I was trying to remember, " cried Raoul:"'ingrate' is the name that just suits you. But we have not time forthis nonsense. I will end the matter by proving how you have been tryingto deceive me. "

"I would like to hear you do so if you can. "

"Very good. In the first place, you told me that your brother onlypossessed a modest competency. Now, I learn that Gaston has an incomeof at least sixty thousand francs. It is useless for you to deny it; andhow much is this property worth? A hundred thousand crowns. He had fourhundred thousand francs deposited in M. Fauvel's bank. Total, sevenhundred thousand francs. And, besides all this, the broker in Oloronhas orders to buy up a large amount of stocks and railroad shares, whichwill require large cash payments. I have not wasted my day, you see, andhave obtained all the information I came for. "

Raoul's information was too concise and exact for Louis to deny it. 

"You might have sense enough, " Raoul went on, "to know how to manageyour forces if you undertake to be a commander. We had a splendid gamein our hands; and you, who held the cards, have made a perfect muddle ofit. "

"I think--"

"That the game is lost? That is my opinion too, and all through you. Youhave no one to blame but yourself. "

"I could not control events. "

"Yes, you could, if you had been shrewd. Fools sit down and wait for anopportunity; sensible men make one. What did we agree upon in London?We were to implore my good mother to assist us a little, and, if shecomplied with our wishes, we were to be flattering and affectionate inour devotion to her. And what was the result? At the risk of killingthe golden goose, you have made me torment the poor woman until she isalmost crazy. "

"It was prudent to hasten matters. "

"You think so, do you? Was it also to hasten matters that you took itinto your head to marry Madeleine? That made it necessary to let herinto the secret; and, ever since, she has advised and set her auntagainst us. I would not be surprised if she makes her confess everythingto M. Fauvel, or even inform against us at the police-office. "

"I love Madeleine!"

"You told me that before. And suppose you do love her. You led me intothis piece of business without having studied its various bearings, without knowing what you were about. No one but an idiot, my beloveduncle, would go and put his foot into a trap, and then say, 'If I hadonly known about it!' You should have made it your business to knoweverything. You came to me, and said, 'Your father is dead, ' which wasa lie to start with; perhaps you call it a mistake. He is living; and, after what we have done, I dare not appear before him. He would haveleft me a million, and now I shall not get a sou. He will find hisValentine, and then good-by. "

"Enough!" angrily interrupted Louis. "If I have made a mistake, I knowhow to redeem it. I can save everything yet. "

"You can? How so?"

"That is my secret, " said Louis gloomily. 

Louis and Raoul were silent for a minute. And this silence between them, in this lonely spot, at dead of night, was so horribly significant thatboth of them shuddered. 

An abominable thought had flashed across their evil minds, and without aword or look they understood each other. 

Louis broke the ominous silence, by abruptly saying:

"Then you refuse to disappear if I pay you a hundred and fifty thousandfrancs? Think it over before deciding: it is not too late yet. "

"I have fully thought it over. I know you will not attempt to deceiveme any more. Between certain ease, and the probability of an immensefortune, I choose the latter at all risks. I will share your success oryour failure. We will swim or sink together. "

"And you will follow my instructions?"

"Blindly. "

Raoul must have been very certain of Louis's intentions of resorting tothe most dangerous extremities, must have known exactly what he intendedto do; for he did not ask him a single question. Perhaps he dared not. Perhaps he preferred doubt to shocking certainty, as if he could thusescape the remorse attendant upon criminal complicity. 

"In the first place, " said Louis, "you must at once return to Paris. "

"I will be there in forty-eight hours. "

"You must be very intimate at Mme. Fauvel's, and keep me informed ofeverything that takes place in the family. "

"I understand. "

Louis laid his hand upon Raoul's shoulder, as if to impress upon hismind what he was about to say. 

"You have a sure means of being restored to your mother's confidence andaffection, by blaming me for everything that has happened to distressher. Abuse me constantly. The more odious you render me in her eyes andthose of Madeleine, the better you will serve me. Nothing would pleaseme more than to be denied admittance to the house when I return toParis. You must say that you have quarrelled with me, and that, if Istill come to see you, it is because you cannot prevent it, and you willnever voluntarily have any intercourse with me. That is the scheme; youcan develop it. "

Raoul listened to these strange instructions with astonishment. 

"What!" he cried: "you adore Madeleine, and take this means of showingit? An odd way of carrying on a courtship, I must confess. I will beshot if I can comprehend. "

"There is no necessity for your comprehending. "

"All right, " said Raoul submissively; "if you say so. "

Then Louis reflected that no one could properly execute a commissionwithout having at least an idea of its nature. 

"Did you ever hear, " he asked Raoul, "of the man who burnt down hislady-love's house so as to have the bliss of carrying her out in hisarms?"

"Yes: what of it?"

"At the proper time, I will charge you to set fire, morally, to Mme. Fauvel's house; and I will rush in, and save her and her niece. Now, in the eyes of those women my conduct will appear more magnanimous andnoble in proportion to the contempt and abuse they have heaped upon me. I gain nothing by patient devotion: I have everything to hope from asudden change of tactics. A well-managed stroke will transform a demoninto an angel. "

"Very well, a good idea!" said Raoul approvingly, when his uncle hadfinished. 

"Then you understand what is to be done?"

"Yes, but will you write to me?"

"Of course; and if anything should happen at Paris----"

"I will telegraph to you. "

"And never lose sight of my rival, the cashier. "

"Prosper? not much danger of our being troubled by him, poor boy! He isjust now my most devoted friend. Trouble has driven him into a path oflife which will soon prove his destruction. Every now and then I pityhim from the bottom of my soul. "

"Pity him as much as you like; but don't interfere with hisdissipation. "

The two men shook hands, and separated apparently the best friends inthe world; in reality the bitterest enemies. 

Raoul would not forgive Louis for having attempted to appropriate allthe booty, and leave him in the lurch, when it was he who had risked thegreatest dangers. 

Louis, on his part, was alarmed at the attitude taken by Raoul. Thus farhe had found his nephew tractable, and even blindly obedient; and nowhe had suddenly become rebellious and threatening. Instead of orderingRaoul, he was forced to consult and bargain with him. 

What could be more wounding to his vanity and self-conceit than thereproaches, well founded though they were, to which he had been obligedto listen, from a mere youth?

As he walked back to his brother's house, thinking over what had justoccurred, Louis swore that sooner or later he would be revenged, andthat, as soon as he could get rid of Raoul he would do so, and would dohim some great injury. 

But, for the present, he was so afraid lest the young villain shouldbetray him, or thwart his plans in some way, that he wrote to him thenext day, and every succeeding day, full particulars of everything thathappened. Seeing how important it was to restore his shaken confidence, Louis entered into the most minute details of his plans, and askedRaoul's advice about every step he took. 

The situation remained the same. The dark cloud remained threateninglynear, but grew no larger. 

Gaston seemed to have forgotten that he had written to Beaucaire, andnever mentioned Valentine's name once. 

Like all men accustomed to a busy life, Gaston was miserable exceptwhen occupied, and spent his whole time in the foundery, which seemed toabsorb him entirely. 

When he began the experiment of felling the woods, his losses had beenheavy; but he determined to continue the work until it should be equallybeneficial to himself and the neighboring land-owners. 

He engaged the services of an intelligent engineer, and thanks tountiring energy, and the new improvements in machinery, his profits soonmore than equalled his expenses. 

"Now that we are doing so well, " said Gaston joyously, "we shallcertainly make twenty-five thousand francs next year. "

Next year! Alas, poor Gaston!

Five days after Raoul's departure, one Saturday afternoon, Gaston wassuddenly taken ill. 

He had a sort of vertigo, and was so dizzy that he was forced to liedown. 

"I know what is the matter, " he said. "I have often been ill in this wayat Rio. A couple of hours' sleep will cure me. I will go to bed, and youcan send someone to awaken me when dinner is ready, Louis; I shall beall right by that time. "

But, when the servant came to announce dinner, he found Gaston muchworse. He had a violent headache, a choking sensation in his throat, anddimness of vision. But his worst symptom was dysphonia; he would tryto articulate one word, and find himself using another. His jaw-bonesbecame so stiff that it was with the greatest difficulty that he openedhis mouth. 

Louis came up to his brother's room, and urged him to send for thephysician. 

"No, " said Gaston, "I won't have any doctor to make me ill withall sorts of medicines; I know what is the matter with me, and myindisposition will be cured by a simple remedy which I have alwaysused. "

At the same time he ordered Manuel, his old Spanish servant, who hadlived with him for ten years, to prepare him some lemonade. 

The next day Gaston appeared to be much better. He ate his breakfast, and was about to take a walk, when the pains of the previous daysuddenly returned, in a more violent form. 

Without consulting his brother, Louis sent to Oloron for Dr. C----, whose wonderful cures at Eaux Bonnes had won him a wide reputation. 

The doctor declared that there was no danger, and merely prescribed adose of valerian, and a blister with some grains of morphine sprinkledon it. 

But in the middle of the night, all the symptoms suddenly changed forthe worse. The pain in the head was succeeded by a fearful oppression, and the sick man suffered torture in trying to get his breath; daybreakfound him still tossing restlessly from pillow to pillow. 

When Dr. C---- came early in the morning, he appeared very muchsurprised at this change for the worse. He inquired if they had notadministered an overdose of morphine. Manuel said that he had put theblister on his master, and the doctor's directions had been accuratelyfollowed. 

The doctor, after having examined Gaston, and found his breathing heavyand irregular, prescribed a heavy dose of sulphate of quinine; he thenretired, saying he would return the next day. 

As soon as the doctor had gone, Gaston sent for a friend of his, alawyer, to come to him as soon as possible. 

"For Heaven's sake, what do you want with a lawyer?" inquired Louis. 

"I want his advice, brother. It is useless to try and deceive ourselves;I know I am extremely ill. Only timid fools are superstitious aboutmaking their wills; if I defer it any longer, I may be suddenly takenwithout having arranged my affairs. I would rather have the lawyer atonce, and then my mind will be at rest. "

Gaston did not think he was about to die, but, knowing the uncertaintyof life, determined to be prepared for the worst; he had too oftenimperilled his life, and been face to face with death, to feel any fearnow. 

He had made his will while ill at Bordeaux; but, now that he hadfound Louis, he wished to leave him all his property, and sent for hisbusiness man to advise as to the best means of disposing of his wealthfor his benefit. 

The lawyer was a shrewd, wiry little man, very popular because he hada faculty for always gaining suits which other attorneys had lost, or declined to try, because of their groundlessness. Being perfectlyfamiliar with all the intricacies of the law, nothing delighted him morethan to succeed in eluding some stringent article of the code; and oftenhe sacrificed large fees for the sake of outwitting his opponent, andcontroverting the justness of a decision. 

Once aware of his client's wishes and intentions, he had but oneidea: and that was, to carry them out as inexpensively as possible, by skilfully evading the heavy costs to be paid by the inheritor of anestate. 

He explained to Gaston that he could, by an act of partnership, associate Louis in his business enterprises, by signing anacknowledgment that half of the money invested in these variousconcerns, belonged to and had been advanced by his brother; so that, inthe event of Gaston's death, Louis would only have to pay taxes on halfthe fortune. 

Gaston eagerly took advantage of this fiction; not that he thoughtof the money saved by the transaction if he died, but this would bea favorable opportunity for sharing his riches with Louis, withoutwounding his delicate sensibility. 

A deed of partnership between Gaston and Louis de Clameran, for theworking of a cast-iron mill, was drawn up; this deed acknowledgedLouis to have invested five hundred thousand francs as his share of thecapital; therefore half of the iron-works was his in his own right. 

When Louis was called in to sign the paper, he violently opposed hisbrother's project. 

"Why do you distress me by making these preparations for death, merelybecause you are suffering from a slight indisposition? Do you think thatI would consent to accept your wealth during your lifetime? If you die, I am your heir; if you live, I enjoy your property as if it were myown. What more can you wish? Pray do not draw up any papers; let thingsremain as they are, and turn all your attention to getting well. "

Vain remonstrances. Gaston was not a man to be persuaded fromaccomplishing a purpose upon which he had fully set his heart. When, after mature deliberation, he made a resolution, he always carried itout in spite of all opposition. 

After a long and heroic resistance, which betrayed great nobleness ofcharacter and rare disinterestedness, Louis, urged by the physician, finally yielded, and signed his name to the papers drawn up by thelawyer. 

It was done. Now he was legally Gaston's partner, and possessor of halfhis fortune. No court of law could deprive him of what had been deededwith all the legal formalities, even if his brother should change hismind and try to get back his property. 

The strangest sensations now filled Louis's breast. 

He was in a state of delirious excitement often felt by persons suddenlyraised from poverty to affluence. 

Whether Gaston lived or died, Louis was the lawful possessor of anincome of twenty-five thousand francs, without counting the eventualprofits of the iron-works. 

At no time in his life had he hoped for or dreamed of such wealth. Hiswildest wishes were surpassed. What more could he want?

Alas! he wanted the power of enjoying these riches; they had come toolate. 

This fortune, fallen from the skies, should have filled his heart withjoy; whereas it only made him melancholy and angry. 

This unlooked-for happiness seemed to have been sent by cruel fate asa punishment for his past sins. What could be more terrible than seeingthis haven of rest open to him, and to be prevented from enjoying itbecause of his own vile plottings?

Although his conscience told him that he deserved this misery, he blamedGaston entirely for his present torture. Yes, he held Gaston responsiblefor the horrible situation in which he found himself. 

His letters to Raoul for several days expressed all the fluctuations ofhis mind, and revealed glimpses of coming evil. 

"I have twenty-five thousand livres a year, " he wrote to him, a fewhours after signing the agreement of partnership; "and I possess in myown right five hundred thousand francs. One-fourth of this sum wouldhave made me the happiest of men a year ago. Now it is of no use to me. All the gold on earth could not remove one of the difficulties of oursituation. Yes, you were right. I have been imprudent; but I pay dearfor my precipitation. We are now going down hill so rapidly that nothingcan save us; we must fall to the very bottom. To attempt stopping halfway would be madness. Rich or poor, I have cause to tremble as long asthere is any risk of a meeting between Gaston and Valentine. How canthey be kept apart? Will my brother renounce his plan of discovering thewhereabouts of this woman whom he so loved?"

No; Gaston would never be turned from his search for his first love, ashe proved by calling for her in the most beseeching tones when he wassuffering his worst paroxysms of pain. 

He grew no better. In spite of the most careful nursing his symptomschanged, but showed no improvement. 

Each attack was more violent than the preceding. 

Toward the end of the week the pains left his head, and he felt wellenough to get up and partake of a slight nourishment. 

But poor Gaston was a mere shadow of his former self. In one week he hadaged ten years. His strong constitution was broken. He, who ten days agowas boasting of his vigorous health, was now weak and bent like an oldman. He could hardly drag himself along, and shivered in the warm sun asif he were bloodless. 

Leaning on Louis's arm, he slowly walked down to look at the forge, and, seating himself before a furnace at full blast, he declared that he feltvery much better, that this intense heat revived him. 

His pains were all gone, and he could breathe without difficulty. 

His spirits rose, and he turned to the workmen gathered around, and saidcheerfully:

"I was not blessed with a good constitution for nothing, my friends, andI shall soon be well again. "

When the neighbors called to see him, and insisted that this illnesswas entirely owing to change of climate, Gaston replied that he supposedthey were right, and that he would return to Rio as soon as he was wellenough to travel. 

What hope this answer roused in Louis's breast!

"Yes, " he eagerly said, "I will go with you; a trip to Brazil would becharming! Let us start at once. "

But the next day Gaston had changed his mind. 

He told Louis that he felt almost well, and was determined not to leaveFrance. He proposed going to Paris to consult the best physicians; andthen he would see Valentine. 

That night he grew worse. 

As his illness increased, he became more surprised and troubled at nothearing from Beaucaire. 

He wrote again in the most pressing terms, and sent the letter by acourier who was to wait for the answer. 

This letter was never received by Lafourcade. 

At midnight, Gaston's sufferings returned with renewed violence, and forthe first time Dr. C---- was uneasy. 

A fatal termination seemed inevitable. Gaston's pain left him in ameasure, but he was growing weaker every moment. His mind wandered, and his feet were as cold as ice. On the fourteenth day of his illness, after lying in a stupor for several hours, he revived sufficientlyto ask for a priest, saying that he would follow the example of hisancestors, and die like a Christian. 

The priest left him after half an hour's interview, and all the workmenwere summoned to receive the farewell greeting of their master. 

Gaston spoke a few kind words to them all, saying that he had providedfor them in his will. 

After they had gone, he made Louis promise to carry on the iron-works, embraced him for the last time, and sank back on his pillow in a dyingstate. 

As the bell tolled for noon he quietly breathed his last, murmuring, softly, "In three years, Valentine; wait for me. "

Now Louis was in reality Marquis of Clameran, and besides he was amillionaire. 

Two weeks later, having made arrangements with the engineer in charge ofthe iron-works to attend to everything during his absence, he took hisseat in the train for Paris. 

He had sent the following significant telegram to Raoul the nightprevious: "I will see you to-morrow. "

XIX

Faithful to the programme laid down by his accomplice, while Louiswatched at Oloron, Raoul remained in Paris with the purpose ofrecovering the confidence and affection of Mme. Fauvel, and of lullingany suspicions which might arise in her breast. 

The task was difficult, but not impossible. 

Mme. Fauvel had been distressed by Raoul's wild extravagance, but hadnever ceased to love him. 

Whatever faults he had committed, whatever future follies he mightindulge in, he would always remain her best-loved child, her first-born, the living image of her noble, handsome Gaston, the lover of her youth. 

She adored her two sons, Lucien and Abel; but she could not overcome anindulgent weakness for the unfortunate child, torn from her arms theday of his birth, abandoned to the mercies of hired strangers, and fortwenty years deprived of home influences and a mother's love. 

She blamed herself for Raoul's misconduct, and accepted theresponsibility of his sins, saying to herself, "It is my fault. But forme, he would not have been exposed to the temptations of the world. "

Knowing these to be her sentiments, Raoul did not hesitate to takeadvantage of them. 

Never were more irresistible fascinations employed for theaccomplishment of a wicked object. Beneath an air of innocentfrankness, this precocious scoundrel concealed wonderful astutenessand penetration. He could at will adorn himself with the confidingartlessness of youth, so that angels might have yielded to the softlook of his large dark eyes. There were few women living who could haveresisted the thrilling tones of his sympathetic voice. 

During the month of Louis's absence, Mme. Fauvel was in a state ofcomparative happiness. 

Never had this mother and wife--this pure, innocent woman, in spite ofher first and only fault--enjoyed such tranquillity. She felt as oneunder the influence of enchantment, while revelling in the sunshine offilial love, which almost bore the character of a lover's passion;for Raoul's devotion was ardent and constant, his manner so tender andwinning, that anyone would have taken him for Mme. Fauvel's suitor. 

As she was still at her country-seat, and M. Fauvel went into the cityevery morning at nine o'clock, and did not return till six, she had thewhole of her time to devote to Raoul. When she had spent the morningwith him at his house in Vesinet, she would often bring him home to dineand spend the evening with her. 

All his past faults were forgiven, or rather the whole blame of them waslaid upon Clameran; for, now that he was absent, had not Raoul once morebecome her noble, generous, affectionate son, the pride and consolationof her life?

Raoul enjoyed the life he was leading, and took such an interest in thepart that he was playing, that his acting was perfect. He possessedthe faculty which makes cheats successful, faith in his own impostures. Sometimes he would stop to think whether he was telling the truth, oracting a shameful comedy. 

His success was wonderful. Even Madeleine, the prudent, distrustfulMadeleine, without being able to shake off her prejudice against theyoung adventurer, confessed that perhaps she had been influenced byappearances, and had judged unjustly. 

Raoul not only never asked for money, but even refused it when offered;saying that, now that his uncle was away, his expenses were buttrifling. 

Affairs were in this happy state when Louis arrived from Oloron. 

Although now immensely rich, he resolved to make no change in his styleof living, but returned to his apartments at the Hotel du Louvre. 

His only outlay was the purchase of a handsome carriage; and this wasdriven by Manuel, who consented to enter his service, although Gastonhad left him a handsome little fortune, more than sufficient to supporthim comfortably. 

Louis's dream, the height of his ambition, was to be ranked among thegreat manufacturers of France. 

He was prouder of being called "iron-founder" than of his marquisate. 

During his adventurous life, he had met with so many titled gamblers andcut-throats, that he no longer believed in the prestige of nobility. It was impossible to distinguish the counterfeit from the genuine. Hethought what was so easily imitated was not worth the having. 

Dearly bought experience had taught him that our unromantic centuryattaches no value to armorial bearings, unless their possessor is richenough to display them upon a splendid coach. 

One can be a marquis without a marquisate, but it is impossible to be aforge-master without owning iron-works. 

Louis now thirsted for the homage of the world. All the badly digestedhumiliations of the past weighed upon him. 

He had suffered so much contempt and scorn from his fellow-men, that heburned to avenge himself. After a disgraceful youth, he longed to live arespected and honored old age. 

His past career disturbed him little. He was sufficiently acquaintedwith the world to know that the noise of his coach-wheels would silencethe jeers of those who knew his former life. 

These thoughts fermented in Louis's brain as he journeyed from Pau toParis. He troubled his mind not in the least about Raoul, determined touse him as a tool so long as he needed his services, and then pay him alarge sum if he would go back to England. 

All these plans and thoughts were afterward found noted down in thediary which he had in his pocket at the time of the journey. 

The first interview between the accomplices took place at the Hotel duLouvre. 

Raoul, having a practical turn of mind, said he thought that they bothought to be contented with the result already obtained, and that itwould be folly to try and grasp anything more. 

"What more do we want?" he asked his uncle. "We now possess over amillion; let us divide it and keep quiet. We had better be satisfiedwith our good luck, and not tempt Providence. "

But this moderation did not suit Louis. 

"I am rich, " he replied, "but I desire more than wealth. I am determinedto marry Madeleine: I swear she shall be my wife! In the first place, I madly love her, and then, as the nephew of the most eminent banker inParis, I at once gain high position and public consideration. "

"I tell you, uncle, your courtship will involve you in great risks. "

"I don't care if it does. I choose to run them. My intention is to sharemy fortune with you; but I will not do so till the day after my wedding. Madeleine's fortune will then be yours. "

Raoul was silent. Clameran held the money, and was therefore master ofthe situation. 

"You don't seem to anticipate any difficulty in carrying out yourwishes, " he said discontentedly; "how are you to account for yoursuddenly acquired fortune? M. Fauvel knows that a Clameran lived atOloron, and had money in his bank. You tell him that you never heard ofthis person bearing your name, and then, at the end of the month, youcome and say that you have inherited his fortune. People don't inheritfortunes from perfect strangers; so you had better trump up somerelationship. "

"You are an innocent youth, nephew; your ingenuousness is amusing. "

"Explain yourself. "

"Certainly. The banker, his wife, and Madeleine must be informed thatthe Clameran of Oloron was a natural son of my father, consequentlymy brother, born at Hamburg, and recognized during the emigration. Ofcourse, he wished to leave his fortune to his own family. This is thestory which you must tell Mme. Fauvel to-morrow. "

"That is a bold step to take. "

"How so?"

"Inquiries might be made. "

"Who would make them? The banker would not trouble himself to do so. What difference is it to him whether I had a brother or not? My title asheir is legally authenticated; and all he has to do is to pay the moneyhe holds, and there his business ends. "

"I am not afraid of his giving trouble. "

"Do you think that Mme. Fauvel and her niece will ask any questions? Whyshould they? They have no grounds for suspicion. Besides, they cannottake a step without compromising themselves. If they knew all oursecrets I would not have the least fear of their making revelations. They have sense enough to know that they had best keep quiet. "

Not finding any other objections to make, Raoul said:

"Very well, then, I obey you; but I am not to call upon Mme. Fauvel forany more money, am I?"

"And why not, pray?"

"Because, my uncle, you are rich now. "

"Suppose I am rich, " replied Louis, triumphantly; "what is that to you?Have we not quarrelled about the means of making this money? and did younot heap abuse upon me until I consider myself justified in refusing youany assistance whatever? However, I will overlook the past. And, when Iexplain my present plan, you will feel ashamed of your former doubts andsuspicion. You will say with me, 'Success is certain. '"

Louis de Clameran's scheme was very simple, and therefore unfortunatelypresented the strongest chances of success. 

"We will go back and look at our balance-sheet. As heretofore, mybrilliant nephew, you seem to have misunderstood my management of thisaffair; I will now explain it to you. "

"I am listening. "

"In the first place, I presented myself to Mme. Fauvel, and said not, 'Your money or your life, ' but 'Your money or your reputation!' It wasa rude blow to strike, but effective. As I expected, she was frightened, and regarded me with the greatest aversion. "

"Aversion is a mild term, uncle. "

"I know that. Then I brought you upon the scene; and, without flatteringyou in the least, I must say that your opening act was a perfectsuccess. I was concealed behind the curtain, and saw your firstinterview; it was sublime! She saw you, and loved you: you spoke a fewwords and won her heart. "

"And but for you?"

"Let me finish. This was the first act of our comedy. Let us pass to thesecond. Your extravagant follies--your grandfather would have said, your dissoluteness--soon changed our respective situations. Mme. Fauvel, without ceasing to worship you--you resemble Gaston so closely--wasuneasy about you. She was so frightened that she was forced to come tome for assistance. "

"Poor woman!"

"I acted my part very well, as you must confess. I was grave, cold, indignant, and represented the distressed uncle to perfection. I spokeof the old probity of the Clamerans, and bemoaned that the family honorshould be dragged in the dust by a degenerate descendant. For ashort time I triumphed at your expense; Mme. Fauvel forgot her formerprejudice against me, and soon showed that she esteemed and liked me. "

"That must have been a long time ago. "

Louis paid no attention to this ironical interruption. 

"Now we come to the third scene, " he went on to say, "the time when Mme. Fauvel, having Madeleine for an adviser, judged us at our true value. Oh! you need not flatter yourself that she did not fear and despise usboth. If she did not hate you, Raoul, it was because a mother's heartalways forgives a sinful child. A mother can despise and worship her sonat the same time. "

"She has proved it to me in so many touching ways, that!--yes, even I, hardened as I am--was moved, and felt remorse. "

"Parbleu! I have felt some pangs myself. Where did I leave off? Oh, yes!Mme. Fauvel was frightened, and Madeleine, bent on sacrificing herself, had discarded Prosper, and consented to marry me, when the existenceof Gaston was suddenly revealed. And what has happened since? You havesucceeded in convincing Mme. Fauvel that you are pure, and that I amblacker than hell. She is blinded by your noble qualities, and she andMadeleine regard me as your evil genius, whose pernicious influence ledyou astray. "

"You are right, my venerated uncle; that is precisely the position youoccupy. "

"Very good. Now we come to the fifth act, and our comedy needs entirechange of scenery. We must veer around. "

"Change our tactics?"

"You think it difficult, I suppose? Nothing easier. Listen attentively, for the future depends upon your skilfulness. "

Raoul leaned back in his chair, with folded arms, as if prepared foranything, and said:

"I am ready. "

"The first thing for you to do, " said Louis, "is to go to Mme. Fauvelto-morrow, and tell her the story about my natural brother. She will notbelieve you, but that makes no difference. The important thing is, foryou to appear convinced of the truth of what you tell her. "

"Consider me convinced. "

"Five days hence, I will call on M. Fauvel, and confirm the notificationsent him by my notary at Oloron, that the money deposited in the banknow belongs to me. I will repeat, for his benefit, the story of thenatural brother, and ask him to keep the money until I call for it, as Ihave no occasion for it at present. You, who are so distrustful, my goodnephew, may regard this deposit as a guarantee of my sincerity. "

"We will talk of that another time. Go on. "

"Then I will go to Mme. Fauvel, and say, 'Being very poor, my dearmadame, necessity compelled me to claim your assistance in the supportof my brother's son, who is also yours. This youth is worthless andextravagant. '"

"Thanks, my good uncle. "

"'He has poisoned your life when he should have added to your happiness;he is a constant anxiety and sorrow to your maternal heart. I have cometo offer my regrets for your past trouble, and to assure you that youwill have no annoyance in the future. I am now rich, and henceforth takethe whole responsibility of Raoul upon myself. I will provide handsomelyfor him. '"

"Is that what you call a scheme?"

"Parbleu, you will soon see whether it is. After listening to thisspeech, Mme. Fauvel will feel inclined to throw herself in my arms, byway of expressing her gratitude and joy. She will refrain, however, on account of her niece. She will ask me to relinquish my claim onMadeleine's hand, now that I am rich. I will roundly tell her, No. Iwill make this an opportunity for an edifying display of magnanimity anddisinterestedness. I will say, 'Madame, you have accused me of cupidity. I am now able to prove your injustice. I have been infatuated, as everyman must be, by the beauty, grace, and intelligence of Mlle. Madeleine;and--I love her. If she were penniless, my devotion would only be themore ardent. She has been promised to me, and I must insist upon thisone article of our agreement. This must be the price of my silence. And, to prove that I am not influenced by her fortune, I give you my sacredpromise, that, the day after the wedding, I will send Raoul a stockreceipt of twenty-five thousand livres per annum. "

Louis expressed himself with such convincing candor, that Raoul, anartist in knavery, was charmed and astonished. 

"Beautifully done, " he cried, clapping his hands with glee. "That lastsentence will create a chasm between Mme. Fauvel and her niece. Thepromise of a fortune for me will certainly bring my mother over to ourside. "

"I hope so, " said Louis with pretended modesty. "And I have strongreasons for hoping so, as I shall be able to furnish the good lady withexcellent arguments for excusing herself in her own eyes. You know whensomeone proposes some little--what shall we call it?--transaction to anhonest person, it must be accompanied by justifications sufficient toquiet all qualms of conscience. I shall prove to Mme. Fauvel and herniece that Prosper has shamefully deceived them. I shall prove to themthat he is cramped by debts, dissipated, and a reckless gambler, openlyassociating with a woman of no character. "

"And very pretty, besides, by Jove! You must not neglect to expatiateupon the beauty and fascinations of the adorable Gypsy; that will beyour strongest point. "

"Don't be alarmed; I shall be more eloquent than a popular divine. ThenI will explain to Mme. Fauvel that if she really loves her niece, shewill persuade her to marry, not an insignificant cashier, but a man ofposition, a great manufacturer, a marquis, and, more than this, one richenough to establish you in the world. "

Raoul was dazzled by this brilliant prospect. 

"If you don't decide her, you will make her waver, " he said. 

"Oh! I don't expect a sudden change. I only intend planting the germ inher mind; thanks to you, it will develop, flourish, and bear fruit. "

"Thanks to me?"

"Allow me to finish. After making my speeches I shall disappear from thescene, and your role will commence. Of course your mother will repeatthe conversation to you, and then we can judge of the effect produced. But remember, you must scorn to receive any assistance from me. You mustswear that you will brave all privation, want, famine even, rather thanaccept a cent from a base man whom you hate and despise; a man who--Butyou know exactly what you are to say. I can rely upon you for goodacting. "

"No one can surpass me when I am interested in my part. In patheticroles I am always a success, when I have had time to prepare myself. "

"I know you are. But this disinterestedness need not prevent you fromresuming your dissipations. You must gamble, bet, and lose more moneythan you ever did before. You must increase your demands, and say thatyou must have money at all costs. You need not account to me for anymoney you can extort from her. All you get is your own to spend as youplease. "

"You don't say so! If you mean that--"

"You will hurry up matters, I'll be bound. "

"I can promise you, no time shall be wasted. "

"Now listen to what you are to do, Raoul. Before the end of threemonths, you must have exhausted the resources of these two women. Youmust force from them every franc they can raise, so that they will bewholly unable to procure money to supply your increasing demands. Inthree months I must find them penniless, absolutely ruined, without evena jewel left. "

Raoul was startled at the passionate, vindictive tone of Louis's voiceas he uttered these last words. 

"You must hate these women, if you are so determined to make themmiserable, " he said. 

"I hate them?" cried Louis. "Can't you see that I madly love Madeleine, love her as only a man of my age can love? Is not her image ever in mymind? Does not the very mention of her name fire my heart, and make metremble like a school-boy?"

"Your great devotion does not prevent you planning the destruction ofher present happiness. "

"Necessity compels me to do so. Nothing but the most cruel deceptionsand the bitterest suffering would ever induce her to become my wife, totake me as the lesser of two evils. The day on which you have led Mme. Fauvel and her niece to the extreme edge of the precipice, pointed outits dark depths, and convinced them that they are irretrievably lost, Ishall appear, and rescue them. I will play my part with such grandeur, such lofty magnanimity, that Madeleine will be touched, will forget herpast enmity, and regard me with favorable eyes. When she finds that itis her sweet self, and not her money, that I want, she will soften, andin time yield to my entreaties. No true woman can be indifferent to agrand passion. I don't pretend to say that she will love me at first;but, if she will only consent to be mine, I ask for nothing more; timewill do much, even for a poor devil like myself. "

Raoul was shocked at this cold-blooded perversity of his uncle;but Clameran showed his immense superiority in wickedness, and theapprentice admired the master. 

"You would certainly succeed, uncle, " he said, "were it not for thecashier. Between you and Madeleine, Prosper will always stand; if not inperson, certainly in memory. "

Louis smiled scornfully, and, throwing away his cigar, which had diedout, said:

"I don't mind Prosper, or attach any more importance to him than to thatcigar. "

"But she loves him. "

"So much the worse for him. Six months hence, she will despise him; heis already morally ruined, and at the proper time I will make an end ofhim socially. Do you know whither the road of dissipation leads, my goodnephew? Prosper supports Gypsy, who is extravagant; he gambles, keepsfast horses, and gives suppers. Now, you gamble yourself, and know howmuch money can be squandered in one night; the losses of baccaratmust be paid within twenty-four hours. He has lost heavily, must pay, and--has charge of a money-safe. "

Raoul protested against this insinuation. 

"It is useless to tell me that he is honest, that nothing would inducehim to touch money that does not belong to him. I know better. Parbleu!I was honest myself until I learned to gamble. Any man with a grain ofsense would have married Madeleine long ago, and sent us flying bag andbaggage. You say she loves him! No one but a coward would be defraudedof the woman he loved and who loved him. Ah, if I had once feltMadeleine's hand tremble in mine, if her rosy lips had once pressed akiss upon my brow, the whole world could not take her from me. Woeto him who dared stand in my path! As it is, Prosper annoys me, and Iintend to suppress him. With your aid I will so cover him with disgraceand infamy, that Madeleine will drive every thought of him from hermind, and her love will turn to hate. "

Louis's tone of rage and vengeance startled Raoul, and made him regardthe affair in a worse light than ever. 

"You have given me a shameful, dastardly role to play, " he said after along pause. 

"My honorable nephew has scruples, I suppose, " said Clameran sneeringly. 

"Not exactly scruples; yet I confess--"

"That you want to retreat? Rather too late to sing that tune, my friend. You wish to enjoy every luxury, have your pockets filled with gold, cuta fine figure in high society, and remain virtuous. Are you fool enoughto suppose a poor man can be honest? 'Tis a luxury pertaining to thewealthy. Did you ever see people such as we draw money from the purefount of virtue? We must fish in muddy waters, and then wash ourselvesclean, and enjoy the result of our labor. "

"I have never been rich enough to be honest, " said Raoul humbly; "butI must say it goes hard with me to torture two defenceless, frightenedwomen, and ruin the character of a poor devil who regards me as his bestfriend. It is a low business!"

This resistance exasperated Louis to the last degree. 

"You are the most absurd, ridiculous fool I ever met, " he cried. "Anopportunity occurs for us to make an immense fortune. All we have todo is to stretch out our hands and take it; when you must needs proverefractory, like a whimpering baby. Nobody but an ass would refuse todrink when he is thirsty, because he sees a little mud at the bottomof the bucket. I suppose you prefer theft on a small scale, stealing bydriblets. And where will your system lead you? To the poor-house or thepolice-station. You prefer living from hand to mouth, supported by Mme. Fauvel, having small sums doled out to you to pay your little gamblingdebts. "

"I am neither ambitious nor cruel. "

"And suppose Mme. Fauvel dies to-morrow: what will become of you? Willyou go cringing up to the widower, and implore him to continue yourallowance?"

"Enough said, " cried Raoul, angrily interrupting his uncle. "I neverhad any idea of retreating. I made these objections to show you whatinfamous work you expect of me, and at the same time prove to you thatwithout my assistance you can do nothing. "

"I never pretended to the contrary. "

"Then, my noble uncle, we might as well settle what my share is to be. Oh! it is not worth while for you to indulge in idle protestations. Whatwill you give me in case of success? and what if we fail?"

"I told you before. I will give you twenty-five thousand livres a year, and all you can secure between now and my wedding-day. "

"This arrangement suits me very well; but where are your securities?"

This question was discussed a long time before it was satisfactorilysettled by the accomplices, who had every reason to distrust each other. 

"What are you afraid of?" asked Clameran. 

"Everything, " replied Raoul. "Where am I to obtain justice, if youdeceive me? From this pretty little poniard? No, thank you. I would bemade to pay as dear for your hide, as for that of an honest man. "

Finally, after long debate and much recrimination, the matter wasarranged, and they shook hands before separating. 

Alas! Mme. Fauvel and her niece soon felt the evil effects of theunderstanding between the villains. 

Everything happened as Louis had arranged. 

Once more, when Mme. Fauvel had begun to breathe freely, and to hopethat her troubles were over, Raoul's conduct suddenly changed; he becamemore extravagant and dissipated than ever. 

Formerly, Mme. Fauvel would have said, "I wonder what he does with allthe money I give him?" Now she saw where it went. 

Raoul was reckless in his wickedness; he was intimate with actresses, openly lavishing money and jewelry upon them; he drove about with fourhorses, and bet heavily on every race. Never had he been so exactingand exorbitant in his demands for money; Mme. Fauvel had the greatestdifficulty in supplying his wants. 

He no longer made excuses and apologies for spending so much; insteadof coaxingly entreating, he demanded money as a right, threatening tobetray Mme. Fauvel to her husband if she refused him. 

At this rate, all the possessions of Mme. Fauvel and Madeleine soondisappeared. In one month, all their money had been squandered. Thenthey were compelled to resort to the most shameful expedients in thehousehold expenses. They economized in every possible way, makingpurchases on credit, and making tradesmen wait; then they changedfigures in the bills, and even invented accounts of things never bought. 

These imaginary costly whims increased so rapidly, that M. Fauvel oneday said, as he signed a large check, "Upon my word, ladies, you willbuy out all the stores, if you keep on this way. But nothing pleases mebetter than to see you gratify every wish. "

Poor women! For months they had bought nothing, but had lived upon theremains of their former splendor, having all their old dresses madeover, to keep up appearances in society. 

More clear-sighted than her aunt, Madeleine saw plainly that the daywould soon come when everything would have to be explained. 

Although she knew that the sacrifices of the present would availnothing in the future, that all this money was being thrown away withoutsecuring her aunt's peace of mind, yet she was silent. A high-mindeddelicacy made her conceal her apprehensions beneath an assumed calmness. 

The fact of her sacrificing herself made her refrain from utteringanything like a complaint or censure. She seemed to forget herselfentirely in her efforts to comfort her aunt. 

"As soon as Raoul sees we have nothing more to give, " she would say, "hewill come to his senses, and stop all this extravagance. "

The day came when Mme. Fauvel and Madeleine found it impossible to giveanother franc. 

The evening previous, Mme. Fauvel had a dinner-party, and withdifficulty scraped together enough money to defray the expenses. 

Raoul appeared, and said that he was in the greatest need of money, being forced to pay a debt of two thousand francs at once. 

In vain they implored him to wait a few days, until they could withpropriety ask M. Fauvel for money. He declared that he must have it now, and that he would not leave the house without it. 

"But I have no way of getting it for you, " said Mme. Fauvel desperately;"you have taken everything from me. I have nothing left but my diamonds:do you want them? If they can be of use, take them. "

Hardened as the young villain was, he blushed at these words. 

He felt pity for this unfortunate woman, who had always been so kindand indulgent to him, who had so often lavished upon him her maternalcaresses. He felt for the noble girl who was the innocent victim of avile plot. 

But he was bound by an oath; he knew that a powerful hand would savethese women at the brink of the precipice. More than this, he sawan immense fortune at the end of his road of crime, and quieted hisconscience by saying that he would redeem his present cruelty by honestkindness in the future. Once out of the clutches of Clameran, he wouldbe a better man, and try to return some of the kind affection shown himby these poor women. 

Stifling his better impulses, he said harshly to Mme. Fauvel, "Give methe jewels; I will take them to the pawnbroker's. " Mme. Fauvel handedhim a box containing a set of diamonds. It was a present from herhusband the day he became worth a million. 

And so pressing was the want of these women who were surrounded byprincely luxury, with their ten servants, beautiful blooded horses, andjewels which were the admiration of Paris, that they implored him tobring them some of the money which he would procure on the diamonds, tomeet their daily wants. 

He promised, and kept his word. 

But they had revealed a new source, a mine to be worked; he tookadvantage of it. 

One by one, all Mme. Fauvel's jewels followed the way of the diamonds;and, when hers were all gone, those of Madeleine were given up. 

A recent law-suit, which showed how a young and beautiful woman hadbeen kept in a state of terror and almost poverty, by a rascal who hadpossession of her letters, a sad case which no honest man could readwithout blushing for his sex, has revealed to what depths human infamycan descend. 

And such abominable crimes are not so rare as people suppose. 

How many men are supported entirely by stolen secrets, from the coachmanwho claims ten louis every month of the foolish girl whom he drove toa rendezvous, to the elegant dandy in light kids, who discovered afinancial swindle, and makes the parties interested buy his silence, cannot be known. 

This is called the extortion of hush-money, the most cowardly andinfamous of crimes, which the law, unfortunately, can rarely overtakeand punish. 

"Extortion of hush-money, " said an old prefect of police, "is a tradewhich supports at least a thousand scamps in Paris alone. Sometimeswe know the black-mailer and his victim, and yet we can do nothing. Moreover, if we were to catch the villain in the very act, and hand himover to justice, the victim, in her fright at the chance of her secretbeing discovered, would turn against us. "

It is true, extortion has become a business. Very often it is thebusiness of loafers, who spend plenty of money, when everyone knows theyhave no visible means of support, and of whom people ask, "What do theylive upon?"

The poor victims do not know how easy it would be to rid themselvesof their tyrants. The police are fully capable of faithfullykeeping secrets confided to them. A visit to the Rue de Jerusalem, aconfidential communication with a head of the bureau, who is as silentas a father confessor, and the affair is arranged, without noise, without publicity, without anyone ever being the wiser. There are trapsfor "master extortioners, " which work well in the hands of the police. 

Mme. Fauvel had no defence against the scoundrels who were torturingher, save prayers and tears; these availed her little. 

Sometimes Mme. Fauvel betrayed such heart-broken suffering when Raoulbegged her for money which she had no means of obtaining, that he wouldhurry away disgusted at his own brutal conduct, and say to Clameran:

"You must end this dirty business; I cannot stand it any longer. Iwill blow any man's brains out, or fight a crowd of cut-throats, if youchoose; but as to killing by agony and fright these two poor miserablewomen, whom I am really fond of, I am not going to do it. You ask formore than I can do. I am not quite the cowardly hound you take me for. "

Clameran paid no attention to these remonstrances: indeed, he wasprepared for them. 

"It is not pleasant, I know, " he replied; "but necessity knows no law. Have a little more perseverance and patience; we have almost got to theend. "

The end was nearer than Clameran supposed. Toward the latter partof November, Mme. Fauvel saw that it was impossible to postpone thecatastrophe any longer, and as a last effort determined to apply to themarquis for assistance. 

She had not seen him since his return from Oloron, except once, when hecame to announce his accession to wealth. At that time, persuaded thathe was the evil genius of Raoul, she had received him very coldly, anddid not invite him to repeat his visit. 

She hesitated about speaking to her niece of the step she intendedtaking, because she feared violent opposition. 

To her great surprise Madeleine warmly approved of it. 

Trouble had made her keen-sighted and suspicious. Reflecting on pastevents, comparing and weighing every act and speech of Raoul, she wasnow convinced that he was Clameran's tool. 

She thought that Raoul was too shrewd to be acting in this shameful way, ruinously to his own interests, if there were not some secret motiveat the bottom of it all. She saw that this persecution was more feignedthan real. 

So thoroughly was she convinced of this, that, had it only concernedherself alone, she would have firmly resisted the oppression, certainthat the threatened exposure would never take place. 

Recalling, with a shudder, certain looks of Clameran, she guessed thetruth, that the object of all this underhand work was to force her tobecome his wife. 

Determined on making the sacrifice, in spite of her repugnance towardthe man, she wished to have the deed done at once; anything waspreferable to this terrible anxiety, to the life of torture which Raoulmade her lead. She felt that her courage might fail if she waited andsuffered much longer. 

"The sooner you see M. De Clameran the better for us, aunt, " she said, after talking the project over. 

The next day Mme. Fauvel called on the marquis at the Hotel du Louvre, having sent him a note announcing her intended visit. 

He received her with cold, studied politeness, like a man who had beenmisunderstood and had been unjustly wounded. 

After listening to her report of Raoul's scandalous behavior, he becamevery indignant, and swore that he would soon make him repent of hisheartlessness. 

But when Mme. Fauvel told of the immense sums of money forced from her, Clameran seemed confounded, as if he could not believe it. 

"The worthless rascal!" he exclaimed, "the idea of his audacity! Why, during the last four months, I have given him more than twenty thousandfrancs, which I would not have done except to prevent him from applyingto you, as he constantly threatened to do. "

Seeing an expression of doubtful surprise upon Mme. Fauvel's face, Louisarose, and took from his desk some receipts signed by Raoul. The totalamount was twenty-three thousand five hundred francs. 

Mme. Fauvel was shocked and amazed. 

"He has obtained forty thousand francs from me, " she faintly said, "sothat altogether he has spent sixty thousand francs in four months. "

"I can't imagine what he does with it, " said Clameran, "unless he spendsit on actresses. "

"Good heavens! what can these creatures do with all the money lavishedon them?"

"That is a question I cannot answer, madame. "

He appeared to pity Mme. Fauvel sincerely; he promised that he wouldat once see Raoul, and reason with him about the shameful life he wasleading; perhaps he could be persuaded to reform. Finally, after manyprotestations of friendship, he wound up by placing his fortune at herdisposal. 

Although Mme. Fauvel refused his offer, she appreciated the kindness ofit, and on returning home said to Madeleine:

"Perhaps we have mistaken his character; he may be a good man afterall. "

Madeleine sadly shook her head. She had anticipated just what happened. Clameran's magnanimity and generosity confirmed her presentiments. 

Raoul came to see his uncle, and found him radiant. 

"Everything is going on swimmingly, my smart nephew, " said Clameran;"your receipts acted like a charm. Ah, you are a partner worth having. I congratulate you upon your success. Forty thousand francs in fourmonths!"

"Yes, " said Raoul carelessly. "I got about that much from pawnbrokers. "

"Pests! Then you must have a nice little sum laid by. "

"That is my business, uncle, and not yours. Remember our agreement. I will tell you this much: Mme. Fauvel and Madeleine have turnedeverything they could into money; they have nothing left, and I have hadenough of my role. "

"Your role is ended. I forbid you to hereafter ask for a singlecentime. "

"What are you about to do? What has happened?"

"The mine is loaded, nephew, and I am awaiting an opportunity to setfire to it. "

Louis de Clameran relied upon making his rival, Prosper Bertomy, furnishhim this ardently desired opportunity. 

He loved Madeleine too passionately to feel aught save the bitteresthate toward the man whom she had freely chosen, and who still possessedher heart. 

Clameran knew that he could marry her at once if he chose; but in whatway? By holding a sword of terror over her head, and forcing her to behis. He became frenzied at the idea of possessing her person, while herheart and soul would always be with Prosper. 

Thus he swore that, before marrying, he would so cover Prosper withshame and ignominy that no honest person would speak to him. He hadfirst thought of killing him, but, fearing that Madeleine would enshrineand worship his memory, he determined to disgrace him. 

He imagined that there would be no difficulty in ruining the unfortunateyoung man. He soon found himself mistaken. 

Though Prosper led a life of reckless dissipation, he preserved orderin his disorder. If in a state of miserable entanglement, and obliged toresort to all sorts of make-shifts to escape his creditors, his cautionprevented the world from knowing it. 

Vainly did Raoul, with his pockets full of gold, try to tempt him toplay high; every effort to hasten his ruin failed. 

When he played he did not seem to care whether he lost or won; nothingaroused him from his cold indifference. 

His friend Nina Gypsy was extravagant, but her devotion to Prosperrestrained her from going beyond certain limits. 

Raoul's great intimacy with Prosper enabled him to fully understand thestate of his mind; that he was trying to drown his disappointment inexcitement, but had not given up all hope. 

"You need not hope to beguile Prosper into committing any piece offolly, " said Raoul to his uncle; "his head is as cool as a usurer's. Henever goes beyond a certain degree of dissipation. What object he has inview I know not. Perhaps, when he has spent his last napoleon, he willblow his brains out; he certainly never will descend to any dishonorableact. As to tampering with the money-safe intrusted to his keeping----"

"We must force him on, " replied Clameran, "lead him into extravagances, make Gypsy call on him for costly finery, lend him plenty of money. "

Raoul shook his head, as if convinced that his efforts would be vain. 

"You don't know Prosper, uncle: we can't galvanize a dead man. Madeleinekilled him the day she discarded him. He takes no interest in anythingon the face of the earth. "

"We can wait and see. "

They did wait; and, to the great surprise of Mme. Fauvel, Raoul oncemore became an affectionate and dutiful son, as he had been duringClameran's absence. From reckless extravagance he changed to greateconomy. Under pretext of saving money, he remained at Vesinet, althoughit was very uncomfortable and disagreeable there in the winter. Hesaid he wished to expiate his sins in solitude. The truth was, that, by remaining in the country, he insured his liberty, and escaped hismother's visits. 

It was about this time that Mme. Fauvel, charmed with the improvement inRaoul, asked her husband to give him some employment. 

M. Fauvel was delighted to please his wife, and at once offered Raoulthe place of corresponding clerk with a salary of five hundred francs amonth. 

The appointment pleased Raoul; but, in obedience to Clameran's command, he refused it, saying his vocation was not banking. 

This refusal so provoked the banker, that he told Raoul, if he was soidle and lazy, not to call on him for money again, or expect him to doanything to assist him. Raoul seized this pretext for ostensibly ceasinghis visits. 

When he wanted to see his mother, he would come in the afternoon, whenhe knew that M. Fauvel would be from home; and he only came often enoughto keep informed of what was going on in the household. 

This sudden lull after so many storms appeared ominous to Madeleine. She was more certain that ever that the plot was now ripe, and wouldsuddenly burst upon them, without warning. She did not impart herpresentiment to her aunt, but prepared herself for the worst. 

"What can they be doing?" Mme. Fauvel would say; "can they have ceasedto persecute us?"

"Yes: what can they be doing?" Madeleine would murmur. 

Louis and Raoul gave no signs of life, because, like expert hunters, they were silently hiding, and watching for a favorable opportunity ofpouncing upon their victims. 

Never losing sight of Prosper for a day, Raoul had exhausted everyeffort of his fertile mind to compromise his honor, to insnare him intosome inextricable entanglement. But, as he had foreseen, the cashier'sindifference offered little hope of success. 

Clameran began to grow impatient at this delay, and had fully determinedto bring matters to a crisis himself, when one morning, about threeo'clock, he was aroused by Raoul. 

He knew that some event of great importance must have happened, to makehis nephew come to his house at this hour of the morning. 

"What is the matter?" he anxiously inquired. 

"Perhaps nothing; perhaps everything. I have just left Prosper. "

"Well?"

"I had him, Mme. Gypsy, and three other friends to dine with me. Afterdinner, I made up a game of baccarat, but Prosper took no interest init, although he was quite tipsy. "

"You must be drunk yourself to come here waking me up in the middleof the night, to hear this idle gabble, " said Louis angrily. "What thedevil do you mean by it?"

"Now, don't be in a hurry; wait until you hear the rest. "

"Morbleu! speak, then!"

"After the game was over, we went to supper; Prosper became intoxicated, and betrayed the secret name with which he closes the money-safe. "

At these words Clameran uttered a cry of triumph. 

"What was the word?"

"The name of his friend. "

"Gypsy! Yes, that would be five letters. "

Louis was so excited that he jumped out of bed, slipped on hisdressing-gown, and began to stride up and down the chamber. 

"Now we have got him!" he said with vindictive satisfaction. "There's nochance of escape for him now! Ah, the virtuous cashier won't touch themoney confided to him: so we must touch it for him. The disgrace will bejust as great, no matter who opens the safe. We have the word; you knowwhere the key is kept. "

"Yes; when M. Fauvel goes out he always leaves the key in the drawer ofhis secretary, in his chamber. "

"Very good. Go and get this key from Mme. Fauvel. If she does not giveit up willingly, use force: so that you get it, that is the point; thenopen the safe, and take out every franc it contains. Ah, Master Bertomy, you shall pay dear for being loved by the woman whom I love!"

For five minutes Clameran indulged in such a tirade of abuse againstProsper, mingled with rhapsodies of love for Madeleine, that Raoulthought him almost out of his mind. 

"Before crying victory, " he said, "you had better consider the drawbacksand difficulties. Prosper might change the word to-morrow. "

"Yes, he might; but it is not probable he will; he will forget what hesaid while drunk; besides, we can hasten matters. "

"That is not all. M. Fauvel has given orders that no large sum shall bekept in the safe over-night; before closing the bank everything is sentto the Bank of France. "

"A large sum will be kept there the night I choose. "

"You think so?"

"I think this: I have a hundred thousand crowns deposited with M. Fauvel: and if I desire the money to be paid over to me early somemorning, directly the bank is opened, of course the money will be keptin the safe the previous night. "

"A splendid idea!" cried Raoul admiringly. 

It was a good idea; and the plotters spent several hours in studying itsstrong and weak points. 

Raoul feared that he would never be able to overcome Mme. Fauvel'sresistance. And, even if she yielded the key, would she not go directlyand confess everything to her husband? She was fond of Prosper, andwould hesitate a long time before sacrificing him. 

But Louis felt no uneasiness on this score. 

"One sacrifice necessitates another, " he said: "she has made too manyto draw back at the last one. She sacrificed her adopted daughter;therefore she will sacrifice a young man, who is, after all, acomparative stranger to her. "

"But madame will never believe any harm of Prosper; she will always havefaith in his honor; therefore--"

"You talk like an idiot, my verdant nephew!"

Before the conversation had ended, the plan seemed feasible. Thescoundrels made all their arrangements, and fixed the day for committingthe crime. 

They selected the evening of the 7th of February, because Raoul knewthat M. Fauvel would be at a bank-director's dinner, and Madeleine wasinvited to a party on that evening. 

Unless something unforeseen should occur, Raoul knew that he would findMme. Fauvel alone at half-past eight o'clock. 

"I will ask M. Fauvel this very day, " said Clameran, "to have my moneyon hand for Tuesday. "

"That is a very short notice, uncle, " objected Raoul. "You know thereare certain forms to be gone through, and he can claim a longer timewherein to pay it over. "

"That is true, but our banker is proud of always being prepared to payany amount of money, no matter how large; and if I say I am pressed, andwould like to be accommodated on Tuesday, he will make a point of havingit ready for me. Now, you must ask Prosper, as a personal favor to you, to have the money on hand at the opening of the bank. "

Raoul once more examined the situation, to discover if possible a grainof sand which might be converted into a mountain at the last moment. 

"Prosper and Gypsy are to be at Vesinet this evening, " he said, "but Icannot ask them anything until I know the banker's answer. As soon asyou arrange matters with him, send me word by Manuel. "

"I can't send Manuel, for an excellent reason; he has left me; but I cansend another messenger. "

Louis spoke the truth; Manuel was gone. He had insisted on keepingGaston's old servant in his service, because he thought it imprudent toleave him at Oloron, where his gossiping might cause trouble. 

He soon became annoyed by Manuel's loyalty, who had shared the perilsand good fortunes of an excellent master for many years; and determinedto rid himself of this last link which constantly reminded him ofGaston. The evening before, he had persuaded Manuel to return toArenys-de-mer, a little port of Catalonia, his native place; and Louiswas looking for another servant. 

After breakfasting together, they separated. 

Clameran was so elated by the prospect of success, that he lost sight ofthe great crime intervening. Raoul was calm, but resolute. The shamefuldeed he was about to commit would give him riches, and release himfrom a hateful servitude. His one thought was liberty, as Louis's wasMadeleine. 

Everything seemed to progress finely. The banker did not ask for thenotice of time, but promised to pay the money at the specified hour. Prosper said he would have it ready early in the morning. 

The certainty of success made Louis almost wild with joy. He counted thehours, and the minutes, which passed but too slowly. 

"When this affair is ended, " he said to Raoul, "I will reform and be amodel of virtue. No one will dare hint that I have ever indulged in anysins, great or small. "

But Raoul became more and more sad as the time approached. Reflectiongradually betrayed the blackness of the contemplated crime. 

Raoul was bold and determined in the pursuit of his own gratificationsand wickedness; he could smile in the face of his best friend, whilecheating him of his last napoleon at cards; and he could sleep wellafter stabbing his enemy in the heart; but he was young. 

He was young in sin. Vice had not yet penetrated to his marrow-bones:corruption had not yet crowded into his soul enough to uproot anddestroy every generous sentiment. 

It had not been so very long since he had cherished a few holy beliefs. The good intentions of his boyhood were not quite obliterated from hissometimes reproachful memory. 

Possessing the daring courage natural to youth, he despised the cowardlypart forced upon him; this dark plot, laid for the destruction of twohelpless women, filled him with horror and disgust. His heart revoltedat the idea of acting the part of Judas toward his mother to betray herbetween two kisses. 

Disgusted by the cool villainy of Louis, he longed for some unexpecteddanger to spring up, some great peril to be braved, so as to excusehimself in his own eyes, to give him the spirit to carry throughthe scheme; for he would like to reap the benefits without doing therevolting work. 

But no; he well knew that he ran no risk, not even that of beingarrested and sent to the galleys. For he was certain that, if M. Fauveldiscovered everything, he would do his best to hush it up, to concealevery fact connected with the disgraceful story which would implicatehis wife. Although he was careful not to breathe it to Clameran, he felta sincere affection for Mme. Fauvel, and was touched by the indulgentfondness which she so unchangingly lavished upon him. He had been happyat Vesinet, while his accomplice, or rather his master, was at Oloron. He would have been glad to lead an honest life, and could not see thesense of committing a crime when there was no necessity for it. He hatedClameran for not consenting to let the matter drop, now that he was richenough to live in affluence the rest of his life, and who, for the sakeof gratifying a selfish passion, was abusing his power, and endangeringthe safety and happiness of so many people. He longed for an opportunityof thwarting his plots, if it could be done without also ruininghimself. 

His resolution, which had been so firm in the beginning, was growingweaker and weaker as the hours rolled on: as the crisis approached, hishorror of the deed increased. 

Seeing this uncertain state of Raoul's mind, Louis never left him, butcontinued to paint for him a dazzling future, position, wealth, andfreedom. Possessing a large fortune, he would be his own master, gratifyhis every wish, and make amends to his mother for his present undutifulconduct. He urged him to take pride in acting his part in this littlecomedy, which would soon be over without doing harm to anyone. 

He prepared, and forced his accomplice to rehearse, the scene which wasto be enacted at Mme. Fauvel's, with as much coolness and precision asif it were to be performed at a public theatre. Louis said that no piececould be well acted unless the actor was interested and imbued with thespirit of his role. 

But the more urgently Louis pressed upon him the advantages to bederived from success, the oftener he sounded in his ears the magicwords, "five hundred thousand francs, " the more loudly did Raoul'sconscience cry out against the sinful deed. 

On Monday evening, about six o'clock, Raoul felt so depressed andmiserable, that he had almost made up his mind to refuse to move anotherstep, and to tell Louis that he must find another tool to carry out hisabominable plot. 

"Are you afraid?" asked Clameran, who had anxiously watched these inwardstruggles. 

"Yes, I am afraid. I am not cursed with your ferocious nature and ironwill. I am the most miserable dog living!"

"Come, cheer up, my boy! You are not yourself to-day. Don't fail me atthe last minute, when everything depends upon you. Just think that wehave almost finished; one more stroke of our oars, and we are in port. You are only nervous: come to dinner, and a bottle of Burgundy will soonset you right. "

They were walking along the boulevard. Clameran insisted upon theirentering a restaurant, and having dinner in a private room. 

Vainly did he strive, however, to chase the gloom from Raoul's paleface; he sat listening, with a sullen frown, to his friend's jests about"swallowing the bitter pill gracefully. "

Urged by Louis, he drank two bottles of wine, in hopes that intoxicationwould inspire him with courage to do the deed, which Clameran impressedupon his mind must and should be done before many more hours had passedover his head. 

But the drunkenness he sought came not; the wine proved false; at thebottom of the last bottle he found disgust and rage. 

The clock struck eight. 

"The time has come, " said Louis firmly. 

Raoul turned livid; his teeth chattered, and his limbs trembled so thathe was unable to stand on his feet. 

"Oh, I cannot do it!" he cried in an agony of terror and rage. 

Clameran's eyes flashed with angry excitement at the prospect of all hisplans being ruined at the last moment. But he dared not give way to hisanger, for fear of exasperating Raoul, whom he knew to be anxious for anexcuse to quarrel; so he quietly pulled the bell-rope. A boy appeared. 

"A bottle of port, " he said, "and a bottle of rum. "

When the boy returned with the bottles, Louis filled a goblet with thetwo liquors mixed, and handed it to Raoul. 

"Drink this, " he said in a tone of command. 

Raoul emptied the glass at one draught, and a faint color returned tohis ashy cheeks. He arose, and snatching up his hat, cried fiercely:

"Come along!"

But before he had walked half a square, the factitious energy inspiredby drink deserted him. 

He clung to Clameran's arm, and was almost dragged along in thedirection of the banker's house, trembling like a criminal on his way tothe scaffold. 

"If I can once get him in the house, " thought Louis, "and make himbegin, the excitement of his mother's opposition will make him carryit through successfully. The cowardly baby! I would like to wring hisneck!"

Although his breast was filled with these thoughts and fears, he wascareful to conceal them from Raoul, and said soothingly:

"Now, don't forget our arrangement, and be careful how you enter thehouse; everything depends upon your being unconcerned and cool, to avoidarousing suspicion in the eyes of anyone you may meet. Have you a pistolin your pocket?"

"Yes, yes! Let me alone!"

It was well that Clameran had accompanied Raoul; for, when he got insight of the door, his courage gave way, and he longed to retreat. 

"A poor, helpless woman!" he groaned, "and an honest man who pressed myhand in friendship yesterday, to be cowardly ruined, betrayed by me! Ah, it is too base! I cannot!"

"Come, don't be a coward! I thought you had more nerve. Why, you mightas well have remained virtuous and honest; you will never earn your saltin this sort of business. "

Raoul overcame his weakness, and, silencing the clamors of hisconscience, rushed up the steps, and pulled the bell furiously. 

"Is Mme. Fauvel at home?" he inquired of the servant who opened thedoor. 

"Madame is alone in the sitting-room adjoining her chamber, " was thereply. 

Raoul went upstairs. 

XX

Clameran's last injunction to Raoul was:

"Be very cautious when you enter the room; your appearance must telleverything, so you can avoid preliminary explanations. "

The recommendation was useless. 

The instant that Raoul went into the little salon, the sight of hispale, haggard face and wild eyes caused Mme. Fauvel to spring up withclasped hands, and cry out:

"Raoul! What has happened? Speak, my son!"

The sound of her tender, affectionate voice acted like an electric shockupon the young bandit. He shook like a leaf. But at the same time hismind seemed to change. Louis was not mistaken in his estimate of hiscompanion's character. Raoul was on the stage, his part was to beplayed; his assurance returned to him; his cheating, lying natureassumed the ascendant, and stifled any better feeling in his heart. 

"This misfortune is the last I shall ever suffer, mother!"

Mme. Fauvel rushed toward him, and, seizing his hand, gazed searchinglyinto his eyes, as if to read his very soul. 

"What is the matter? Raoul, my dear son, do tell me what troubles you. "

He gently pushed her from him. 

"The matter is, my mother, " he said in a voice of heart-broken despair, "that I am an unworthy, degenerate son! Unworthy of you, unworthy of mynoble father!"

She tried to comfort him by saying that his errors were all her fault, and that he was, in spite of all, the pride of her heart. 

"Alas!" he said, "I know and judge myself. No one can reproach me formy infamous conduct more bitterly than does my own conscience. I amnot naturally wicked, but only a miserable fool. At times I am like aninsane man, and am not responsible for my actions. Ah, my dear mother, I would not be what I am, if you had watched over my childhood. Butbrought up among strangers, with no guide but my own evil passions, nothing to restrain me, no one to advise me, no one to love me, owningnothing, not even my stolen name, I am cursed with vanity and unboundedambition. Poor, with no one to assist me but you, I have the tastes andvices of a millionnaire's son. 

"Alas for me! When I found you, the evil was done. Your affection, yourmaternal love, the only true happiness of my life, could not save me. I, who had suffered so much, endured so many privations, even the pangs ofhunger, became spoiled by this new life of luxury and pleasure whichyou opened before me. I rushed headlong into extravagance, as a drunkardlong deprived of liquor seizes and drains to the dregs the first bottlein his reach. "

Mme. Fauvel listened, silent and terrified, to these words of despairand remorse, which Raoul uttered with vehemence. 

She dared not interrupt him, but felt certain some dreadful piece ofnews was coming. 

Raoul continued in a sad, hopeless tone:

"Yes, I have been a weak fool. Happiness was within my reach, and Ihad not the sense to stretch forth my hand and grab it. I rejected aheavenly reality to eagerly pursue a vain phantom. I, who ought to havespent my life at your feet, and daily striven to express my gratitudefor your lavish kindness, have made you unhappy, destroyed your peace ofmind, and, instead of being a blessing, I have been a curse ever sincethe first fatal day you welcomed me to your kind heart. Ah, unfeelingbrute that I was, to squander upon creatures whom I despised, a fortune, of which each gold piece must have cost you a tear! Too late, too late!With you I might have been a good and happy man!"

He stopped, as if overcome by the conviction of his evil deeds, andseemed about to burst into tears. 

"It is never too late to repent, my son, " murmured Mme. Fauvel incomforting tones. 

"Ah, if I only could!" cried Raoul; "but no, it is too late! Besides, can I tell how long my good resolutions will last? This is not the firsttime that I have condemned myself pitilessly. Stinging remorse for eachnew fault made me swear to lead a better life, to sin no more. What wasthe result of these periodical repentances? At the first temptation Iforgot my remorse and good resolutions. I am weak and mean-spirited, and you are not firm enough to govern my vacillating nature. Whilemy intentions are good, my actions are villainous. The disproportionbetween my extravagant desires, and the means of gratifying them, is toogreat for me to endure any longer. Who knows to what fearful lengths myunfortunate disposition may lead me? However, I will take my fate in myown hands!" he finally said with a reckless laugh. 

"Oh, Raoul, my dear son, " cried Mme. Fauvel in an agony of terror, "explain these dreadful words; am I not your mother? Tell me whatdistresses you; I am ready to hear the worst. "

He appeared to hesitate, as if afraid to crush his mother's heart by theterrible blow he was about to inflict. Then in a voice of gloomy despairhe replied:

"I am ruined. "

"Ruined?"

"Yes, ruined; and I have nothing more to expect or hope for. I amdishonored, and all through my own fault; no one is to be blamed butmyself. "

"Raoul!"

"It is the sad truth, my poor mother; but fear nothing: I shall nottrail in the dust the name which you bestowed upon me. I will at leasthave the courage not to survive my dishonor. Come, mother, don't pityme, or distress yourself; I am one of those miserable beings fated tofind no peace save in the arms of death. I came into the world withmisfortune stamped upon my brow. Was not my birth a shame and disgraceto you? Did not the memory of my existence haunt you day and night, filling your soul with remorse? And now, when I am restored to you aftermany years' separation, do I not prove to be a bitter curse instead of ablessing?"

"Ungrateful boy! Have I ever reproached you?"

"Never! Your poor Raoul will die with your beloved name on his lips;his last words a prayer to Heaven to heap blessings upon your head, andreward your long-suffering devotion. "

"Die? You die, my son!"

"It must be, my dear mother; honor compels it. I am condemned by judgesfrom whose decision no appeal can be taken--my conscience and my will. "

An hour ago, Mme. Fauvel would have sworn that Raoul had made her sufferall the torments that a woman could endure; but now she felt that allher former troubles were nothing compared with her present agony. 

"My God! Raoul, what have you been doing?"

"Money was intrusted to me: I gambled and lost it. "

"Was it a large sum?"

"No; but more than I can replace. My poor mother, have I not takeneverything from you? Did you not give me your last jewel?"

"But M. De Clameran is rich. He placed his fortune at my disposal. Iwill order the carriage, and go to him. "

"But M. De Clameran is absent, and will not return to Paris until nextweek; and if I do not have the money this evening, I am lost. Alas! Ihave thought deeply, and, although it is hard to die so young, stillfate wills it so. "

He pulled a pistol from his pocket, and, with a forced smile, said:

"This will settle everything. "

Mme. Fauvel was too excited and frightened to reflect upon the horrorof Raoul's behavior, and that these wild threats were a last resortfor obtaining money. Forgetful of the past, careless of the future, herevery thought concentrated upon the present, she comprehended butone fact: that her son was about to commit suicide, and that she waspowerless to prevent the fearful deed. 

"Oh, wait a little while my son!" she cried. "Andre will soon returnhome, and I will ask him to give me--How much did you lose?"

"Thirty thousand francs. "

"You shall have them to-morrow. "

"But I must have the money to-night. "

Mme. Fauvel wrung her hands in despair. 

"Oh! why did you not come to me sooner, my son? Why did you not haveconfidence enough in me to come at once for help? This evening! There isno one in the house to open the money-safe; if it were not for that--ifyou had only come before Andre went out--"

"The safe!" cried Raoul, with sudden joy, as if this magic word hadthrown a ray of light upon his dark despair; "do you know where the keyis kept?"

"Yes: it is in the next room. "

"Well!" he exclaimed, with a bold look that caused Mme. Fauvel to lowerher eyes, and keep silent. 

"Give me the key, mother, " he said in a tone of entreaty. 

"Oh, Raoul, Raoul!"

"It is my life I am asking of you. "

These words decided her; she snatched up a candle, rushed into herchamber, opened the secretary, and took out M. Fauvel's key. 

But, when about to hand it to Raoul, she seemed to suddenly see theenormity of what she was doing. 

"Oh, Raoul! my son, " she murmured, "I cannot! Do not ask me to commitsuch a dreadful deed!"

He said nothing, but sadly turned to leave the room; then coming back tohis mother said:

"Ah, well; it makes but little difference in the end! At least, you willgive me one last kiss, before we part forever, my darling mother!"

"What could you do with the key, Raoul?" interrupted Mme. Fauvel. "Youdo not know the secret word of the buttons. "

"No; but I can try to open it without moving the buttons. "

"You know that money is never kept in the safe over-night. "

"Nevertheless, I can make the attempt. If I open the safe, and findmoney in it, it will be a miracle, showing that Heaven has pitied mymisfortune, and provided relief. "

"And if you are not successful, will you promise me to wait untilto-morrow, to do nothing rash to-night?"

"I swear it, by my father's memory. "

"Then take the key and follow me. "

Pale and trembling, Raoul and Mme. Fauvel passed through the banker'sstudy, and down the narrow staircase leading to the offices andcash-room below. 

Raoul walked in front, holding the light, and the key of the safe. 

Mme. Fauvel was convinced that it would be utterly impossible to openthe safe, as the key was useless without the secret word, and of courseRaoul had no way of discovering what that was. 

Even granting that some chance had revealed the secret to him, he wouldfind but little in the safe, since everything was deposited in the Bankof France. Everyone knew that no large sum was ever kept in the safeafter banking hours. 

The only anxiety she felt was, how Raoul would bear the disappointment, and how she could calm his despair. 

She thought that she would gain time by letting Raoul try the key; andthen, when he could not open the safe, he would keep his promise, andwait until the next day. There was surely no harm in letting him try thelock, when he could not touch the money. 

"When he sees there is no chance of success, " she thought, "he willlisten to my entreaties; and to-morrow--to-morrow----"

What she could do to-morrow she knew not, she did not even ask herself. But in extreme situations the least delay inspires hope, as if a shortrespite meant sure salvation. 

The condemned man, at the last moment, begs for a reprieve of a day, anhour, a few seconds. Raoul was about to kill himself: his mother prayedto God to grant her one day, not even a day, one night; as if in thisspace of time some unexpected relief would come to end her misery. 

They reached Prosper's office, and Raoul placed the light on a highstool so that it lighted the whole room. 

He then summoned up all his coolness, or rather that mechanicalprecision of movement, almost independent of will, of which menaccustomed to peril avail themselves in time of need. 

Rapidly, with the dexterity of experience, he slipped the buttons on thefive letters composing the name of G, y, p, s, y. 

His features, during this short operation, expressed the most intenseanxiety. He was fearful that his nervous energy might give out; of notbeing able to open the safe; of not finding the money there whenhe opened it; of Prosper having changed the word; or perhaps havingneglected to leave the money in the safe. 

Mme. Fauvel saw these visible apprehensions with alarm. She read in hiseyes that wild hope of a man who, passionately desiring an object, ends by persuading himself that his own will suffices to overcome allobstacles. 

Having often been present when Prosper was preparing to leave hisoffice, Raoul had fifty times seen him move the buttons, and lock thesafe, just before leaving the bank. Indeed, having a practical turnof mind, and an eye to the future, he had even tried to lock the safehimself on several occasions, while waiting for Prosper. 

He inserted the key softly, turned it around, pushed it farther in, and turned it a second time; then thrust it in suddenly, and turned itagain. His heart beat so loudly that Mme. Fauvel could hear its throbs. 

The word had not been changed; the safe opened. 

Raoul and his mother simultaneously uttered a cry; she of terror, he oftriumph. 

"Shut it again!" cried Mme. Fauvel, frightened at the incomprehensibleresult of Raoul's attempt: "Come away! Don't touch anything, forHeaven's sake! Raoul!"

And, half frenzied, she clung to Raoul's arm, and pulled him away soabruptly, that the key was dragged from the lock, and, slipping alongthe glossy varnish of the safe-door, made a deep scratch some incheslong. 

But at a glance Raoul discovered, on the upper shelf of the safe, threebundles of bank-notes. He snatched them up with his left hand, andslipped them inside his vest. 

Exhausted by the effort she had just made, Mme. Fauvel dropped Raoul'sarm, and, almost fainting with emotion, clung to the back of a chair. 

"Have mercy, Raoul!" she moaned. "I implore you to put back that moneyand I solemnly swear that I will give you twice as much to-morrow. Oh, my son, have pity upon your unhappy mother!"

He paid no attention to these words of entreaty, but carefully examinedthe scratch on the safe. He was alarmed at this trace of the robbery, which it was impossible for him to cover up. 

"At least you will not take all, " said Mme. Fauvel; "just keep enough tosave yourself, and put back the rest. "

"What good would that do? The discovery will be made that the safe hasbeen opened; so I might as well take all as a part. "

"Oh, no! not at all. I can account to Andre; I will tell him I had apressing need for a certain sum, and opened the safe to get it. "

In the meantime Raoul had carefully closed the safe. 

"Come, mother, let us go back to the sitting-room. A servant might gothere to look for you, and be astonished at our absence. "

Raoul's cruel indifference and cold calculations at such a moment filledMme. Fauvel with indignation. She saw that she had no influence over herson, that her prayers and tears had no effect upon his hard heart. 

"Let them be astonished, " she cried: "let them come here and find us! Iwill be relieved to put an end to this tissue of crime. Then Andre willknow all, and drive me from his house. Let come what will, I shallnot sacrifice another victim. Prosper will be accused of this theftto-morrow. Clameran defrauded him of the woman he loved, and now youwould deprive him of his honor! I will have nothing to do with so base acrime. "

She spoke so loud and angrily that Raoul was alarmed. He knew that theerrand-boy slept in a room close by, and might be in bed listening toher, although it was early in the evening. 

"Come upstairs!" he said, seizing Mme. Fauvel's arm. 

But she clung to a table and refused to move a step. 

"I have been cowardly enough to sacrifice Madeleine, " she said, "but Iwill not ruin Prosper. "

Raoul had an argument in reserve which he knew would make Mme. Fauvelsubmit to his will. 

"Now, really, " he said with a cynical laugh, "do you pretend that you donot know Prosper and I arranged this little affair together, and that heis to have half the booty?"

"Impossible! I never will believe such a thing of Prosper!"

"Why, how do you suppose I discovered the secret word? Who do yousuppose disobeyed orders, and left the money in the safe?"

"Prosper is honest. "

"Of course he is, and so am I too. The only thing is, that we both needmoney. "

"You are telling a falsehood, Raoul!"

"Upon my soul, I am not. Madeleine rejected Prosper, and the poor fellowhas to console himself for her cruelty; and these sorts of consolationsare expensive, my good mother. "

He took up the candle, and gently but firmly led Mme. Fauvel toward thestaircase. 

She mechanically suffered herself to be led along, more bewildered bywhat she had just heard than she was at the opening of the safe-door. 

"What!" she gasped, "can Prosper be a thief?"

She began to think herself the victim of a terrible nightmare, and that, when she waked, her mind would be relieved of this intolerable torture. She helplessly clung to Raoul's arm as he helped her up the narrowlittle staircase. 

"You must put the key back in the secretary, " said Raoul, as soon asthey were in the chamber again. 

But she did not seem to hear him; so he went and replaced the safe-keyin the place from which he had seen her take it. 

He then led, or rather carried, Mme. Fauvel into the littlesitting-room, and placed her in an easy-chair. 

The set, expressionless look of the wretched woman's eyes, and her dazedmanner, frightened Raoul, who thought that she had lost her mind, thather reason had finally given way beneath this last terrible shock. 

"Come, cheer up, my dear mother, " he said in coaxing tones as he rubbedher icy hands; "you have saved my life, and rendered an immense serviceto Prosper. Don't be alarmed; everything will come out right in theend. Prosper will be accused, perhaps arrested; he expects that, and isprepared for it; he will deny his culpability; and, as there is no proofagainst him, he will be set at liberty immediately. "

But these falsehoods were wasted on Mme. Fauvel, who was incapable ofunderstanding anything said to her. 

"Raoul, " she moaned in a broken-hearted tone, "Raoul, my son, you havekilled me. "

Her gentle voice, kind even in its despairing accents, touched the verybottom of Raoul's perverted heart, and once more his soul was wrungby remorse; so that he felt inclined to put back the stolen money, andcomfort the despairing woman whose life and reason he was destroying. The thought of Clameran restrained him. 

Finding his efforts to restore Mme. Fauvel fruitless, that, in spiteof all his affectionate regrets and promises, she still sat silent, motionless, and death-like; and fearing that M. Fauvel or Madeleinemight enter at any moment, and demand an explanation, he hastily presseda kiss upon his mother's brow, and hurried from the house. 

At the restaurant, in the room where they had dined, Clameran, torturedby anxiety, awaited his accomplice. 

He wondered if at the last moment, when he was not near to sustain him, Raoul would prove a coward, and retreat; if any unforeseen trifle hadprevented his finding the key; if any visitors were there; and, if so, would they depart before M. Fauvel's return from the dinner-party?

He had worked himself into such a state of excitement, that, when Raoulreturned, he flew to him with ashy face and trembling all over, andcould scarcely gasp out:

"Well?"

"The deed is done, uncle, thanks to you; and I am now the mostmiserable, abject villain on the face of the earth. "

He unbuttoned his vest, and, pulling out the four bundles of bank-notes, angrily dashed them upon the table, saying, in a tone of scorn anddisgust:

"Now I hope you are satisfied. This is the price of the happiness, honor, and perhaps the life of three people. "

Clameran paid no attention to these angry words. With feverish eagernesshe seized the notes, and rattled them in his hand as if to convincehimself of the reality of success. 

"Now Madeleine is mine!" he cried excitedly. 

Raoul looked at Clameran in silent disgust. This exhibition of joy wasa shocking contrast to the scene in which he had just been an actor. Hewas humiliated at being the tool of such a heartless scoundrel as he nowknew Clameran to be. 

Louis misinterpreted this silence, and said gayly:

"Did you have much difficulty?"

"I forbid you ever to allude to this evening's work, " cried Raoulfiercely. "Do you hear me? I wish to forget it. "

Clameran shrugged his shoulders at this outburst of anger, and said in abantering tone:

"Just as you please, my handsome nephew: I rather think you will wantto remember it though, when I offer you these three hundred and fiftythousand francs. You will not, I am sure, refuse to accept them as aslight souvenir. Take them: they are yours. "

This generosity seemed neither to surprise nor satisfy Raoul. 

"According to our agreement, " he said sullenly, "I was to have more thanthis. "

"Of course: this is only part of your share. "

"And when am I to have the rest, if you please?"

"The day I marry Madeleine, and not before, my boy. You are too valuablean assistant to lose at present; and you know that, though I don'tmistrust you, I am not altogether sure of your sincere affection forme. "

Raoul reflected that to commit a crime, and not profit by it, would bethe height of absurdity. He had come with the intention of breaking offall connection with Clameran; but he now determined that he would notabandon his accomplice until he had been well paid for his services. 

"Very well, " he said, "I accept this on account; but remember, I willnever do another piece of work like this to-night. You can do what youplease; I shall flatly refuse. "

Clameran burst into a loud laugh, and said:

"That is sensible: now that you are rich, you can afford to be honest. Set your conscience at rest, for I promise you I will require nothingmore of you save a few trifling services. You can retire behind thescenes now, while I appear upon the stage; my role begins. "

XXI

For more than an hour after Raoul's departure, Mme. Fauvel remained in astate of stupor bordering upon unconsciousness. 

Gradually, however, she recovered her senses sufficiently to comprehendthe horrors of her present situation; and, with the faculty of thought, that of suffering returned. 

The dreadful scene in which she had taken part was still before heraffrighted vision; all the attending circumstances, unnoticed at thetime, now struck her forcibly. 

She saw that she had been the dupe of a shameful conspiracy: that Raoulhad tortured her with cold-blooded cruelty, had taken advantage of hertenderness, and had speculated upon her fright. 

But had Prosper anything to do with the robbery? This Mme. Fauvel hadno way of finding out. Ah, Raoul knew how the blow would strike when heaccused Prosper. He knew that Mme. Fauvel would end by believing in thecashier's complicity. 

The unhappy woman sat and thought over every possible way in which Raoulcould find out the secret word without Prosper's knowledge. She rejectedwith horror the idea that the cashier was the instigator of the crime;but, in spite of herself, it constantly recurred. And finally she feltconvinced that what Raoul said must be true; for who but Prosper couldhave betrayed the word? And who but Prosper could have left so large anamount of money in the safe, which, by order of the banker, was to bealways left empty at night?

Knowing that Prosper was leading a life of extravagance and dissipation, she thought it very likely that he had, from sheer desperation, resortedto this bold step to pay his debts; her blind affection, moreover, madeher anxious to attribute the crime to anyone, rather than to her darlingson. 

She had heard that Prosper was supporting one of those worthlesscreatures whose extravagance impoverishes men, and whose evil influenceperverts their natures. When a young man is thus degraded, will hestop at any sin or crime? Alas! Mme. Fauvel knew, from her own sadexperience, to what depths even one fault can lead. Although shebelieved Prosper guilty, she did not blame him, but considered herselfresponsible for his sins. 

Had she not herself banished the poor young man from the fireside whichhe had begun to regard as his own? Had she not destroyed his hopes ofhappiness, by crushing his pure love for a noble girl, whom he lookedupon as his future wife, and thus driven him into a life of dissipationand sin?

She was undecided whether to confide in Madeleine, or bury the secret inher own breast. 

Fatally inspired, she decided to keep silent. 

When Madeleine returned home at eleven o'clock, Mme. Fauvel not only wassilent as to what had occurred, but even succeeded in so concealing alltraces of her agitation, that she escaped any questions from her niece. 

Her calmness never left her when M. Fauvel and Lucien returned, althoughshe was in terror lest her husband should go down to the cash-room tosee that everything was safely locked up. It was not his habit to openthe money-safe at night, but he sometimes did. 

As fate would have it, the banker, as soon as he entered the room, beganto speak of Prosper, saying how distressing it was that so interesting ayoung man should be thus throwing himself away, and wondering what couldhave happened to make him suddenly cease his visits at the house, andresort to bad company. 

If M. Fauvel had looked at the faces of his wife and niece while heharshly blamed the cashier, he would have been puzzled at their strangeexpressions. 

All night long Mme. Fauvel suffered the most intolerable agony. Shecounted each stroke of the town-clock, as the hours dragged on. 

"In six hours, " she said to herself, "in five hours--in four hours--inthree hours--in one hour--all will be discovered; and then what willhappen? Heaven help me!"

At sunrise she heard the servants moving about the house. Then theoffice-shutters opened; then, later, she heard the clerks going into thebank. 

She attempted to get up, but felt so ill and weak that she sank backon her pillow; and lying there, trembling like a leaf, bathed in coldperspiration, she awaited the discovery of the robbery. 

She was leaning over the side of the bed, straining her ear to catch asound from the cash-room, when Madeleine, who had just left her, rushedinto the room. 

The white face and wild eyes of the poor girl told Mme. Fauvel that thecrime was discovered. 

"Do you know what has happened, aunt?" cried Madeleine, in a shrill, horrified tone. "Prosper is accused of robbery, and the police have cometo take him to prison!"

A groan was Mme. Fauvel's only answer. 

"Raoul or the marquis is at the bottom of this, " continued Madeleineexcitedly. 

"How can they be concerned in it, my child?"

"I can't tell yet; but I only know that Prosper is innocent. I have justseen him, spoken to him. He would never have looked me in the face hadhe been guilty. "

Mme. Fauvel opened her lips to confess all: fear kept her silent. 

"What can these wretches want?" said Madeleine: "what new sacrifice dothey demand? Dishonor Prosper! Good heavens! Why did they not kill himat once? He would rather be dead than disgraced!"

Here the entrance of M. Fauvel interrupted Madeleine. The banker was soangry that he could scarcely speak. 

"The worthless scoundrel!" he cried; "to think of his daring to accuseme! To insinuate that I robbed my own safe! And that Marquis de Clameranmust needs doubt my good faith in keeping my engagement to pay hismoney!"

Then, without noticing the effect of his story upon the two women, heproceeded to relate all that had occurred downstairs. 

"I was afraid this extravagance would lead to something terrible, " hesaid in conclusion; "you know I told you last night that Prosper wasgrowing worse in his conduct, and that he would get into trouble. "

Throughout the day Madeleine's devotion to her aunt was severely tried. 

The generous girl saw disgrace heaped upon the man she loved. She hadperfect faith in his innocence; she felt sure she knew who had laid thetrap to ruin him; and yet she could not say a word in his defence. 

Fearing that Madeleine would suspect her of complicity in the theft, ifshe remained in bed and betrayed so much agitation, Mme. Fauvel aroseand dressed for breakfast. 

It was a dreary meal. No one tasted a morsel. The servants moved abouton their tiptoes, as silently as if a death had occurred in the family. 

About two o'clock, a servant came to M. Fauvel's study, and said thatthe Marquis de Clameran desired to see him. 

"What!" cried the banker; "does he dare----"

Then, after a moment's reflection, he added:

"Ask him to walk up. "

The very name of Clameran had sufficed to arouse all the slumberingwrath of M. Fauvel. The victim of a robbery, finding his safe empty atthe moment that he was called upon to make a heavy payment, he had beenconstrained to conceal his anger and resentment; but now he determinedto have his revenge upon his insolent visitor. 

But the marquis declined to come upstairs. The messenger returned withthe answer that the gentleman had a particular reason for seeing M. Fauvel in the office below, where the clerks were. 

"What does this fresh impertinence mean?" cried the banker, as heangrily jumped up and hastened downstairs. 

M. De Clameran was standing in the middle of the room adjoining thecash-room; M. Fauvel walked up to him, and said bluntly:

"What do you want now, monsieur? You have been paid your money, and Ihave your receipt. "

To the surprise of all the clerks, and the banker himself, the marquisseemed not in the least offended at this rude greeting, but answered ina deferential but not at all humble manner:

"You are hard upon me, monsieur; but I deserve it, and that is why I amhere. A gentleman always acknowledges when he is in the wrong: in thisinstance I am the offender; and I flatter myself that my past willpermit me to say so without being accused of cowardice or lack ofself-respect. I insisted upon seeing you here instead of in your study, because, having been rude to you in the presence of your clerks, Iwished them to hear me apologize for my behavior of this morning. "

Clameran's speech was so different from his usual overbearing, haughtyconduct, that surprise almost stupefied the banker, and he could onlyanswer:

"I must say that I was hurt by your doubts, insinuations, suspicions ofmy honor----"

"This morning, " continued the marquis, "I was irritated, andthoughtlessly gave way to my temper. Although I am gray-headed, mydisposition is as excitable as that of a fiery young man of twentyyears; and I hope you will forget words uttered in a moment ofexcitement, and now deeply regretted. "

M. Fauvel, being a kind-hearted though quick-tempered man, couldappreciate Clameran's feelings; and, knowing that his own highreputation for scrupulous honesty could not be affected by any hasty orabusive language uttered by a creditor, at once calmed down before sofrank an apology; and, holding out his hand to Clameran, said:

"Let us forget what happened, monsieur. "

They conversed in a friendly manner for some minutes; and, afterClameran had explained why he had such pressing need of the money atthat particular hour of the morning, turned to leave, saying that hewould do himself the honor of calling upon Mme. Fauvel during the day. 

"That is, if a visit from me would not be considered intrusive, " he saidwith a shade of hesitation. "Perhaps, after the trouble of this morning, she does not wish to be disturbed. "

"Oh, no!" said the banker; "come, by all means; I think a visit from youwould cheer her mind. I shall be from home all day, trying to trace thisunfortunate affair. "

Mme. Fauvel was in the same room where Raoul had threatened to killhimself the night previous; she looked very pale and ill as she lay on asofa. Madeleine was bathing her forehead. 

When M. De Clameran was announced, they both started up as if a phantomhad appeared before them. 

Although Louis had been gay and smiling when he parted from M. Fauveldownstairs, he now wore a melancholy aspect, as he gravely bowed, andrefused to seat himself in the chair which Mme. Fauvel motioned him totake. 

"You will excuse me, ladies, for intruding at this time of youraffliction; but I have a duty to fulfil. "

The two women were silent; they seemed to be waiting for him to explain. He added in an undertone:

"I know all. "

By an imploring gesture, Mme. Fauvel tried to stop him. She saw that hewas about to reveal her secret to Madeleine. 

But Louis would not see this gesture; he turned his whole attention toMadeleine, who haughtily said:

"Explain yourself, monsieur. "

"Only one hour ago, " he replied, "I discovered that Raoul last nightforced from his mother the key of the money-safe, and stole threehundred and fifty thousand francs. "

Madeleine crimsoned with shame and indignation; she leaned over thesofa, and seizing her aunt's wrist shook it violently, and in a hollowvoice cried:

"It is false, is it not, aunt? speak!"

"Alas! alas!" groaned Mme. Fauvel. "What have I done?"

"You have allowed Prosper to be accused, " cried Madeleine; "you havesuffered him to be arrested, and disgraced for life. "

"Forgive me, " sighed Mme. Fauvel. "He was about to kill himself; I wasso frightened! Then you know--Prosper was to share the money: he gaveRaoul the secret word--"

"Good Heavens! Aunt, how could you believe such a falsehood as that?"

Clameran interrupted them. 

"Unfortunately, what your aunt says of M. Bertomy is the truth, " he saidin a sad tone. 

"Your proofs, monsieur; where are your proofs?"

"Raoul's confession. "

"Raoul is false. "

"That is only too true: but how did he find out the word, if M. Bertomydid not reveal it? And who left the money in the safe but M. Bertomy?"

These arguments had no effect upon Madeleine. 

"And now tell me, " she said scornfully, "what became of the money?"

There was no mistaking the significance of these words: they meant:

"You are the instigator of the robbery, and of course you have takenpossession of the money. "

This harsh accusation from a girl whom he so passionately loved, when, grasping bandit as he was, he gave up for her sake all the money gainedby his crime, so cruelly hurt Clameran that he turned livid. But hismortification and anger did not prevent him from pursuing the part hehad prepared and studied. 

"A day will come, mademoiselle, " he said, "when you will deeply regrethaving treated me so cruelly. I understand your insinuation; you neednot attempt to deny it. "

"I have no idea of denying anything, monsieur. "

"Madeleine!" remonstrated Mme. Fauvel, who trembled at the rising angerof the man who held her fate in his hands, "Madeleine, be careful!"

"Mademoiselle is pitiless, " said Clameran sadly; "she cruelly punishesan honorable man whose only fault is having obeyed his brother'sdying injunctions. And I am here now, because I believe in the jointresponsibility of all the members of a family. "

Here he slowly drew from his pocket several bundles of bank-notes, andlaid them on the mantel-piece. 

"Raoul stole three hundred and fifty thousand francs, " he said: "Ireturn the same amount. It is more than half my fortune. Willingly wouldI give the rest to insure this being the last crime committed by him. "

Too inexperienced to penetrate this bold, and yet simple plan ofClameran's, Madeleine was dumb with astonishment; all her calculationswere upset. 

Mme. Fauvel, on the contrary, accepted this restitution as salvationsent from heaven. 

"Oh, thanks, monsieur, thanks!" she cried, gratefully claspingClameran's hand in hers; "you are goodness itself!"

Louis's eye lit up with pleasure. But he rejoiced too soon. A minute'sreflection brought back all of Madeleine's distrust. She thought thismagnanimity and generosity unnatural in a man whom she consideredincapable of a noble sentiment, and at once concluded that it mustconceal some snare beneath. 

"What are we to do with the money?" she demanded. 

"Restore it to M. Fauvel, mademoiselle. "

"We restore it, monsieur, and how? Restoring the money is denouncingRaoul, and ruining my aunt. Take back your money, monsieur. We will nottouch it. "

Clameran was too shrewd to insist; he took up the money, and prepared toleave. 

"I comprehend your refusal, mademoiselle, and must find another wayof accomplishing my wish. But, before retiring, let me say that yourinjustice pains me deeply. After the promise you made to me, I hadreason to hope for a kinder welcome. "

"I will keep my promise, monsieur; but not until you have furnishedsecurity. "

"Security! And for what? Pray, explain yourself. "

"Something to protect my aunt against the molestations of Raoul aftermy--marriage. What is to prevent his coming to extort money from hismother after he has squandered my dowry? A man who spends a hundredthousand francs in four months will soon run through my little fortune. We are making a bargain; I give you my hand in exchange for the honorand life of my aunt; and of course you must give me some guarantee tosecure the performance of your promise. "

"Oh! I will give you ample securities, " cried Clameran, "such as willquiet all your suspicious doubts of my good faith. Alas! you willnot believe in my devotion; what shall I do to convince you of itssincerity? Shall I try to save M. Bertomy?"

"Thanks for the offer, monsieur, " replied Madeleine disdainfully; "ifProsper is guilty, let him be punished by the law; if he is innocent, God will protect him. "

Here Madeleine stood up, to signify that the interview was over. 

Clameran bowed, and left the room. 

"What pride! What determination! The idea of her demanding securitiesof me!" he said to himself as he slowly walked away. "But the proud girlshall be humbled yet. She is so beautiful! and, if I did not so madlylove her, I would kill her on the spot!"

Never had Clameran been so irritated. 

Madeleine's quiet determination and forethought had unexpectedly thrownhim off his well-laid track; not anticipating any such self assertion onher part, he was disconcerted, and at a loss how to proceed. 

He knew that it would be useless to attempt deceiving a girl ofMadeleine's character a second time; he saw that she had penetrated hismotives sufficiently to put her on the defensive, and prepare her forany new surprise. Moreover, she would prevent Mme. Fauvel from beingfrightened and forced into submission any longer. 

With mortification and rage, Louis saw that after all his plotting, whensuccess was in his reach, when his hopes were almost crowned, he hadbeen foiled and scornfully set at defiance by a girl: the whole thingwould have to be gone over again. 

Although Madeleine had resigned herself to sacrifice, it was stillevident that she had no idea of doing so blindly, and would not hazardher aunt's and her own happiness upon the uncertainty of a verbalpromise. 

Clameran racked his brain to furnish guarantees; how could he convinceher that Raoul had no idea or desire of annoying Mme. Fauvel in thefuture?

He could not tell Madeleine that her dowry was to be the bribe receivedby Raoul for his future good behavior and past crimes. 

The knowledge of all the circumstances of this shameful criminalintrigue would have reassured her upon her aunt's peace of mind; butthen it would never do to inform her of these details, certainly notbefore the marriage. 

What securities could he give? Not one could he think of. 

But Clameran was not one of those slow-minded men who take weeks toconsider a difficulty. When he could not untie a knot, he would cut it. 

Raoul was a stumbling-block to his wishes, and he swore to rid himselfof his troublesome accomplice as soon as possible. 

Although it was not an easy matter to dispose of so cunning a knave, Clameran felt no hesitation in undertaking to accomplish his purpose. Hewas incited by one of those passions which age renders terrible. 

The more certain he was of Madeleine's contempt and dislike, the moredetermined he was to marry her. His love seemed to be a sort of insanedesire to possess and call his own the one being whom he recognized ashis superior in every way. 

But he had sense enough to see that he might ruin his prospects by unduehaste, and that the safest course would be to await the result of therobbery and its effect upon Prosper. 

He waited in anxious expectation of a summons from Mme. Fauvel. At lasthe concluded that Madeleine was waiting for him to make the next move inthe direction of yielding. 

He was right; Madeleine knew that after the last bold step theaccomplices would remain quiet for a while; she knew resistance couldhave no worse results than would cowardly submission; and thereforeassumed the entire responsibility of managing the affair so as to keepat bay both Raoul and Clameran. 

She knew that Mme. Fauvel would be anxious to accept any terms of peace, but she determined to use all her influence to prevent her doing this, and to force upon her the necessity of preserving a dignified silence. 

This accounted for the silence of the two women, who were quietlywaiting for their adversaries to renew hostilities. 

They even succeeded in concealing their anxiety beneath assumedindifference; never asking any questions about the robbery, or those inany way connected with it. 

M. Fauvel brought them an account of Prosper's examination, the manycharges brought against him, his obstinate denial of having stolen themoney; and finally how, after great perplexity and close study of thecase by the judge of instruction, the cashier had been discharged forwant of sufficient proof against him. 

Since Clameran's offer to restore the notes, Mme. Fauvel had not doubtedProsper's guilt. She said nothing, but inwardly accused him of havingseduced her son from the path of virtue, and enticed him into crime--herson whom she would never cease to love, no matter how great his faults. 

Madeleine had perfect faith in Prosper's innocence. 

She was so confident of his being restored to liberty that she venturedto ask her uncle, under pretext of some charitable object, to giveher ten thousand francs, which she sent to the unfortunate victim ofcircumstantial evidence; who, from what she had heard of his poverty, must be in need of assistance. 

In the letter--cut from her prayer-book to avoid detection bywriting--accompanying the money, she advised Prosper to leave France, because she knew that it would be impossible for a man of his proudnature to remain on the scene of his disgrace; the greater hisinnocence, the more intolerable his suffering. 

Besides, Madeleine, at that time feeling that she would be obliged tomarry Clameran, was anxious to have the man she loved far, far away fromher. 

On the day that this anonymous present was sent, in opposition to thewishes of Mme. Fauvel, the two poor women were entangled fearfully inpecuniary difficulties. 

The tradesmen whose money had been squandered by Raoul refused to givecredit any longer, and insisted upon their bills being paid at once;saying they could not understand how a man of M. Fauvel's wealth andposition could keep them waiting for such insignificant sums. 

The butcher, grocer, and wine-merchant had bills of one, two, and fivehundred francs only; but, not having even that small amount, Mme. Fauvelhad difficulty in prevailing upon them to receive a part on account, andwait a little longer for the residue. 

Some of the store-keepers threatened to ask the banker for their money, if everything was not settled before the end of the week. 

Alas! Mme. Fauvel's indebtedness amounted to fifteen thousand francs. 

Madeleine and her aunt had declined all invitations during the winter, to avoid purchasing evening dresses; having always been remarkable fortheir superb toilets, seldom appearing in the same ball-dress twice, they dared not give rise to comment by wearing their old dresses, andknowing that M. Fauvel would be the first to ask the cause of thissudden change, as he liked to see them always the best-dressed women inthe room. 

But at last they were obliged to appear in public. M. Fauvel's mostintimate friends, the Messrs. Jandidier, were about to give a splendidball, and, as fate would have it, a fancy ball, which would require thepurchasing of costumes. 

Where would the money come from?

They had been owing a large bill to their dressmaker for over a year. Would she consent to furnish them dresses on credit? They were ashamedto ask her. 

Madeleine's new maid, Palmyre Chocareille, extricated them from thisdifficulty. 

This girl, who seemed to have suffered all the minor ills oflife--which, after all, are the hardest to bear--seemed to have divinedher mistress's anxiety. 

At any rate, she voluntarily informed Madeleine that a friend of hers, a first-class dressmaker, had just set up for herself, and would be gladto furnish materials and make the dresses on credit, for the sake ofobtaining the patronage of Mme. Fauvel and her niece, which would atonce bring her plenty of fashionable customers. 

But, after this dilemma was settled, a still greater one presenteditself. 

Mme. Fauvel and her niece could not appear at a ball without jewelry;and every jewel they owned had been taken by Raoul, and pawned. 

After thinking the matter over, Madeleine decided to ask Raoul to takesome of the stolen money, and redeem the last set of jewels he hadforced from his mother. She informed her aunt of her intention, andsaid, in a tone that admitted of no contradiction:

"Appoint an interview with Raoul: he will not dare to refuse you; and Iwill go in your stead. "

The next day, the courageous girl took a cab, and, regardless of theinclement weather, went to Vesinet. 

She would have been filled with consternation had she known that M. Verduret and Prosper were following close behind, and witnessed herinterview from the top of a ladder. 

Her bold step was fruitless. Raoul swore that he had divided withProsper; that his own half of the money was spent, and that he had not anapoleon wherewith to redeem anything. 

He even refused to give up the pledges; and Madeleine had to resortto threats of exposure, before she could induce him to surrender thetickets of four or five trifling articles that were indispensable totheir toilet. 

Clameran had ordered him to refuse positively to give up a singleticket, because he hoped that in their distress they would call upon himfor relief. 

The violent altercation witnessed by Clameran's new valet, JosephDubois, had been caused by the exaction of this promise. 

The accomplices were at that time on very bad terms. Clameran wasseeking a safe means of getting rid of Raoul; and the young scamp, having a presentiment of his uncle's intentions, was determined tooutwit him. 

Nothing but the certainty of impending danger could reconcile them. Thedanger was revealed to them both at the Jandidier ball. 

Who was the mysterious mountebank that indulged in such transparentallusions to Mme. Fauvel's private troubles, and then said, withthreatening significance to Louis: "I was the best friend of yourbrother Gaston?"

Who he was, where he came from, they could not imagine; but theyclearly saw that he was a dangerous enemy, and forthwith attempted toassassinate him upon his leaving the ball. 

Having been followed and watched by their would-be victim, they becamealarmed--especially when he suddenly disappeared--and wisely decidedthat the safest thing they then could do was to return quietly to theirhotel. 

"We cannot be too guarded in our conduct, " whispered Clameran; "we mustdiscover who he is before taking any further steps in this matter. "

Once more, Raoul tried to induce him to give up his project of marryingMadeleine. 

"Never!" he exclaimed fiercely, "I will marry her or perish in theattempt!"

He thought that, now they were warned, the danger of being caught waslessened; when on his guard, few people could entrap so experienced andskilful a rogue. 

Little did Clameran know that a man who was a hundred-fold more skilfulthan he was closely pursuing him. 

XXII

THE CATASTROPHE

Such are the facts that, with an almost incredible talent forinvestigation, had been collected and prepared by the stout man with thejovial face who had taken Prosper under his protection, M. Verduret. 

Reaching Paris at nine o'clock in the evening, not by the Lyons roadas he had said, but by the Orleans train, M. Verduret hurried up to theArchangel, where he found the cashier impatiently expecting him. 

"You are about to hear some rich developments, " he said to Prosper, "andsee how far back into the past one has to seek for the primary cause ofa crime. All things are linked together and dependent upon each other inthis world of ours. If Gaston de Clameran had not entered a littlecafe at Tarascon to play a game of billiards twenty years ago, yourmoney-safe would not have been robbed three weeks ago. 

"Valentine de la Verberie is punished in 1866 for the murder committedfor her sake in 1840. Nothing is neglected or forgotten, when sternRetribution asserts her sway. Listen. "

And he forthwith related all that he had discovered, referring, as hewent along, to a voluminous manuscript which he had prepared, with manynotes and authenticated proofs attached. 

During the last week M. Verduret had not had twenty-four hours' rest, but he bore no traces of fatigue. His iron muscles braved any amount oflabor, and his elastic nature was too well tempered to give way beneathsuch pressure. 

While any other man would have sunk exhausted in a chair, he stood upand described, with the enthusiasm and captivating animation peculiarto him, the minutest details and intricacies of the plot that he haddevoted his whole energy to unravelling; personating every character hebrought upon the scene to take part in the strange drama, so that hislistener was bewildered and dazzled by his brilliant acting. 

As Prosper listened to this narrative of events happening twenty yearsback, the secret conversations as minutely related as if overheard themoment they took place, it sounded more like a romance than a statementof plain facts. 

All these ingenious explanations might be logical, but what foundationdid they possess? Might they not be the dreams of an excitedimagination?

M. Verduret did not finish his report until four o'clock in the morning;then he cried, with an accent of triumph:

"And now they are on their guard, and sharp, wary rascals too: but theywon't escape me; I have cornered them beautifully. Before a week isover, Prosper, you will be publicly exonerated, and will come out ofthis scrape with flying colors. I have promised your father you shall. "

"Impossible!" said Prosper in a dazed way, "it cannot be!"

"What?"

"All this you have just told me. "

M. Verduret opened wide his eyes, as if he could not understand anyonehaving the audacity to doubt the accuracy of _his_ report. 

"Impossible, indeed!" he cried. "What! have you not sense enough to seethe plain truth written all over every fact, and attested by the bestauthority? Your thick-headedness exasperates me to the last degree. "

"But how can such rascalities take place in Paris, in our very midst, without----"

"Parbleu!" interrupted the fat man, "you are young, my friend! Are youinnocent enough to suppose that crimes, forty times worse than this, don't occur every day? You think the horrors of the police-court arethe only ones. Pooh! You only read in the _Gazette des Tribunaux_ of thecruel melodramas of life, where the actors are as cowardly as the knife, and as treacherous as the poison they use. It is at the family fireside, often under shelter of the law itself, that the real tragedies oflife are acted; in modern crimes the traitors wear gloves, and cloakthemselves with public position; the victims die, smiling to the last, without revealing the torture they have endured to the end. Why, whatI have just related to you is an everyday occurrence; and you professastonishment. "

"I can't help wondering how you discovered all this tissue of crime. "

"Ah, that is the point!" said the fat man with a self-satisfied smile. "When I undertake a task, I devote my whole attention to it. Now, makea note of this: When a man of ordinary intelligence concentrates histhoughts and energies upon the attainment of an object, he is certain toobtain ultimate success. Besides that, I have my own method of workingup a case. "

"Still I don't see what grounds you had to go upon. "

"To be sure, one needs some light to guide one in a dark affair likethis. But the fire in Clameran's eye at the mention of Gaston's nameignited my lantern. From that moment I walked straight to the solutionof the mystery, as I would walk to a beacon-light on a dark night. "

The eager, questioning look of Prosper showed that he would like to knowthe secret of his protector's wonderful penetration, and at the sametime be more thoroughly convinced that what he had heard was alltrue--that his innocence would be more clearly proved. 

"Now confess, " cried M. Verduret, "you would give anything in the worldto find out how I discovered the truth?"

"I certainly would, for it is the darkest of mysteries, marvellous!"

M. Verduret enjoyed Prosper's bewilderment. To be sure, he was neithera good judge nor a distinguished amateur; but he was an astonishedadmirer, and sincere admiration is always flattering, no matter whenceit comes. 

"Well, " he replied, "I will explain my system. There is nothingmarvellous about it as you will soon see. We worked together to find thesolution of the problem, so you know my reasons for suspecting Clameranas the prime mover in the robbery. As soon as I had acquired thiscertainty, my task was easy. You want to know what I did? I placedtrustworthy people to watch the parties in whom I was most interested. Joseph Dubois took charge of Clameran, and Nina Gypsy never lost sightof Mme. Fauvel and her niece. "

"I cannot comprehend how Nina ever consented to this service. "

"That is my secret, " replied M. Verduret. "Having the assistance of goodeyes and quick ears on the spot, I went to Beaucaire to inquire into thepast, so as to link it with what I knew of the present. The next day Iwas at Clameran; and the first step I took was to find the son of St. Jean, the old valet. An honest man he was, too; open and simple asnature herself; and he made a good bargain in selling me his madder. "

"Madder?" said Prosper with a puzzled look; "what did you----"

"Of course I wanted to buy his madder. Of course I did not appear tohim as I do to you now. I was a countryman wanting to buy madder; hehad madder for sale; so we began to bargain about the price. The debatelasted almost all day, during which time we drank a dozen bottles ofwine. About supper-time, St. Jean was as drunk as a bunghole, and I hadpurchased nine hundred francs' worth of madder which your father willsell to-morrow. "

Prosper's astonished countenance made M. Verduret laugh heartily. 

"I risked nine hundred francs, " he continued, "but thread by thread Igathered the whole history of the Clamerans, Gaston's love-affair, hisflight, and the stumbling of the horse ridden by Louis. I found alsothat about a year ago Louis returned, sold the chateau to a man namedFougeroux, whose wife, Mihonne, had a secret interview with Louis theday of the purchase. I went to see Mihonne. Poor woman! her rascallyhusband has pounded all the sense out of her; she is almost idiotic. Itold her I came from the Clameran family, and she at once related to meeverything she knew. "

The apparent simplicity of this mode of investigation confoundedProsper. He wondered it had not occurred to him before. 

"From that time, " continued M. Verduret, "the skein began todisentangle; I held the principal thread. I now set about finding outwhat had become of Gaston. Lafourcade, who is a friend of your father, informed me that he had bought a foundery, and settled in Oloron, wherehe soon after suddenly died. Thirty-six hours later I was at Oloron. "

"You are certainly indefatigable!" said Prosper. 

"No, but I always strike while the iron is hot. At Oloron I met Manuel, who had gone there to make a little visit before returning to Spain. From him I obtained a complete history of Gaston's life, and all theparticulars of his death. Manuel also told me of Louis's visit; and theinn-keeper described a young workman who was there at the same time, whom I at once recognized as Raoul. "

"But how did you know of all the conversations between the villains?"said Prosper. "You seem to be aware of their secret thoughts. "

"You evidently think I have been drawing upon my imagination. You willsoon see to the contrary, " said Verduret good-humoredly. "While I wasat work down there, my aids did not sit with their hands tied together. Mutually distrustful, Clameran and Raoul preserved all the lettersreceived from each other. Joseph Dubois copied them, or the importantportions of them, and forwarded them to me. Nina spent her timelistening at all doors under her supervision, and sent me a faithfulreport. Finally, I have at the Fauvels another means of investigationwhich I will reveal to you later. "

"I understand it all now, " murmured Prosper. 

"And what have you been doing during my absence, my young friend?" askedM. Verduret; "have you heard any news?"

At this question Prosper turned crimson. But he knew that it would neverdo to keep silent about his imprudent step. 

"Alas!" he stammered, "I read in a newspaper that Clameran was about tomarry Madeleine; and I acted like a fool. "

"What did you do?" inquired Verduret anxiously. 

"I wrote an anonymous letter to M. Fauvel, informing him that his wifewas in love with Raoul--"

M. Verduret here brought his clinched fist down upon the little tablenear by, with such violence that the thin plank was shivered. Hischeerful face in an instant clouded over. 

"What folly!" he exclaimed, "how could you go and ruin everything?"

He arose from his seat, and strode up and down the room, oblivious ofthe lodgers below, whose windows shook with every angry stamp of hisfoot. 

"What made you act so like a child, an idiot, a fool?" he saidindignantly to Prosper. 

"Monsieur!"

"Here you are, drowning; an honest man springs into the water to saveyou, and just as he approaches the shore you entangle his feet toprevent him from swimming! What was my last order to you when I lefthere?"

"To keep quiet, and not go out of the hotel. "

"Well. "

The consciousness of having done a foolish thing made Prosper appearlike a frightened school-boy, accused by his teacher of playing truant. 

"It was night, monsieur, " he hesitatingly said, "and, having a violentheadache, I took a walk along the quay thinking there was no risk inmy entering a cafe; there I picked up a paper, and read the dreadfulannouncement. "

"Did you not promise to trust everything to me?"

"You were absent, monsieur; and you yourself might have been surprisedby an unexpected--"

"Only fools are ever surprised into committing a piece of folly, " criedM. Verduret impatiently. "To write an anonymous letter! Do you know towhat you expose me? Breaking a sacred promise made to one of the fewpersons whom I highly esteem among my fellow-beings. I shall be lookedupon as a liar, a cheat--I who--"

He abruptly stopped, as if afraid to trust himself to speak further;after calming down a little, he turned to Prosper, and said:

"The best thing we can do is to try and repair the harm you have done. When and where did you post this idiotic letter?"

"Yesterday evening, at the Rue du Cardinal Lemoine. It hardly reachedthe bottom of the box before I regretted having written it. "

"You had better have regretted it before dropping it in. What time wasit?"

"About ten o'clock. "

"Then your sweet little letter must have reached M. Fauvel with hisearly mail; probably he was alone in his study when he read it. "

"I know he was: he never goes down to the bank until he has opened hisletters. "

"Can you recall the exact terms of your letter? Stop and think, for itis very important that I should know. "

"Oh, it is unnecessary for me to reflect. I remember the letter as if Ihad just written it. "

And almost verbatim he repeated what he had written. 

After attentively listening, M. Verduret sat with a perplexed frownupon his face, as if trying to discover some means of repairing the harmdone. 

"That is an awkward letter, " he finally said, "to come from a personwho does not deal in such things. It leaves everything to be understoodwithout specifying anything; it is vague, jeering, insidious. Repeat itto me. "

Prosper obeyed, and his second version did not vary from the first in asingle word. 

"Nothing could be more alarming than that allusion to the cashier, " saidthe fat man, repeating the words after Prosper. "The question, 'Was italso he who stole Mme. Fauvel's diamonds?' is simply fearful. What couldbe more exasperating than the sarcastic advice, 'In your place, I wouldnot have any public scandal, but would watch my wife?' The effect ofyour letter must have been terrible, " he added thoughtfully as he stoodwith folded arms looking at poor Prosper. "M. Fauvel is quick-tempered, is he not?"

"He has a violent temper, when aroused. "

"Then the mischief is not irreparable. "

"What! do you suppose--"

"I think that an impulsive man is afraid of himself, and seldom carriesout his first angry intentions. That is our chance of salvation. If, upon the receipt of your bomb-shell, M. Fauvel, unable to restrainhimself, rushed into his wife's room, and cried, 'Where are yourdiamonds?' Mme. Fauvel will confess all; and then good-by to our hopes. "

"Why would this be disastrous?"

"Because, the moment Mme. Fauvel opens her lips to her husband, ourbirds will take flight. "

Prosper had never thought of this eventuality. 

"Then, again, " continued M. Verduret, "it would deeply distress anotherperson. "

"Anyone whom I know?"

"Yes, my friend, and very well too. I should certainly be chagrined tothe last degree, if these two rascals escape, without having obtainedcomplete satisfaction from them. "

"It seems to me that you know how to take care of yourself, and can doanything you please. "

M. Verduret shrugged his shoulders, and said:

"Did you not perceive the gaps in my narrative?"

"I did not. "

"That is because you don't know how to listen. In the first place, didLouis de Clameran poison his brother, or not?"

"Yes; I am sure of it, from what you tell me. "

"There you are! You are much more certain, young man, than I am. Youropinion is mine; but what proof have we? None. I skilfully questionedDr. C----. He has not the shadow of suspicion; and Dr. C---- is noquack; he is a cultivated, observing man of high standing. What poisonsproduce the effects described? I know of none; and yet I have studied upon poisons from Pomerania digitalis to Sauvresy aconite. "

"The death took place so opportunely----"

"That anybody would be convinced of foul play. That is true; but chanceis sometimes a wonderful accomplice in crime. In the second place, Iknow nothing of Raoul's antecedents. "

"Is information on that point necessary?"

"Indispensable, my friend; but we will soon know something. I have sentoff one of my men--excuse me, I mean one of my friends--who is veryexpert and adroit, M. Palot; and he writes that he is on the track. I aminterested in the history of this sentimental, sceptical young rascal. Ihave an idea that he must have been a brave, honest sort of youth beforeClameran ruined him. "

Prosper was no longer listening. 

M. Verduret's words had inspired him with confidence. Already he sawthe guilty men arraigned before the bar of justice; and enjoyed, inanticipation, this assize-court drama, where he would be publiclyexonerated and restored to position. 

Then he would seek Madeleine; for now he understood her strange conductat the dressmaker's, and knew that she had never ceased to love him. 

This certainty of future happiness restored all the self-possession thathad deserted him the day he found the safe robbed. For the first time hewas astonished at the peculiarity of his situation. 

Prosper had at first only been surprised at the protection of M. Verduret and the extent of his investigations: now he asked himself, what could have been his motives for acting thus?

What price did he expect for this sacrifice of time and labor?

His anxiety made him say nervously:

"It is unjust to us both, monsieur, for you to preserve your incognitoany longer. When you have saved the honor and life of a man, you shouldat least let him know whom he is to thank for it. "

"Oh!" said M. Verduret smilingly, "you are not out of the woods yet. Youare not married either: so you must wait a little longer; patience andfaith. "

The clock struck six. 

"Good heavens!" exclaimed M. Verduret. "Can it be six o'clock? I didhope to have a good night's rest, but I must keep on moving. This is notime to be asleep. "

He went into the passage, and, leaning over the balusters, called, "Mme. Alexandre! I say, Mme. Alexandre!"

The hostess of the Archangel, the portly wife of Fanferlot the Squirrel, evidently had not been to bed. This fact struck Prosper. 

She appeared, obsequious, smiling, and eager to please. 

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" she inquired. 

"You can send your--Joseph Dubois and Palmyre to me as soon as possible. Let me know when they arrive. I will rest a few minutes, and you canawake me when they come. "

As soon as Mme. Alexandre left the room, the fat man unceremoniouslythrew himself on the bed. 

"You have no objections, I suppose?" he said to Prosper. 

In five minutes he was fast asleep; and Prosper sat by the bed watchinghim with a perplexed gaze, wondering who this strange man could be. 

About nine o'clock someone tapped timidly at the door. 

Slight as the noise was, it aroused M. Verduret, who sprang up, andcalled out:

"Who is it?"

Prosper arose and opened the door. 

Joseph Dubois, the valet of the Marquis of Clameran, entered. 

This important assistant of M. Verduret was breathless from fastrunning; and his little rat eyes were more restless than ever. 

"Well, patron, I am glad to see you once more, " he cried. "Now you cantell me what to do; I have been perfectly lost during your absence, andhave felt like a jumping monkey with a broken string. 

"What! did you get frightened too?"

"Bless me! I think I had cause for alarm when I could not find youanywhere. Yesterday afternoon I sent you three despatches, to theaddresses you gave me, Lyons, Beaucaire, and Oloron, but received noanswer. I was almost crazy with anxiety when your message reached mejust now. "

"Things are getting hot, then. "

"Hot! They are burning! The place is too warm to hold me any longer;upon my soul, I can't stand it!"

M. Verduret occupied himself in repairing his toilet, become disarrangedby lying down. 

When he had finished, he threw himself in an easy-chair, and said toJoseph Dubois, who remained respectfully standing, cap in hand, like asoldier awaiting orders:

"Explain yourself, my boy, and quickly, if you please; nocircumlocution. "

"It is just this, patron. I don't know what your plans are, or what lineyou are taking now; but I can just tell you this: that you will have towind up the affair pretty quickly. "

"That is your opinion, Master Joseph?"

"Yes, patron, because if you wait any longer, good-by to our covey: youwill certainly find an empty cage, and the birds flown. You smile? Yes, I know you are clever, and can accomplish anything; but they are cunningblades, and as slippery as eels. They know that they are watched, too. "

"The devil they do!" cried M. Verduret. "Who has been committingblunders?"

"Oh! nobody has done anything wrong, " replied Joseph. "You know, patron, that they suspected something long ago. They gave you a proof of it, thenight of the fancy ball; that ugly cut on your arm was the beginning. Ever since, they have had one eye open all the time. They had begun tofeel easier, when all of a sudden, yesterday, _ma foi_, they began tosmell a rat!"

"Was that the cause of your telegrams?"

"Of course. Now listen: yesterday morning when my master got up, aboutten o'clock, he took it into his head to arrange the papers in his desk;which, by the way, has a disgusting lock which has given me a deal oftrouble. Meanwhile, I pretended to be fixing the fire, so as to remainin the room to watch him. Patron, the man has an eye like a Yankee! Atthe first glance he saw, or rather divined, that his papers had beenmeddled with, he turned livid, and swore an oath; Lord, what an oath!"

"Never mind the oath; go on. "

"Well, how he discovered the little attentions I had devoted tohis letters, I can't imagine. You know how careful I am. I had puteverything in perfect order; just as I found things I left them, when, lo and behold! my noble marquis picks up each paper, one at a time, turns it over, and smells it. I was just thinking I would offer him amagnifying-glass, when all of a sudden he sprang up, and with one kicksent his chair across the room, and flew at me with his eyes flashinglike two pistols. 'Somebody has been at my papers, ' he shrieked; 'thisletter has been photographed!' B-r-r-r! I am not a coward, but I cantell you that my heart stood perfectly still; I saw myself as deadas Caesar, cut into mince-meat; and says I to myself, 'Fanfer--excuseme--Dubois, my friend, you are lost, dead;' and I thought of Mme. Alexandre. "

M. Verduret was buried in thought, and paid no attention to the worthyJoseph's analysis of his personal sensations. 

"What happened next?" said Verduret after a few minutes. 

"Why, he was just as frightened as I was, patron. The rascal did noteven dare to touch me. To be sure, I had taken the precaution to get outof his reach; we talked with a large table between us. While wonderingwhat could have enabled him to discover the secret, I defended myselfwith virtuous indignation. I said:

"'It cannot be; M. Le marquis is mistaken. Who would dare touch hispapers?'

"Bast! Instead of listening to me, he flourished an open letter, andsaid:

"'This letter has been photographed! here is proof of it!' and hepointed to a little yellow spot on the paper, shrieking out, 'Look!Smell! Smell it, you devil! It is--' I forget the name he called it, butsome acid used by photographers. "

"I know, I know, " said M. Verduret; "go on; what next?"

"Then, patron, we had a scene; what a scene! He ended by seizing me bythe throat, and shaking me like a plum-tree, saying he would shake meuntil I told him who I was, what I knew, and where I came from. As if Iknew, myself! I was obliged to account for every minute of my timesince I had been in his service. The devil was worse than a judge ofinstruction, in his questions. Then he sent for the hotel porter, who had charge of the front door, and questioned him closely, but inEnglish, so that I could not understand. After a while, he cooled down, and when the boy was gone, presented me with twenty francs, saying, 'Iam sorry I was so sharp with you; you are too stupid to have been guiltyof the offence. '"

"He said that, did he?"

"He used those very words to my face, patron. "

"And you think he meant what he said?"

"Certainly I do. "

The fat man smiled, and whistled a little tune expressive of contempt. 

"If you think that, " he said, "Clameran was right in his estimate ofyour brilliancy. "

It was easy to see that Joseph Dubois was anxious to hear his patron'sgrounds for considering him stupid, but dared not ask. 

"I suppose I am stupid, if you think so, " said poor Fanferlot humbly. "Well, after he had done blustering about the letters, M. Le marquisdressed, and went out. He did not want his carriage, but I saw him hirea cab at the hotel door. I thought he had perhaps disappeared forever;but I was mistaken. About five o'clock he returned as gay as abull-finch. During his absence, I had telegraphed to you. "

"What! did you not follow him?"

"I stayed on the spot in case of his return; but one of our friends keptwatch on him, and this friend gave me a report of my dandy's movements. First he went to a broker's, then to the bank and discount office: so hemust be collecting his money to take a little trip. "

"Is that all he did?"

"That is all, patron. But I must tell you how the rascals tried to shutup, 'administratively, ' you understand, Mlle. Palmyre. Fortunately youhad anticipated something of the kind, and given orders to watch overher safety. But for you, she would now be in prison. "

Joseph looked up to the ceiling by way of trying to remember somethingmore. Finding nothing there, he said:

"That is all. I rather think M. Patrigent will rub his hands withdelight when I carry him my report. He did not expect to see me anymore, and has no idea of the facts I have collected to swell the size ofhis FILE 113. "

There was a long silence. Joseph was right in supposing that the crisishad come. M. Verduret was arranging his plan of battle while waitingfor the report of Nina--now Palmyre, upon which depended his point ofattack. 

But Joseph Dubois began to grow restless and uneasy. 

"What must I do now, patron?" he asked. 

"Return to the hotel; probably your master had noticed your absence; buthe will say nothing about it, so continue--"

Here M. Verduret was interrupted by an exclamation from Prosper, who wasstanding near a window. 

"What is the matter?" he inquired. 

"There is Clameran!" cried Prosper, "over there. "

M. Verduret and Joseph ran to the window. 

"Where is he?" said Joseph, "I don't see him. "

"There, at the corner of the bridge, behind that orange-woman's stall. "

Prosper was right. It was the noble Marquis of Clameran, who, hid behindthe stall, was watching for his servant to come out of the Archangel. 

At first the quick-sighted Verduret had some doubts whether it was themarquis, who, being skilled in these hazardous expeditions, managed toconceal himself behind a pillar so as to elude detection. 

But a moment came, when, elbowed by the pressing crowd, he was obligedto come out on the pavement in full view of the window. 

"Now don't you see I was right!" cried the cashier. 

"Well, " said the amazed Joseph, "I am amazed!"

M. Verduret seemed not in the least surprised, but quietly said:

"The game needs hunting. Well, Joseph, my boy, do you still think thatyour noble master was duped by your acting injured innocence?"

"You assured me to the contrary, patron, " said Joseph in an humble tone;"and your opinion is more convincing than all the proofs in the world. "

"This pretended outburst of rage was premeditated on the part of yournoble master. Knowing that he is being tracked, he naturally wishes todiscover who his adversaries are. You can imagine how uncomfortable hemust be at this uncertainty. Perhaps he thinks his pursuers are some ofhis old accomplices, who, being starved, want a piece of his cake. Hewill remain there until you come out: then he will come in to find outwho you are. "

"But, patron, I can go home without his seeing me. "

"Yes, I know. You will climb the little wall separating the Archangelfrom the wine-merchant's yard, and keep along the stationer's area, until you reach the Rue de la Huchette. "

Poor Joseph looked as if he had just received a bucket of ice-water uponhis head. 

"Exactly the way I was going, patron, " he gasped out. "I heard that youknew every plank and door of all the houses in Paris, and it certainlymust be so. "

The fat man made no reply to Joseph's admiring remarks. He was thinkinghow he could catch Clameran. 

As to the cashier, he listened wonderingly, watching these strangers, who seemed determined to reinstate him in public opinion, and punish hisenemies, while he himself stood by powerless and bewildered. What theirmotives for befriending him could be, he vainly tried to discover. 

"I will tell you what I can do, " said Joseph after deep thought. 

"What is it?"

"I can innocently walk out of the front door, and loaf along the streetuntil I reach the Hotel du Louvre. "

"And then?"

"Dame! Clameran will come in and question Mme. Alexandre, whom you caninstruct beforehand; and she is smart enough to put any sharper off thetrack. "

"Bad plan!" pronounced M. Verduret decidedly; "a scamp so compromisedas Clameran is not easily put off the track; now his eyes are opened, hewill be pretty hard to catch. "

Suddenly, in a brief tone of authority which admitted of nocontradiction, the fat man said:

"I have a way. Has Clameran, since he found that his papers had beensearched, seen Lagors?"

"No, patron. "

"Perhaps he has written to him?"

"I'll bet you my head he has not. Having your orders to watch hiscorrespondence, I invented a little system which informs me every timehe touches a pen; during the last twenty-four hours the pens have notbeen touched. "

"Clameran went out yesterday. "

"But the man who followed him says he wrote nothing on the way. "

"Then we have time yet!" cried Verduret. "Hurry! Hurry! I give youfifteen minutes to make yourself a head; you know the sort; I will watchthe rascal until you come up. "

The delighted Joseph disappeared in a twinkling; while Prosper and M. Verduret remained at the window observing Clameran, who, according tothe movements of the crowd, was sometimes lost to sight, and sometimesjust in front of the window, but was evidently determined not to quithis post until he had obtained the information he sought. 

"Why do you devote yourself exclusively to the marquis?" asked Prosper. 

"Because, my friend, " replied M. Verduret, "because--that is mybusiness, and not yours. "

Joseph Dubois had been granted a quarter of an hour in which tometamorphose himself; before ten minutes had elapsed he reappeared. 

The dandified coachman with Bergami whiskers, red vest, and foppishmanners, was replaced by a sinister-looking individual, whose veryappearance was enough to scare any rogue. 

His black cravat twisted around a paper collar, and ornamented by animitation diamond pin; his long-tailed black boots and heavy cane, revealed the employee of the Rue de Jerusalem, as plainly as theshoulder-straps mark a soldier. 

Joseph Dubois had vanished forever; and from his livery, phoenix-likeand triumphant, arose the radiant Fanferlot, surnamed the Squirrel. 

When Fanferlot entered the room, Prosper uttered a cry of surprise andalmost fright. 

He recognized the man who had assisted the commissary of police toexamine the bank on the day of the robbery. 

M. Verduret examined his aide with a satisfied look, and said:

"Not bad! There is enough of the police-court air about you to alarmeven an honest man. You understood me perfectly this time. "

Fanferlot was transported with delight at this compliment. 

"What must I do now, patron?" he inquired. 

"Nothing difficult for an adroit man: but remember, upon the precisionof our movements depends the success of my plan. Before arrestingLagors, I wish to dispose of Clameran. Now that the rascals areseparated, the first thing to do is to prevent their coming together. "

"I understand, " said Fanferlot, snapping his little rat-like eyes; "I amto create a diversion. "

"Exactly. Go out by the Rue de la Huchette, and hasten to St. Michel'sbridge; loaf along the bank, and finally sit on the steps of the quay, so that Clameran may know he is being watched. If he doesn't see you, dosomething to attract his attention. "

"Parbleu! I will throw a stone into the water, " said Fanferlot, rubbinghis hands with delight at his own brilliant idea. 

"As soon as Clameran has seen you, " continued M. Verduret, "he will bealarmed, and instantly decamp. Knowing there are reasons why the policeshould be after him, he will hasten to escape you; then comes the timefor you to keep wide awake; he is a slippery eel, and cunning as a rat. "

"I know all that; I was not born yesterday. "

"So much the better. You can convince him of that. Well, knowing youare at his heels, he will not dare to return to the Hotel du Louvre, for fear of being called on by troublesome visitors. Now, it is veryimportant that he should not return to the hotel. "

"But suppose he does?" said Fanferlot. 

M. Verduret thought for a minute, and then said:

"It is not probable that he will do so; but if he should, you must waituntil he comes out again, and continue to follow him. But he won't enterthe hotel; very likely he will take the cars: but in that event don'tlose sight of him, no matter if you have to follow him to Siberia. Haveyou money with you?"

"I will get some from Mme. Alexandre. "

"Very good. Ah! one more word. If the rascal takes the cars, sendme word. If he beats about the bush until night, be on your guard, especially in lonely places; the desperado is capable of any enormity. "

"If necessary, must I fire?"

"Don't be rash; but, if he attacks you, of course defend yourself. Come, 'tis time you were gone. "

Dubois-Fanferlot went out. Verduret and Prosper resumed their post ofobservation. 

"Why all this secrecy?" inquired Prosper. "Clameran is charged with tentimes worse crimes than I was ever accused of, and yet my disgrace wasmade as public as possible. "

"Don't you understand, " replied the fat man, "that I wish to separatethe cause of Raoul from that of the marquis? But, sh! look!"

Clameran had left his place near the orange-woman's stand, andapproached the bridge, where he seemed to be trying to make out someunexpected object. 

"Ah!" said M. Verduret; "he has just discovered our man. "

Clameran's uneasiness was quite apparent; he walked forward a few steps, as if intending to cross the bridge; then, suddenly turning around, rapidly walked in the direction of the Rue St. Jacques. 

"He is caught!" cried M. Verduret with delight. 

At that moment the door opened, and Mme. Nina Gypsy, _alias_ PalmyreChocareille, entered. 

Poor Nina! Each day spent in the service of Madeleine seemed to haveaged her a year. 

Tears had dimmed the brilliancy of her beautiful black eyes; her rosycheeks were pale and hollow, and her merry smile was quite gone. 

Poor Gypsy, once so gay and spirited, now crushed beneath the burden ofher sorrows, was the picture of misery. 

Prosper thought that, wild with joy at seeing him, and proud of havingso nobly devoted herself to his interest, Nina would throw her armsaround his neck, and say how much she loved him. To his surprise, Ninascarcely spoke to him. Although his every thought had been devoted toMadeleine since he discovered the reasons for her cruelty, he was hurtby Nina's cold manner. 

The girl stood looking at M. Verduret with a mixture of fear anddevotion, like a poor dog that has been cruelly treated by its master. 

He, however, was kind and gentle in his manner toward her. 

"Well, my dear, " he said encouragingly, "what news do you bring me?"

"Something is going on at the house, monsieur, and I have been tryingto get here to tell you; at last, Mlle. Madeleine made an excuse forsending me out. "

"You must thank Mlle. Madeleine for her confidence in me. I suppose shecarried out the plan we decided upon?"

"Yes, monsieur. "

"She receives the Marquis of Clameran's visits?"

"Since the marriage has been decided upon, he comes every day, andmademoiselle receives him with kindness. He seems to be delighted. "

These answers filled Prosper with anger and alarm. The poor young man, not comprehending the intricate moves of M. Verduret, felt as if hewere being tossed about from pillar to post, and made the tool andlaughing-stock of everybody. 

"What!" he cried; "this worthless Marquis of Clameran, an assassin anda thief, allowed to visit at M. Fauvel's, and pay his addresses toMadeleine? Where are the promises, monsieur, which you have made? Haveyou merely been amusing yourself by raising my hopes, to dash them--"

"Enough!" interrupted M. Verduret harshly; "you are too green tounderstand anything, my friend. If you are incapable of helpingyourself, at least have sense enough to refrain from importuningthose who are working for you. Do you not think you have already donesufficient mischief?"

Having administered this rebuke, he turned to Gypsy, and said in softertones:

"Go on, my child: what have you discovered?"

"Nothing positive, monsieur; but enough to make me nervous, and fearfulof impending danger. I am not certain, but suspect from appearances, that some dreadful catastrophe is about to happen. It may only be apresentiment. I cannot get any information from Mme. Fauvel; she refusesto answer any hints, and moves about like a ghost, never opening herlips. She seems to be afraid of her niece, and to be trying to concealsomething from her. "

"What about M. Fauvel?"

"I was just about to tell you, monsieur. Some fearful misfortune hashappened to him, you may depend upon it. He wanders about as if he hadlost his mind. Something certainly occurred yesterday; his voice evenis changed. He is so harsh and irritable that mademoiselle and M. Lucienwere wondering what could be the matter with him. He seems to be on theeve of giving way to a burst of anger; and there is a wild, strange lookabout his eyes, especially when he looks at madame. Yesterday evening, when M. De Clameran was announced, he jumped up, and hurried out of theroom, saying that he had some work to do in his study. "

A triumphant exclamation from M. Verduret interrupted Mme. Gypsy. He wasradiant. 

"Hein!" he said to Prosper, forgetting his bad humor of a few minutesbefore; "Hein! What did I tell you?"

"He has evidently----"

"Been afraid to give way to his first impulse; of course he has. He isnow seeking for proofs of your assertions. He must have them by thistime. Did the ladies go out yesterday?"

"Yes, a part of the day. "

"What became of M. Fauvel?"

"The ladies took me with them; we left M. Fauvel at home. "

"Not a doubt of it!" cried the fat man; "he looked for proofs, and foundthem, too! Your letter told him exactly where to go. Ah, Prosper, thatunfortunate letter gives more trouble than everything else together. "

These words seemed to throw a sudden light on Mme. Gypsy's mind. 

"I understand it now!" she exclaimed. "M. Fauvel knows everything. "

"That is, he thinks he knows everything; and what he has been led tofear, and thinks he has discovered, is worse than the true state ofaffairs. "

"That accounts for the order which M. Cavaillon overheard him give tohis servant-man, Evariste. "

"What order?"

"He told Evariste to bring every letter that came to the house, nomatter to whom addressed, into his study, and hand them to him; sayingthat, if this order was disobeyed, he should be instantly discharged. "

"At what time was this order given?" asked M. Verduret. 

"Yesterday afternoon. "

"That is what I was afraid of, " cried M. Verduret. "He has clearly madeup his mind what course to pursue, and is keeping quiet so as tomake his vengeance more sure. The question is, Have we still time tocounteract his projects? Have we time to convince him that the anonymousletter was incorrect in some of its assertions?"

He tried to hit upon some plan for repairing the damage done byProsper's foolish letter. 

"Thank you for your information, my dear child, " he said after a longsilence. "I will decide at once what steps to take, for it will neverdo to sit quietly and let things go on in this way. Return home withoutdelay, and be careful of everything you say and do; for M. Fauvelsuspects you of being in the plot. Send me word of anything thathappens, no matter how insignificant it may be. "

Nina, thus dismissed, did not move, but said timidly:

"What about Caldas, monsieur?"

This was the third time during the last fortnight that Prosper had heardthis name, Caldas. 

The first time it had been whispered in his ear by arespectable-looking, middle-aged man, who offered his protection oneday, when passing through the police-office passage. 

The second time, the judge of instruction had mentioned it in connectionwith Gypsy's history. 

Prosper thought over all the men he had ever been connected with, butcould recall none named Caldas. 

The impassable M. Verduret started and trembled at the mention of thisname, but, quickly recovering himself, said:

"I promised to find him for you, and I will keep my promise. Now youmust go; good-morning. "

It was twelve o'clock, and M. Verduret suddenly remembered that hewas hungry. He called Mme. Alexandre, and the beaming hostess of theArchangel soon placed a tempting breakfast before Prosper and hisfriend. 

But the savory broiled oysters and flaky biscuit failed to smooth theperplexed brow of M. Verduret. 

To the eager questions and complimentary remarks of Mme. Alexandre, heanswered:

"Chut, chut! let me alone; keep quiet. "

For the first time since he had known the fat man, Prosper saw himbetray anxiety and hesitation. 

He remained silent as long as he could, and then uneasily said:

"I am afraid I have embarrassed you very much, monsieur. "

"Yes, you have dreadfully embarrassed me, " replied M. Verduret. "What onearth to do now, I don't know! Shall I hasten matters, or keep quiet andwait for the next move? And I am bound by a sacred promise. Come, we hadbetter go and advise with the judge of instruction. He can assist me. Come with me; let us hurry. "

XXIII

As M. Verduret had anticipated, Prosper's letter had a terrible effectupon M. Fauvel. 

It was toward nine o'clock in the morning, and M. Fauvel had justentered his study when his mail was brought in. 

After opening a dozen business letters, his eyes fell on the fatalmissive sent by Prosper. 

Something about the writing struck him as peculiar. 

It was evidently a disguised hand, and although, owing to the fact ofhis being a millionnaire, he was in the habit of receiving anonymouscommunications, sometimes abusive, but generally begging him for money, this particular letter filled him with an indefinite presentiment ofevil. A cold chill ran through his heart, and he dreaded to open it. 

With absolute certainty that he was about to learn of a new calamity, he broke the seal, and opening the coarse cafe paper, was shocked by thefollowing words:

"DEAR SIR--You have handed your cashier over to the law, and you actedproperly, convinced as you were of his dishonesty. 

"But if it was he who took three hundred and fifty thousand francs fromyour safe, was it he also who took Mme. Fauvel's diamonds?"

This was a terrible blow to a man whose life hitherto had been anunbroken chain of prosperity, who could recall the past without onebitter regret, without remembering any sorrow deep enough to bring fortha tear. 

What! His wife deceive him! And among all men, to choose one vile enoughto rob her of her jewels, and force her to be his accomplice in the ruinof an innocent young man!

For did not the letter before him assert this to be a fact, and tell himhow to convince himself of its truth?

M. Fauvel was as bewildered as if he had been knocked on the head with aclub. It was impossible for his scattered ideas to take in the enormityof what these dreadful words intimated. He seemed to be mentally andphysically paralyzed, as he sat there staring blankly at the letter. 

But this stupefaction suddenly changed to indignant rage. 

"What a fool I am!" he cried, "to listen to such base lies, suchmalicious charges against the purest woman whom God ever sent to bless aman!"

And he angrily crumpled up the letter, and threw it into the emptyfireplace, saying:

"I will forget having read it. I will not soil my mind by letting itdwell upon such turpitude!"

He said this, and he thought it; but, for all that, he could not openthe rest of his letters. The anonymous missive stood before his eyes inletters of fire, and drove every other thought from his mind. 

That penetrating, clinging, all-corroding worm, suspicion, had takenpossession of his soul; and as he leaned over his desk, with hisface buried in his hands, thinking over many things which had latelyoccurred, insignificant at the time, but fearfully ominous now, thisunwillingly admitted germ of suspicion grew and expanded until it becamecertainty. 

But, resolved that he would not think of his wife in connection with sovile a deed, he imagined a thousand wild excuses for the mischief-makerwho took this mode of annoying him; of course there was no truth in hisassertions, but from curiosity he would like to know who had written it. And yet suppose----

"Merciful God! can it be true?" he wildly cried, as the idea of hiswife's guilt would obstinately return to his troubled mind. 

Thinking that the writing might throw some light on the mystery, hestarted up and tremblingly picked the fatal letter out of the ashes. Carefully smoothing it out, he laid it on his desk, and studied theheavy strokes, light strokes, and capitals of every word. 

"It must be from some of my clerks, " he finally said, "someone who isangry with me for refusing to raise his salary; or perhaps it is the onethat I dismissed the other day. "

Clinging to this idea, he thought over all the young men in hisbank; but not one could he believe capable of resorting to so base avengeance. 

Then he wondered where the letter had been posted, thinking this mightthrow some light upon the mystery. He looked at the envelope, and readthe post-mark:

"Rue du Cardinal Lemoine. "

This fact told him nothing. 

Once more he read the letter, spelling over each word, and trying to puta different construction on the horrible phrases that stared him in theface. 

It is generally agreed that an anonymous letter should be treated withsilent contempt, and cast aside as the malicious lies of a coward whodares not say to a man's face what he secretly commits to paper, andforces upon him. 

This is all very well in theory, but is difficult to practise whenthe anonymous letter comes. You throw it in the fire, it burns; but, although the paper is destroyed by the flames, doubt remains. Suspicionarises from its ashes, like a subtle poison penetrates the inmostrecesses of the mind, weakens its holiest beliefs, and destroys itsfaith. 

The trail of the serpent is left. 

The wife suspected, no matter how unjustly, is no longer the wife inwhom her husband trusted as he would trust himself: the pure being whowas above suspicion no longer exists. Suspicion, no matter whence thesource, has irrevocably tarnished the brightness of his idol. 

Unable to struggle any longer against these conflicting doubts, M. Fauvel determined to resolve them by showing the letter to his wife; buta torturing thought, more terrible than any he had yet suffered, madehim sink back in his chair in despair. 

"Suppose it be true!" he muttered to himself; "suppose I have beenmiserably duped! By confiding in my wife, I shall put her on her guard, and lose all chance of discovering the truth. "

Thus were realized all Verduret's presumptions. 

He had said, "If M. Fauvel does not yield to his first impulse, if hestops to reflect, we have time to repair the harm done. "

After long and painful meditation, the banker finally decided to wait, and watch his wife. 

It was a hard struggle for a man of his frank, upright nature, to playthe part of a domestic spy, and jealous husband. 

Accustomed to give way to sudden bursts of anger, but quickly masteringthem, he would find it difficult to be compelled to preserve hisself-restraint, no matter how dreadful the discoveries might be. Whenhe collected the proofs of guilt one by one, he must impose silence uponhis resentment, until fully assured of possessing certain evidence. 

There was one simple means of ascertaining whether the diamonds had beenpawned. 

If the letter lied in this instance, he would treat it with the scorn itdeserved. If, on the other hand, it should prove to be true!

At this moment, the servant announced breakfast; and M. Fauvel lookedin the glass before leaving his study, to see if his face betrayedthe emotion he felt. He was shocked at the haggard features which itreflected. 

"Have I no nerve?" he said to himself: "oh! I must and shall control myfeelings until I find out the truth. "

At table he talked incessantly, so as to escape any questions from hiswife, who, he saw, was uneasy at the sight of his pale face. 

But, all the time he was talking, he was casting over in his mindexpedients of getting his wife out of the house long enough for him tosearch her bureau. 

At last he asked Mme. Fauvel if she were going out before dinner. 

"Yes, " said she: "the weather is dreadful, but Madeleine and I must dosome shopping. "

"At what time shall you go?"

"Immediately after breakfast. "

He drew a long breath as if relieved of a great weight. 

In a short time he would know the truth. 

His uncertainty was so torturing to the unhappy man that he preferredthe most dreadful reality to his present agony. 

Breakfast over, he lighted a cigar, but did not remain in thedining-room to smoke it, as was his habit. He went into his study to tryand compose his nerves. 

He took the precaution to send Lucien on a message so as to be alone inthe house. 

After the lapse of half an hour, he heard the carriage roll away withhis wife and niece. 

Hurrying into Mme. Fauvel's room, he opened the drawer of thechiffonnier, where she kept her jewels. 

The last dozen or more leather and velvet boxes, containing superb setsof jewelry which he had presented to her, were gone!

Twelve boxes remained. He nervously opened them. 

They were all empty!

The anonymous letter had told the truth. 

"Oh, it cannot be!" he gasped in broken tones. "Oh, no, no!"

He wildly pulled open every drawer in the vain hope of finding thempacked away. Perhaps she kept them elsewhere. 

He tried to hope that she had sent them to be reset; but no, they wereall superbly set in the latest fashion; and, moreover, she never wouldhave sent them all at once. He looked again. 

Nothing! not one jewel could he find. 

He remembered that he had asked his wife at the Jandidier ball why shedid not wear her diamonds; and she had replied with a smile:

"Oh! what is the use? Everybody knows them so well; and, besides, theydon't suit my costume. "

Yes, she had made the answer without blushing, without showing theslightest sign of agitation or shame. 

What hardened impudence! What base hypocrisy concealed beneath aninnocent, confiding manner!

And she had been thus deceiving him for twenty years! But suddenly agleam of hope penetrated his confused mind--slight, barely possible;still a straw to cling to:

"Perhaps Valentine has put her diamonds in Madeleine's room. "

Without stopping to consider the indelicacy of what he was about to do, he hurried into the young girl's room, and pulled open one drawer afteranother. What did he find?

Not Mme. Fauvel's diamonds; but Madeleine's seven or eight boxes alsoempty. 

Great heavens! Was this gentle girl, whom he had treated as a daughter, an accomplice in this deed of shame? Had she contributed her jewelry toadd to the disgrace of the roof that sheltered her?

This last blow was almost too much for the miserable man. He sank almostlifeless into a chair, and wringing his hands, groaned over the wreck ofhis happiness. Was this the happy future to which he had looked forward?Was the fabric of his honor, well-being, and domestic bliss, to bedashed to the earth and forever lost in a day? Were his twenty years'labor and high-standing to end thus in shame and sorrow?

Apparently nothing was changed in his existence; he was not materiallyinjured; he could not reach forth his hand, and heal or revenge thesmarting wound; the objects around him were unchanged; everything wenton in the outside world just as it had gone on during the last twentyyears; and yet what a horrible change had taken place in his own heart!While the world envied his prosperity and happiness, here he sat, moreheartsore and wearied of life than the worst criminal that ever stoodbefore the inquisition. 

What! Valentine, the pure young girl whom he had loved and married inspite of her poverty, in spite of her cold offering of calm affection inreturn for his passionate devotion; Valentine, the tender, loving wife, who, before a year of married life had rolled by, so often assuredhim that her affection had grown into a deep, confiding love, that herdevotion had grown stronger every day, and that her only prayer was thatGod would take them both together, since life would be a burden withouther noble husband to shield and cherish her--could she have been actinga lie for twenty years?

She, the darling wife, the mother of his sons!

His sons? Good God! Were they his sons?

If she could deceive him now when she was silver-haired, had she notdeceived him when she was young?

Not only did he suffer in the present, but the uncertainty of the pasttortured his soul. 

He was like a man who is told that the exquisite wine he has drankcontains poison. 

Confidence is never half-way: it is, or it is not. His confidence wasgone. His faith was dead. 

The wretched banker had rested his every hope and happiness on thelove of his wife. Believing that she had proved faithless, that she hadplayed him false, and was unworthy of trust, he admitted nopossibility of peaceful joy, and felt tempted to seek consolation fromself-destruction. What had he to live for now, save to mourn over theashes of the past?

But this dejection did not last long. Indignant anger, and thirst forvengeance, made him start up and swear that he would lose no time invain regrets. 

M. Fauvel well knew that the fact of the diamonds being stolen was notsufficient ground upon which to bring an accusation against any of theaccomplices. 

He must possess overwhelming proofs before taking any active steps. Success depended upon present secrecy. 

He began by calling his valet, and ordering him to bring to him everyletter that should come to the house. 

He then wrote to a notary at St. Remy, for minute and authenticinformation about the Lagors family, and especially about Raoul. 

Finally, following the advice of the anonymous letter, he went to thePrefecture of Police, hoping to obtain a biography of Clameran. 

But the police, fortunately for many people, are as discreetly silent asthe grave. They guard their secrets as a miser his treasure. 

Nothing but an order from the chief judge could open those formidablegreen boxes, and reveal their secrets. 

M. Fauvel was politely asked what motives urged him to inquire into thepast life of a French citizen; and, as he declined to state his reasons, the chief of police told him he had better apply to the Procureur forthe desired information. 

This advice he could not follow. He had sworn that the secret of hiswrongs should be confined to the three persons interested. He chose toavenge his own injuries, to be alone the judge and executioner. 

He returned home more angry than ever; there he found the despatchanswering the one which he had sent to St. Remy. It was as follows:

"The Lagors are very poor, and there has never been any member of thefamily named Raoul. Mme. Lagors had no son, only two daughters. "

This information dashed his last hope. 

The banker thought, when he discovered his wife's infamy, that shehad sinned as deeply as a woman could sin; but he now saw that she hadpractised a system more shocking than the crime itself. 

"Wretched creature!" he cried with anguish; "in order to see her loverconstantly, she dared introduce him to me under the name of a nephew whonever existed. She had the shameless courage to bring him beneath herhusband's roof, and seat him at my fireside, between my sons; and I, confiding fool that I was, welcomed the villain, and lent him money. "

Nothing could equal the pain of wounded pride and mortification which hesuffered at the thought that Raoul and Mme. Fauvel had amused themselveswith his good-natured credulity and obtuseness. 

Nothing but death could wipe out an injury of this nature. But the verybitterness of his resentment enabled him to restrain himself until thetime for punishment came. With grim satisfaction he promised himselfthat his acting would be as successful as theirs. 

That day he succeeded in concealing his agitation, and kept up a flow oftalk at dinner; but at about nine o'clock, when Clameran called on theladies, he rushed from the house, for fear that he would be unable tocontrol his indignation at the sight of this destroyer of his happiness;and did not return home until late in the night. 

The next day he reaped the fruit of his prudence. 

Among the letters which his valet brought him at noon, was one bearingthe post-mark of Vesinet. 

He carefully opened the envelope, and read:

"DEAR AUNT--It is imperatively necessary for me to see you to-day; so donot fail to come to Vesinet. 

"I will explain why I give you this trouble, instead of calling at yourhouse. 

"RAOUL. "

"I have them now!" cried M. Fauvel trembling with satisfaction at thenear prospect of vengeance. 

Eager to lose no time, he opened a drawer, took out a revolver, andexamined the hammer to see if it worked easily. 

He imagined himself alone, but a vigilant eye was watching hismovements. Gypsy, immediately upon her return from the Archangel, stationed herself at the key-hole of the study-door, and saw all thatoccurred. 

M. Fauvel laid the pistol on the mantel-piece, and nervously resealedthe letter, which he then took to the box where the letters were usuallyleft, not wishing anyone to know that Raoul's letter had passed throughhis hands. 

He was only absent two minutes, but, inspired by the imminence of thedanger, Gypsy darted into the study, and rapidly extracted the ballsfrom the revolver. 

"Thank Heaven!" she murmured: "this peril is averted, and M. Verduretwill now perhaps have time to prevent a murder. I must send Cavaillon totell him. "

She hurried into the bank, and sent the clerk with a message, tellinghim to leave it with Mme. Alexandre, if M. Verduret had left the hotel. 

An hour later, Mme. Fauvel ordered her carriage, and went out. 

M. Fauvel jumped into a hackney-coach, and followed her. 

"God grant that M. Verduret may reach there in time!" cried Nina toherself, "otherwise Mme. Fauvel and Raoul are lost. "

XXIV

The moment that the Marquis of Clameran perceived that Raoul de Lagorswas the only obstacle between him and Madeleine, he swore that theobstacle should soon be removed. 

That very day he took steps for the accomplishment of his purpose. AsRaoul was walking out to Vesinet about midnight, he was stopped at alonely spot, by three men, who asked him what o'clock it was; whilelooking at his watch, the ruffians fell upon him suddenly, and but forRaoul's wonderful strength and agility, would have left him dead on thespot. 

As it was, he soon, by his skilfully plied blows (for he had become aproficient in fencing and boxing in England), made his enemies take totheir heels. 

He quietly continued his walk home, fully determined to be hereafterwell armed when he went out at night. 

He never for an instant suspected his accomplice of having instigatedthe assault. 

But two days afterward, while sitting in a cafe, a burly, vulgar-lookingman, a stranger to him, interrupted him several times while talking, and, after making several rough speeches as if trying to provoke aquarrel, finally threw a card in his face, saying its owner was ready togrant him satisfaction when and where he pleased. 

Raoul rushed toward the man to chastise him on the spot; but his friendsheld him back, telling him that it would be much more gentlemanly to runa sword through his vulgar hide, than have a scuffle in a public place. 

"Very well, then: you will hear from me to-morrow, " he said scornfullyto his assailant. "Wait at your hotel until I send two friends toarrange the matter with you. "

As soon as the stranger had left, Raoul recovered from his excitement, and began to wonder what could have been the motive for this evidentlypremeditated insult. 

Picking up the card of the bully, he read:

W. H. B. JACOBSON. Formerly Garibaldian volunteer, Ex-officer of thearmy of the South. (Italy, America. )

30, Rue Leonie. 

Raoul had seen enough of the world to know that these heroes who covertheir visiting-cards with titles have very little glory elsewhere thanin their own conceit. 

Still the insult had been offered in the presence of others; and, nomatter who the offender was, it must be noticed. Early the next morningRaoul sent two of his friends to make arrangements for a duel. He gavethem M. Jacobson's address, and told them to report at the Hotel duLouvre, where he would wait for them. 

Having dismissed his friends, Raoul went to find out something about M. Jacobson; and, being an expert at the business of unravelling plots andsnares, he determined to discover who was at the bottom of this duelinto which he had been decoyed. 

The information obtained was not very promising. 

M. Jacobson, who lived in a very suspicious-looking little hotel whoseinmates were chiefly women of light character, was described to him asan eccentric gentleman, whose mode of life was a problem difficult tosolve. No one knew his means of support. 

He reigned despotically in the hotel, went out a great deal, never camein until midnight, and seemed to have no capital to live upon, save hismilitary titles, and a talent for carrying out whatever was undertakenfor his own benefit. 

"That being his character, " thought Raoul, "I cannot see what object hecan have in picking a quarrel with me. What good will it do him to run asword through my body? Not the slightest; and, moreover, his pugnaciousconduct is apt to draw the attention of the police, who, from what Ihear, are the last people this warrior would like to have after him. Therefore he must have some reason for pursuing me; and I must find outwhat it is. "

The result of his meditations was, that Raoul, upon his return to theHotel du Louvre, did not mention a word of his adventure to Clameran, whom he found already up. 

At half-past eight his seconds arrived. 

M. Jacobson had selected the sword, and would fight that very hour, inthe woods of Vincennes. 

"Well, come along, " cried Raoul gayly. "I accept the gentleman'sconditions. "

They found the Garibaldian waiting; and after an interchange of a fewthrusts Raoul was slightly wounded in the right shoulder. 

The "Ex-superior officer of the South" wished to continue the combat;but Raoul's seconds--brave young men--declared that honor was satisfied, and that they had no intention of subjecting their friend's life tounnecessary hazards. 

The ex-officer was forced to admit that this was but fair, andunwillingly retired from the field. Raoul went home delighted at havingescaped with nothing more serious than a little loss of blood, andresolved to keep clear of all so-called Garibaldians in the future. 

In fact, a night's reflection had convinced him that Clameran was theinstigator of the two attempts to kill him. Mme. Fauvel having toldhim what conditions Madeleine placed on her consent to marriage, Raoulinstantly saw how necessary his removal would be, now that he was animpediment in the way of Clameran's success. He recalled a thousandlittle remarks and events of the last few days, and, on skilfullyquestioning the marquis, had his suspicions changed into certainty. 

This conviction that the man whom he had so materially assisted in hiscriminal plans was so basely ungrateful as to turn against him, and hireassassins to murder him in cold blood, inspired in Raoul a resolution totake speedy vengeance upon his treacherous accomplice, and at the sametime insure his own safety. 

This treason seemed monstrous to Raoul. He was as yet not sufficientlyexperienced in ruffianism to know that one villain always sacrificesanother to advance his own projects; he was credulous enough to believein the adage, "there's honor among thieves. "

His rage was naturally mingled with fright, well knowing that his lifehung by a thread, when it was threatened by a daring scoundrel likeClameran. 

He had twice miraculously escaped; a third attempt would more thanlikely prove fatal. 

Knowing his accomplice's nature, Raoul saw himself surrounded by snares;he saw death before him in every form; he was equally afraid of goingout, and of remaining at home. He only ventured with the most suspiciouscaution into the most public places; he feared poison more than theassassin's knife, and imagined that every dish placed before him tastedof strychnine. 

As this life of torture was intolerable, he determined to anticipate astruggle which he felt must terminate in the death of either Clameran orhimself; and, if he were doomed to die, to be first revenged. If he wentdown, Clameran should go too; better kill the devil than be killed byhim. 

In his days of poverty, Raoul had often risked his life to obtain a fewguineas, and would not have hesitated to make short work of a personlike Clameran. 

But with money prudence had come. He wished to enjoy his four hundredthousand francs without being compromised by committing a murder whichmight be discovered; he therefore began to devise some other meansof getting rid of his dreaded accomplice. Meanwhile, he devoted histhoughts to some discreet way of thwarting Clameran's marriage withMadeleine. He was sure that he would thus strike him to the heart, andthis was at least a satisfaction. 

Raoul was persuaded that, by openly siding with Madeleine and her aims, he could save them from Clameran's clutches. Having fully resolved uponthis course, he wrote a note to Mme. Fauvel asking for an interview. 

The poor woman hastened to Vesinet convinced that some new misfortunewas in store for her. 

Her alarm was groundless. She found Raoul more tender and affectionatethan he had ever been. He saw the necessity of reassuring her, andwinning his old place in her forgiving heart, before making hisdisclosures. 

He succeeded. The poor lady had a smiling and happy air as she sat in anarm-chair, with Raoul kneeling beside her. 

"I have distressed you too long, my dear mother, " he said in his softesttones, "but I repent sincerely: now listen to my--"

He had not time to say more; the door was violently thrown open, andRaoul, springing to his feet, was confronted by M. Fauvel. 

The banker had a revolver in his hand, and was deadly pale. 

It was evident that he was making superhuman efforts to remain calm, like a judge whose duty it is to justly punish crime. 

"Ah, " he said with a horrible laugh, "you look surprised. You did notexpect me? You thought that my imbecile credulity insured your safety. "

Raoul had the courage to place himself before Mme. Fauvel, and to standprepared to receive the expected bullet. 

"I assure you, uncle, " he began. 

"Enough!" interrupted the banker with an angry gesture, "let me hear nomore infamous falsehoods! End this acting, of which I am no longer thedupe. "

"I swear to you--"

"Spare yourself the trouble of denying anything. I know all. I know whopawned my wife's diamonds. I know who committed the robbery for which aninnocent man was arrested and imprisoned. "

Mme. Fauvel, white with terror, fell upon her knees. 

At last it had come--the dreadful day had come. Vainly had she addedfalsehood to falsehood; vainly had she sacrificed herself and others:all was discovered. 

She saw that all was lost, and wringing her hands she tearfully moaned:

"Pardon, Andre! I beg you, forgive me!"

At these heart-broken tones, the banker shook like a leaf. This voicebrought before him the twenty years of happiness which he had owedto this woman, who had always been the mistress of his heart, whoseslightest wish had been his law, and who, by a smile or a frown, couldmake him the happiest or the most miserable of men. Alas! those dayswere over now. 

Could this wretched woman crouching at his feet be his belovedValentine, the pure, innocent girl whom he had found secluded in thechateau of La Verberie, who had never loved any other than himself?Could this be the cherished wife whom he had worshipped for so manyyears?

The memory of his lost happiness was too much for the stricken man. Heforgot the present in the past, and was almost melted to forgiveness. 

"Unhappy woman, " he murmured, "unhappy woman! What have I done that youshould thus betray me? Ah, my only fault was loving you too deeply, and letting you see it. One wearies of everything in this world, evenhappiness. Did pure domestic joys pall upon you, and weary you, drivingyou to seek the excitement of a sinful passion? Were you so tired of theatmosphere of respect and affection which surrounded you, that you mustneeds risk your honor and mine by braving public opinion? Oh, intowhat an abyss you have fallen, Valentine! and, oh, my God! if you werewearied by my constant devotion, had the thought of your children nopower to restrain your evil passions; could you not remain untarnishedfor their sake?"

M. Fauvel spoke slowly, with painful effort, as if each word choked him. 

Raoul, who listened with attention, saw that if the banker knew somethings, he certainly did not know all. 

He saw that erroneous information had misled the unhappy man, and thathe was still a victim of false appearances. 

He determined to convince him of the mistake under which he waslaboring, and said:

"Monsieur, I hope you will listen. "

But the sound of Raoul's voice was sufficient to break the charm. 

"Silence!" cried the banker with an angry oath, "silence!"

For some moments nothing was heard but the sobs of Mme. Fauvel. 

"I came here, " continued the banker, "with the intention of killing youboth. But I cannot kill a woman, and I will not kill an unarmed man. "

Raoul once more tried to speak. 

"Let me finish!" interrupted M. Fauvel. "Your life is in my hands; thelaw excuses the vengeance of an injured husband; but I refuse to takeadvantage of it. I see on your mantel a revolver similar to mine; takeit, and defend yourself. "

"Never!"

"Defend yourself!" cried the banker raising his arm, "if you do not--"

Feeling the barrel of M. Fauvel's revolver touch his breast, Raoul inself-defence seized his own pistol, and prepared to fire. 

"Stand in that corner of the room, and I will stand in this, " continuedthe banker; "and when the clock strikes, which will be in a few seconds, we will both fire. "

They took the places designated, and stood perfectly still. 

But the horror of the scene was too much for Mme. Fauvel to witness anylonger without interposing. She understood but one thing: her son andher husband were about to kill each other before her very eyes. Frightand horror gave her strength to start up and rush between the two men. 

"For God's sake, have mercy, Andre!" she cried, wringing her hands withanguish, "let me tell you everything; don't kill--"

This burst of maternal love, M. Fauvel thought the pleadings of acriminal woman defending her lover. 

He roughly seized his wife by the arm, and thrust her aside, saying withindignant scorn:

"Get out of the way!"

But she would not be repulsed; rushing up to Raoul, she threw her armsaround him, and said to her husband:

"Kill me, and me alone; for I am the guilty one. "

At these words M. Fauvel glared at the guilty pair, and, deliberatelytaking aim, fired. 

Neither Raoul nor Mme. Fauvel moved. The banker fired a second time;then a third. 

He cocked the pistol for a fourth shot, when a man rushed into the room, snatched the pistol from the banker's hand, and, throwing him on thesofa, ran toward Mme. Fauvel. 

This man was M. Verduret, who had been warned by Cavaillon, but did notknow that Mme. Gypsy had extracted the balls from M. Fauvel's revolver. 

"Thank Heaven!" he cried, "she is unhurt. "

"How dare you interfere?" cried the banker, who by this time hadjoined the group. "I have the right to avenge my honor when it has beendegraded; the villain shall die!"

M. Verduret seized the banker's wrists in a vice-like grasp, andwhispered in his ear:

"Thank God you are saved from committing a terrible crime; the anonymousletter deceived you. "

In violent situations like this, all the untoward, strange attendingcircumstances appear perfectly natural to the participators, whosepassions have already carried them beyond the limits of socialpropriety. 

Thus M. Fauvel never once thought of asking this stranger who he was andwhere he came from. 

He heard and understood but one fact: the anonymous letter had lied. 

"But my wife confesses she is guilty, " he stammered. 

"So she is, " replied M. Verduret, "but not of the crime you imagine. Doyou know who that man is, that you attempted to kill?"

"Her lover!"

"No: her son!"

The words of this stranger, showing his intimate knowledge of theprivate affairs of all present, seemed to confound and frighten Raoulmore than M. Fauvel's threats had done. Yet he had sufficient presenceof mind to say:

"It is the truth!"

The banker looked wildly from Raoul to M. Verduret; then, fastening hishaggard eyes on his wife, exclaimed:

"It is false! you are all conspiring to deceive me! Proofs!"

"You shall have proofs, " replied M. Verduret, "but first listen. "

And rapidly, with his wonderful talent for exposition, he related theprincipal points of the plot he had discovered. 

The true state of the case was terribly distressing to M. Fauvel, butnothing compared with what he had suspected. 

His throbbing, yearning heart told him that he still loved his wife. Whyshould he punish a fault committed so many years ago, and atoned for bytwenty years of devotion and suffering?

For some moments after M. Verduret had finished his explanation, M. Fauvel remained silent. 

So many strange events had happened, rapidly following each other insuccession, and culminating in the shocking scene which had just takenplace, that M. Fauvel seemed to be too bewildered to think clearly. 

If his heart counselled pardon and forgetfulness, wounded pride andself-respect demanded vengeance. 

If Raoul, the baleful witness, the living proof of a far-off sin, werenot in existence, M. Fauvel would not have hesitated. Gaston de Clameranwas dead; he would have held out his arms to his wife, and said:

"Come to my heart! your sacrifices for my honor shall be yourabsolution; let the sad past be forgotten. "

But the sight of Raoul froze the words upon his lips. 

"So this is your son, " he said to his wife--"this man, who has plunderedyou and robbed me!"

Mme. Fauvel was unable to utter a word in reply to these reproachfulwords. 

"Oh!" said M. Verduret, "madame will tell you that this young man is theson of Gaston de Clameran; she has never doubted it. But the truth is--"

"What!"

"That, in order to swindle her, he has perpetrated a gross imposture. "

During the last few minutes Raoul had been quietly creeping toward thedoor, hoping to escape while no one was thinking of him. 

But M. Verduret, who anticipated his intentions, was watching him out ofthe corner of one eye, and stopped him just as he was about leaving theroom. 

"Not so fast, my pretty youth, " he said, dragging him into the middle ofthe room; "it is not polite to leave us so unceremoniously. Let ushave a little conversation before parting; a little explanation will beedifying!"

The jeering words and mocking manner of M. Verduret made Raoul turndeadly pale, and start back as if confronted by a phantom. 

"The clown!" he gasped. 

"The same, friend, " said the fat man. "Ah, now that you recognize me, I confess that the clown and myself are one and the same. Yes, I am themountebank of the Jandidier ball; here is proof of it. "

And turning up his sleeve he showed a deep cut on his arm. 

"I think that this recent wound will convince you of my identity, " hecontinued. "I imagine you know the villain that gave me this littledecoration, that night I was walking along the Rue Bourdaloue. Thatbeing the case, you know, I have a slight claim upon you, and shallexpect you to relate to us your little story. "

But Raoul was so terrified that he could not utter a word. 

"Your modesty keeps you silent, " said M. Verduret. "Bravo! modestybecomes talent, and for one of your age you certainly have displayed atalent for knavery. "

M. Fauvel listened without understanding a word of what was said. 

"Into what dark depths of shame have we fallen!" he groaned. 

"Reassure yourself, monsieur, " replied M. Verduret with great respect. "After what I have been constrained to tell you, what remains to be saidis a mere trifle. I will finish the story. 

"On leaving Mihonne, who had given him a full account of the misfortunesof Mlle. Valentine de la Verberie, Clameran hastened to London. 

"He had no difficulty in finding the farmer's wife to whom the oldcountess had intrusted Gaston's son. 

"But here an unexpected disappointment greeted him. 

"He learned that the child, whose name was registered on the parishbooks as Raoul-Valentin Wilson, had died of the croup when eighteenmonths old. "

"Did anyone state such a fact as that?" interrupted Raoul: "it isfalse. "

"It was not only stated, but proved, my pretty youth, " replied M. Verduret. "You don't suppose I am a man to trust to verbal testimony; doyou?"

He drew from his pocket several officially stamped documents, with redseals attached, and laid them on the table. 

"These are declarations of the nurse, her husband, and four witnesses. Here is an extract from the register of births; this is a certificateof registry of his death; and all these are authenticated at the FrenchEmbassy. Now are you satisfied, young man?"

"What next?" inquired M. Fauvel. 

"The next step was this, " replied M. Verduret. "Clameran, findingthat the child was dead, supposed that he could, in spite of thisdisappointment, obtain money from Mme. Fauvel; he was mistaken. Hisfirst attempt failed. Having an inventive turn of mind, he determinedthat the child should come to life. Among his large circle of rascallyacquaintances, he selected a young fellow to impersonate Raoul-ValentinWilson; and the chosen one stands before you. "

Mme. Fauvel was in a pitiable state. And yet she began to feel a ray ofhope; her acute anxiety had so long tortured her, that the truth was arelief; she would thank Heaven if this wicked man was proved to be noson of hers. 

"Can this be possible?" she murmured, "can it be?"

"Impossible!" cried the banker: "an infamous plot like this could not beexecuted in our midst!"

"All this is false!" said Raoul boldly. "It is a lie!"

M. Verduret turned to Raoul, and, bowing with ironical respect, said:

"Monsieur desires proofs, does he? Monsieur shall certainly haveconvincing ones. I have just left a friend of mine, M. Palot, whobrought me valuable information from London. Now, my young gentleman, I will tell you the little story he told me, and then you can give youropinion of it. 

"In 1847 Lord Murray, a wealthy and generous nobleman, had a jockeynamed Spencer, of whom he was very fond. At the Epsom races, this jockeywas thrown from his horse, and killed. Lord Murray grieved over theloss of his favorite, and, having no children of his own, declared hisintention of adopting Spencer's son, who was then but four years old. 

"Thus James Spencer was brought up in affluence, as heir to the immensewealth of the noble lord. He was a handsome, intelligent boy, and gavesatisfaction to his protector until he was sixteen years of age; when hebecame intimate with a worthless set of people, and turned out badly. 

"Lord Murray, who was very indulgent, pardoned many grave faults; butone fine morning he discovered that his adopted son had been imitatinghis signature upon some checks. He indignantly dismissed him from thehouse, and told him never to show his face again. 

"James Spencer had been living in London about four years, managing tosupport himself by gambling and swindling, when he met Clameran, whooffered him twenty-five thousand francs to play a part in a littlecomedy which he had arranged to suit the actors. "

"You are a detective!" interrupted Raoul. 

The fat man smiled grimly. 

"At present, " he replied, "I am merely a friend of Prosper Bertomy. Itdepends entirely upon your behavior which character I appear in whilesettling up this little affair. "

"What do you expect me to do?"

"Restore the three hundred and fifty thousand francs which you havestolen. "

The young rascal hesitated a moment, and then said:

"The money is in this room. "

"Very good. This frankness is creditable, and will benefit you. I knowthat the money is in this room, and also exactly where it is to befound. Be kind enough to look behind that cupboard, and you will findthe three hundred and fifty thousand francs. "

Raoul saw that his game was lost. He tremblingly went to the cupboard, and pulled out several bundles of bank-notes, and an enormous package ofpawn-broker's tickets. 

"Very well done, " said M. Verduret, as he carefully examined the moneyand papers: "this is the most sensible step you ever took. "

Raoul relied on this moment, when everybody's attention would beabsorbed by the money, to make his escape. He slid toward the door, gently opened it, slipped out, and locked it on the outside; the keybeing still in the lock. 

"He has escaped!" cried M. Fauvel. 

"Naturally, " replied M. Verduret, without even looking up: "I thought hewould have sense enough to do that. "

"But is he to go unpunished?"

"My dear sir, would you have this affair become a public scandal? Do youwish your wife's name to be brought into a case of this nature beforethe police-court?"

"Oh, monsieur!"

"Then the best thing you can do, is to let the rascal go scot free. Hereare receipts for all the articles which he has pawned, so that we shouldconsider ourselves fortunate. He has kept fifty thousand francs, butthat is all the better for you. This sum will enable him to leaveFrance, and we shall never see him again. "

Like everyone else, M. Fauvel yielded to the ascendancy of M. Verduret. 

Gradually he had awakened to the true state of affairs; prospectivehappiness no longer seemed impossible, and he felt that he was indebtedto the man before him for more than life. But for M. Verduret, wherewould have been his honor and domestic peace?

With earnest gratitude he seized M. Verduret's hand as if to carry it tohis lips, and said, in broken tones:

"Oh, monsieur! how can I ever find words to express how deeply Iappreciate your kindness? How can I ever repay the great service youhave rendered me?"

M. Verduret reflected a moment, and then said:

"If you feel under any significant obligations to me, monsieur, you haveit in your power to return them. I have a favor to ask of you. "

"A favor? you ask of me? Speak, monsieur, you have but to name it. Myfortune and life are at your disposal. "

"I will not hesitate, then, to explain myself. I am Prosper's friend, and deeply interested in his future. You can exonerate him from thisinfamous charge of robbery; you can restore him to his honorableposition. You can do more than this, monsieur. He loves Mlle. Madeleine. "

"Madeleine shall be his wife, monsieur, " interrupted the banker: "I giveyou my word of honor. And I will so publicly exonerate him, that nota shadow of suspicion will rest upon his name. I will place him ina position which will prevent slander from reproaching him with thepainful remembrance of my fatal error. "

The fat man quietly took up his hat and cane, as if he had been payingan ordinary morning call, and turned to leave the room, after saying, "Good-morning. " But, seeing the weeping woman raise her clasped handsappealingly toward him, he said hesitatingly:

"Monsieur, excuse my intruding any advice; but Mme. Fauvel--"

"Andre!" murmured the wretched wife, "Andre!"

The banker hesitated a moment; then, following the impulse of his heart, ran to his wife, and, clasping her in his arms, said tenderly:

"No, I will not be foolish enough to struggle against my deep-rootedlove. I do not pardon, Valentine: I forget; I forget all!"

M. Verduret had nothing more to do at Vesinet. 

Without taking leave of the banker, he quietly left the room, and, jumping into his cab, ordered the driver to return to Paris, and driveto the Hotel du Louvre as rapidly as possible. 

His mind was filled with anxiety about Clameran. He knew that Raoulwould give him no more trouble; the young rogue was probably taking hispassage for some foreign land at that very moment. But Clameran shouldnot escape unpunished; and how this punishment could be brought aboutwithout compromising Mme. Fauvel, was the problem to be solved. 

M. Verduret thought over the various cases similar to this, but not oneof his former expedients could be applied to the present circumstances. He could not deliver the villain over to justice without involving Mme. Fauvel. 

After long thought, he decided that an accusation of poisoning must comefrom Oloron. He would go there and work upon "public opinion, " so that, to satisfy the townspeople, the authorities would order a post-mortemexamination of Gaston. But this mode of proceeding required time; andClameran would certainly escape before another day passed over his head. He was too experienced a knave to remain on slippery ground, now thathis eyes were open to the danger which menaced him. It was almost darkwhen the carriage stopped in front of the Hotel du Louvre; M. Verduretnoticed a crowd of people collected together in groups, eagerlydiscussing some exciting event which seemed to have just takenplace. Although the policeman attempted to disperse the crowd byauthoritatively ordering them to "Move on! Move on!" they would merelyseparate in one spot to join a more clamorous group a few yards off. 

"What has happened?" demanded M. Verduret of a lounger near by. 

"The strangest thing you ever heard of, " replied the man; "yes, I sawhim with my own eyes. He first appeared at that seventh-story window; hewas only half-dressed. Some men tried to seize him; but, bast! with theagility of a squirrel, he jumped out upon the roof, shrieking, 'Murder!murder!' The recklessness of his conduct led me to suppose--"

The gossip stopped short in his narrative, very much surprised andvexed; his questioner had vanished. 

"If it should be Clameran!" thought M. Verduret; "if terror has derangedthat brain, so capable of working out great crimes! Fate must haveinterposed----"

While thus talking to himself, he elbowed his way through the crowdedcourt-yard of the hotel. 

At the foot of the staircase he found M. Fanferlot and threepeculiar-looking individuals standing together, as if waiting forsomeone. 

"Well, " cried M. Verduret, "what is the matter?"

With laudable emulation, the four men rushed forward to report to theirsuperior officer. 

"Patron, " they all began at once. 

"Silence!" said the fat man with an oath; "one at a time. Quick! what isthe matter?"

"The matter is this, patron, " said Fanferlot dejectedly. "I am doomedto ill luck. You see how it is; this is the only chance I ever had ofworking out a beautiful case, and, paf! my criminal must go and fizzle!A regular case of bankruptcy!"

"Then it is Clameran who--"

"Of course it is. When the rascal saw me this morning, he scampered offlike a hare. You should have seen him run; I thought he would never stopthis side of Ivry: but not at all. On reaching the Boulevard des Ecoles, a sudden idea seemed to strike him, and he made a bee-line for hishotel; I suppose, to get his pile of money. Directly he gets here, whatdoes he see? these three friends of mine. The sight of these gentlemenhad the effect of a sunstroke upon him; he went raving mad on the spot. The idea of serving me such a low trick at the very moment I was sure ofsuccess!"

"Where is he now?"

"At the prefecture, I suppose. Some policemen handcuffed him, and droveoff with him in a cab. "

"Come with me. "

M. Verduret and Fanferlot found Clameran in one of the private cellsreserved for dangerous prisoners. 

He had on a strait-jacket, and was struggling violently against threemen, who were striving to hold him, while a physician tried to force himto swallow a potion. 

"Help!" he shrieked; "help, for God's sake! Do you not see my brothercoming after me? Look! he wants to poison me!"

M. Verduret took the physician aside, and questioned him about themaniac. 

"The wretched man is in a hopeless state, " replied the doctor; "thisspecies of insanity is incurable. He thinks someone is trying to poisonhim, and nothing will persuade him to eat or drink anything; and, asit is impossible to force anything down his throat, he will die ofstarvation, after having suffered all the tortures of poison. "

M. Verduret, with a shudder, turned to leave the prefecture, saying toFanferlot:

"Mme. Fauvel is saved, and by the interposition of God, who has himselfpunished Clameran!"

"That don't help me in the least, " grumbled Fanferlot. "The idea of allmy trouble and labor ending in this flat, quiet way! I seem to be bornfor ill-luck!"

"Don't take your blighted hopes of glory so much to heart, " repliedM. Verduret. "It is a melancholy fact for you that _File No. 113_ willnever leave the record-office; but you must bear your disappointmentgracefully and heroically. I will console you by sending you as bearerof despatches to a friend of mine, and what you have lost in fame willbe gained in gold. "

XXV

Four days had passed since the events just narrated, when one morningM. Lecoq--the official Lecoq, who resembled the dignified head ofa bureau--was walking up and down his private office, at each turnnervously looking at the clock, which slowly ticked on the mantel, asif it had no intention of striking any sooner than usual, to gratify theman so anxiously watching its placid face. 

At last, however, the clock did strike; and just then the faithfulJanouille opened the door, and ushered in Mme. Nina and Prosper Bertomy. 

"Ah, " said M. Lecoq, "you are punctual; lovers are generally so. "

"We are not lovers, monsieur, " replied Mme. Gypsy. "M. Verduret gaveus express orders to meet here in your office this morning, and we haveobeyed. "

"Very good, " said the celebrated detective: "then be kind enough to waita few minutes; I will tell him you are here. "

During the quarter of an hour that Nina and Prosper remained alonetogether, they did not exchange a word. Finally a door opened, and M. Verduret appeared. 

Nina and Prosper eagerly started toward him; but he checked them by oneof those peculiar looks which no one ever dared resist. 

"You have come, " he said severely, "to hear the secret of my conduct. I have promised, and will keep my word, however painful it may be tomy feelings. Listen, then. My best friend is a loyal, honest man, named Caldas. Eighteen months ago this friend was the happiest of men. Infatuated by a woman, he lived for her alone, and, fool that he was, imagined that she felt the same love for him. "

"She did!" cried Gypsy, "yes, she always loved him. "

"She showed her love in a peculiar way. She loved him so much, thatone fine day she left him, and ran off with another man. In his firstmoments of despair, Caldas wished to kill himself. Then he reflectedthat it would be wiser to live, and avenge himself. "

"And then, " faltered Prosper. 

"Then Caldas avenged himself in his own way. He made the woman whodeserted him recognize his immense superiority over his rival. Weak, timid, and helpless, the rival was disgraced, and falling over the vergeof a precipice, when the powerful hand of Caldas reached forth and savedhim. You understand all now, do you not? The woman is Nina; the rival isyourself; and Caldas is--"

With a quick, dexterous movement, he threw off his wig and whiskers, andstood before them the real, intelligent, proud Lecoq. 

"Caldas!" cried Nina. 

"No, not Caldas, not Verduret any longer: but Lecoq, the detective!"

M. Lecoq broke the stupefied silence of his listeners by saying toProsper:

"It is not to me alone that you owe your salvation. A noble girlconfided to me the difficult task of clearing your reputation. Ipromised her that M. Fauvel should never know the shameful secretsconcerning his domestic happiness. Your letter thwarted all my plans, and made it impossible for me to keep my promise. I have nothing more tosay. "

He turned to leave the room, but Nina barred his exit. 

"Caldas, " she murmured, "I implore you to have pity on me! I am _so_miserable! Ah, if you only knew! Be forgiving to one who has alwaysloved you, Caldas! Listen. "

Prosper departed from M. Lecoq's office alone. 

On the 15th of last month, was celebrated, at the church of Notre Damede Lorette, the marriage of M. Prosper Bertomy and Mlle. MadeleineFauvel. 

The banking-house is still on the Rue de Provence; but as M. Fauvel hasdecided to retire from business, and live in the country, the name ofthe firm has been changed, and is now--

"Prosper Bertomy & Co. "