Chapter 1 PUTTING ON THE SCREW
　　The cold on the 8th of February, 186-, was more intense than theParisians had experienced during the whole of the severe winter whichhad preceded it, for at twelve o'clock on that day Chevalier'sthermometer, so well known by the denizens of Paris, registered threedegrees below zero. The sky was overcast and full of threatening signsof snow, while the moisture on the pavement and roads had frozen hard,rendering traffic of all kinds exceedingly hazardous. The whole greatcity wore an air of dreariness and desolation, for even when a thincrust of ice covers the waters of the Seine, the mind involuntarilyturns to those who have neither food, shelter, nor fuel.

This bitterly cold day actually made the landlady of the Hotel dePerou, though she was a hard, grasping woman of Auvergne, gave athought to the condition of her lodgers, and one quite different fromher usual idea of obtaining the maximum of rent for the minimum ofaccommodation.

"The cold," remarked she to her husband, who was busily engaged inreplenishing the stove with fuel, "is enough to frighten the wits outof a Polar bear. In this kind of weather I always feel very anxious,for it was during a winter like this that one of our lodgers hunghimself, a trick which cost us fifty francs, in good, honest money,besides giving us a bad name in the neighborhood. The fact is, onenever knows what lodgers are capable of doing. You should go up to thetop floor, and see how they are getting on there.""Pooh, pooh!" replied her husband, M. Loupins; "they will do wellenough.""Is that really your opinion?""I know that I am right. Daddy Tantaine went out as soon as it waslight, and a short time afterward Paul Violaine came down. There is noone upstairs now but little Rose, and I expect that she has been wiseenough to stick to her bed.""Ah!" answered the landlady rather spitefully. "I have made up my mindregarding that young lady some time ago; she is a sight too pretty forthis house, and so I tell you."The Hotel de Perou stands in the Rue de la Hachette, not twenty stepsfrom the Place de Petit Pont; and no more cruelly sarcastic title couldever have been conferred on a building. The extreme shabbiness of theexterior of the house, the narrow, muddy street in which it stood, thedingy windows covered with mud, and repaired with every variety ofpatch,--all seemed to cry out to the passers by: "This is the chosenabode of misery and destitution."The observer might have fancied it a robbers' den, but he would havebeen wrong; for the inhabitants were fairly honest. The Hotel de Perouwas one of those refuges, growing scarcer and more scarce every day,where unhappy men and women, who had been worsted in the battle oflife, could find a shelter in return for the change remaining from thelast five-franc piece. They treat it as the shipwrecked mariner usesthe rock upon which he climbs from the whirl of the angry waters, andbreathes a deep sigh of relief as he collects his forces for a fresheffort. However wretched existence may be, a protracted sojourn in sucha shelter as the Hotel de Perou would be out of the question. Thechambers in every floor of the house are divided into small slips bypartitions, covered with canvas and paper, and pleasantly termed roomsby M. Loupins. The partitions were in a terrible condition, rickety andunstable, and the paper with which they were covered torn and hangingdown in tatters; but the state of the attics was even more deplorable,the ceilings of which were so low that the occupants had to stoopcontinually, while the dormer windows admitted but a small amount oflight. A bedstead, with a straw mattress, a rickety table, and twobroken chairs, formed the sole furniture of these rooms. Miserable asthese dormitories were, the landlady asked and obtained twenty-twofrancs for them by the month, as there was a fireplace in each, whichshe always pointed out to intending tenants.

The young woman whom M. Loupins alluded to by the name of Rose wasseated in one of these dreary dens on this bitter winter's day. Rosewas an exquisitely beautiful girl about eighteen years of age. She wasvery fair; her long lashes partially concealed a pair of steely blueeyes, and to a certain extent relieved their hard expression. Her ripe,red lips, which seemed formed for love and kisses, permitted a glimpseof a row of pearly teeth. Her bright waving hair grew low down upon herforehead, and such of it as had escaped from the bondage of a cheapcomb, with which it was fastened, hung in wild luxuriance over herexquisitely shaped neck and shoulders. She had thrown over her raggedprint gown the patched coverlet of the bed, and, crouched upon thetattered hearthrug before the hearth, upon which a few stickssmouldered, giving out hardly a particle of heat, she was telling herfortune with a dirty pack of cards, endeavoring to console herself forthe privations of the day by the promise of future prosperity. She hadspread those arbiters of her destiny in a half circle before her, anddivided them into threes, each of which had a peculiar meaning, and herbreast rose and fell as she turned them up and read upon their facesgood fortune or ill-luck. Absorbed in this task, she paid but littleattention to the icy chilliness of the atmosphere, which made herfingers stiff, and dyed her white hands purple.

"One, two, three," she murmured in a low voice. "A fair man, that'ssure to be Paul. One, two, three, money to the house. One, two, three,troubles and vexations. One, two, three, the nine of spades; ah, dear!

more hardships and misery,--always that wretched card turning up withits sad story!"Rose seemed utterly downcast at the sight of the little piece ofpainted cardboard, as though she had received certain intelligence of acoming misfortune. She soon, however, recovered herself, and was againshuffling the pack,--cut it, taking care to do so with her left hand,spread them out before her, and again commenced counting: one, two,three. This time the cards appeared to be more propitious, and held outpromises of success for the future.

"I am loved," read she, as she gazed anxiously upon them,--"very muchloved! Here is rejoicing, and a letter from a dark man! See, here heis,--the knave of clubs. Always the same," she continued; "I cannotstrive against fate."Then, rising to her feet, she drew from a crack in the wall, whichformed a safe hiding-place for her secrets, a soiled and crumpledletter, and, unfolding it, she read for perhaps the hundredth timethese words:--"MADEMOISELLE,--"To see you is to love you. I give you my word of honor that thisis true. The wretched hovel where your charms are hidden is no fitabode for you. A home, worthy in every way to receive you, is atyour service--Rue de Douai. It has been taken in your name, as Iam straightforward in these matters. Think of my proposal, andmake what inquiries you like concerning me. I have not yetattained my majority, but shall do so in five months and threedays, when I shall inherit my mother's fortune. My father iswealthy, but old and infirm. From four to six in the afternoon ofthe next few days I will be in a carriage at the corner of thePlace de Petit Pont.

"GASTON DE GANDELU."The cynical insolence of the letter, together with its entire want ofform, was a perfect example of the style affected by those loiterersabout town, known to the Parisians as "mashers;" and yet Rose did notappear at all disgusted by the reception of such an unworthily wordedproposal, but, on the contrary, rather pleased by its contents. "If Ionly dared," mused she, with a sigh,--"ah, if I only dared!" For a timeshe sat deeply immersed in thought, with her face buried in her hands,until she was aroused from her meditations by the sound of an activeand youthful step upon the creaking stairs. "He has come back," shegasped; and with the agile movement of a cat she again concealed theletter in its hiding-place, and she had scarcely done so, when PaulViolaine entered the miserable room. He was a young man of twenty-three, of slender figure, but admirably proportioned. His face was aperfect oval, and his complexion of just that slight olive tint whichbetrays the native of the south of France. A slight, silky moustacheconcealed his upper lip, and gave his features that air of manliness inwhich they would have otherwise been deficient. His curly chestnut hairfell gracefully over a brow upon which an expression of pride wasvisible, and enhanced the peculiar, restless glance of his large darkeyes. His physical beauty, which was fully equal to that of Rose, wasincreased by an aristocratic air, popularly believed to be only foundin the scions of noble families. The landlady, in her moments of goodhumor, used to assert her belief that her lodger was a disguisedprince; but if this were the case, he was certainly one that had beenovertaken by poverty. His dress, to which the closest attention hadbeen paid, revealed the state of destitution in which he was,--not thedestitution which openly asks for alms, but the hidden poverty whichshuns communication and blushes at a single glance of pity. In thisalmost Arctic winter he wore clothes rendered thin by the constantfriction of the clothes brush, over which was a light overcoat about asthick as the web of a spider. His shoes were well blacked, but theircondition told the piteous tale of long walks in search of employment,or of that good luck which seems to evade its pursuer.

Paul was holding a roll of manuscript in his hand, and as he enteredthe room he threw it on the bed with a despairing gesture. "A failureagain!" exclaimed he, in accents of the utmost depression. "Nothingelse but failures!"The young woman rose hastily to her feet; she appeared to haveforgotten the cards completely; the smile of satisfaction faded fromher face and her features, and an expression of utter weariness tookits place.

"What! no success?" she cried, affecting a surprise which was evidentlyassumed. "No success, after all your promises when you left me thismorning?""This morning, Rose, a ray of hope had penetrated my heart; but I havebeen deceived, or rather I deceived myself, and I took my ardentdesires for so many promises which were certain to be fulfilled. Thepeople that I have been to have not even the kindness to say 'No' plainand flat; they listen to all you have to say, and as soon as your backis turned they forget your existence. The coin that passes around inthis infernal town is indeed nothing but idle words, and that is allthat poverty-stricken talent can expect."A silence of some duration ensued, and Paul was too much absorbed inhis own thoughts to notice the look of contempt with which Rose wasregarding him. His helpless resignation to adverse circumstancesappeared to have turned her to stone.

"A nice position we are in!" said she at last. "What do you think willbecome of us?""Alas! I do not know.""Nor I. Yesterday Madame Loupins came to me and asked for the elevenfrancs we owe here; and told me plainly that if within three days wedid not settle our account, she would turn us out; and I know enough ofher to be sure that she will keep her word. The detestable old hagwould do anything for the pleasure of seeing me on the streets.""Alone and friendless in the world," muttered Paul, paying but littleattention to the young girl's words, "without a creature or a relativeto care for you, or to lend you a helping hand.""We have not a copper in the world," continued Rose with cruelpersistency; "I have sold everything that I had, to preserve the ragsthat I am wearing. Not a scrap of wood remains, and we have not tastedfood since yesterday morning."To these words, which were uttered in a tone of the most bitterreproach, the young man made no reply, but clasped his icily cold handsagainst his forehead, as though in utter despair.

"Yes, that is a true picture of our position," resumed Rose coldly, heraccents growing more and more contemptuous. "And I tell you thatsomething must be done at once, some means discovered, I care not what,to relieve us from our present miserable state."Paul tore off his overcoat, and held it toward her.

"Take it, and pawn it," exclaimed he; but the girl made no move.

"Is that all that you have to propose?" asked she, in the same glacialtone.

"They will lend you three francs upon it, and with that we can getbread and fuel.""And after that is gone?""After that--oh, we will think of our next step, and shall have time tohit upon some plan. Time, a little time, is all that I require, Rose,to break asunder the bonds which seem to fetter me. Some day successmust crown my efforts; and with success, Rose, dear, will comeaffluence, but in the meantime we must learn to wait.""And where are the means to enable us to wait?""No matter; they will come. Only do what I tell you, and who can saywhat to-morrow----"Paul was still too much absorbed in his own thoughts to notice theexpression upon the young girl's face; for had he done so, he would atonce have perceived that she was not in the humor to permit the matterto be shelved in this manner.

"To-morrow!" she broke in sarcastically. "To-morrow,--always the samepitiful cry. For months past we seem to have lived upon the word. Lookyou here, Paul, you are no longer a child, and ought to be able to lookthings straight in the face. What can I get on that threadbare coat ofyours? Perhaps three francs at the outside. How many days will thatlast us? We will say three. And then, what then? Besides, can you notunderstand that your dress is too shabby for you to make an impressionon the people you go to see? Well-dressed applicants only haveattention, and to obtain money, you must appear not to need it; and,pray, what will people think of you if you have no overcoat? Withoutone you will look ridiculous, and can hardly venture into the streets.""Hush!" cried Paul, "for pity's sake, hush! for your words only proveto me more plainly that you are like the rest of the world, and thatwant of success is a pernicious crime in your eyes. You once hadconfidence in me, and then you spoke in a very different strain.""Once indeed! but then I did not know--""No, Rose, it was not what you were then ignorant of; but it was thatin those days you loved me.""Great heavens! I ask you, have I left one stone unturned? Have I notgone from publisher to publisher to sell those songs of my owncomposing--those songs that you sing so well? I have endeavored to getpupils. What fresh efforts can I try? What would /you/ do, were you inmy place? Tell me, I beg you."And as Paul spoke, he grew more and more excited, while Rose stillmaintained her manner of exasperating coolness.

"I know not," she replied, after a brief pause; "but if I were a man, Ido not think I would permit the woman, for whom I pretended that I hadthe most sincere affection, to be in want of the actual necessities oflife. I would strain every effort to obtain them.""I have no trade; I am no mechanic," broke in Paul passionately.

"Then I would learn one. Pray how much does a man earn who climbs theladder with a bricklayer's hod upon his shoulders? It may be hard work,I know, but surely the business is not difficult to learn. You have, orsay you have, great musical talents. I say nothing about them; but hadI any vocal powers and if there was not a morsel to eat in the house, Iwould go and sing in the taverns or even in the public streets, andwould earn money, and care little for the means by which I made it.""When you say those things, you seem to forget that I am an honestman.""One would really suppose that I had suggested some questionable act toyou. Your reply, Paul, plainly proves to me that you are one of thosewho, for want of determination, fall, helpless, by the wayside in thejourney of life. They flaunt their rags and tatters in the eyes of theworld, and with saddened hearts and empty stomachs utter the boast, 'Iam an honest man.' Do you think that, in order to be rich, you mustperforce be a rogue? This is simple imbecility."She uttered this tirade in clear and vibrant accents, and her eyesgleamed with the fire of savage resolution. Her nature was one of thosecruel and energetic ones, which lead a woman to hurl a man from thebrink of the abyss to which she had conducted him, and to forget himbefore he has ever reached the bottom.

This torrent of sarcasm brought out Paul's real nature. His faceflushed, and rage began to gain the mastery over him. "Can you notwork?" he asked. "Why do you not do something instead of talking somuch?""That is not at all the same thing," answered she coolly. "I was notmade for work."Paul made a threatening gesture. "You wretch!" exclaimed he.

"You are wrong," she replied. "I am not a wretch; I am simply hungry."There seemed every prospect of an angry scene, when a slight soundattracted the attention of the disputants, and, turning round, they sawan old man standing upon the threshold of their open door. He was tall,but stooped a good deal. He had high, thick brows, and a red nose; along, thick, grizzly beard covered the rest of his countenance. He worea pair of spectacles with colored glasses, which, to a great extent,concealed the expression of his face. His whole attire indicatedextreme poverty. He wore a greasy coat, much frayed and torn at thepockets, and which had carried away with it marks of all the wallsagainst which it had been rubbed when he had indulged a little toofreely in the cheerful glass. He seemed to belong to that class whoconsider it a work of supererogation to disrobe before going to bed,and who just turn in on such spot as the fancy of the moment maydictate. Paul and Rose both recognized the old man from havingcontinually met him when ascending or descending the staircase, andknew that he rented the back attic, and was called Daddy Tantaine. Inan instant the idea flashed across Paul's mind that the dilapidatedstate of the partition permitted every word spoken in one attic to beoverheard in the other, and this did not tend to soothe his exasperatedfeelings.

"What do you want here, sir?" asked he angrily. "And, pray, who gaveyou permission to enter my room without leave?"The old man did not seem at all put out by the threatening language ofhis questioner. "I should be telling a fib," answered he calmly, "if Iwere to tell you that, being in my own room and hearing youquarrelling, I did not hear every word of what you have been saying.""Sir!""Stop a bit, and don't be in such a hurry, my young friend. You seemdisposed to quarrel, and, on my faith, I am not surprised; for whenthere is no corn in the manger, the best tempered horse will bite andkick."He uttered these words in the most soothing accents, and appearedutterly unconscious of having committed any breach of etiquette inentering the room.

"Well, sir," said Paul, a flush of shame passing across his face, "yousee now how poverty can drag a man down. Are you satisfied?""Come, come, my young friend," answered Daddy Tantaine, "you should notget angry; and if I did step in without any notice, it was because, asa neighbor, I find I might venture on such a liberty; for when I heardhow embarrassed you were, I said to myself, 'Tantaine, perhaps you canhelp this pretty pair out of the scrape they have got into.' "The promise of assistance from a person who had not certainly theoutward appearance of a capitalist seemed so ludicrous to Rose that shecould not restrain a smile, for she fancied that if their old neighborwas to present them with half his fortune, it might possibly amount totwenty centimes or thereabouts.

Paul had formed a somewhat similar idea, but he was a little touched bythis act of friendliness on the part of a man who doubtless knew thatmoney lent under similar circumstances was but seldom returned.

"Ah, sir!" said he, and this time he spoke in softer accents, "what canyou possibly do for us?""Who can say?""You can see how hard we are pushed. We are in want of almosteverything. Have we not reached the /acme/ of misery?"The old man raised his hand to heaven, as if to seek for aid fromabove.

"You have indeed come to a terrible pass," murmured he; "but all is notyet lost. The pearl which lies in the depths of the ocean is not lostfor ever; for may not some skillful diver bring it to the surface? Afisherman may not be able to do much with it, but he knows something ofits value, and hands it over to the dealer in precious stones."He intensified his speech by a little significant laugh, the meaning ofwhich was lost upon the two young people who, though their evilinstincts led them to be greedy and covetous, were yet unskilled in theworld's ways.

"I should," remarked Paul, "be a fool if I did not accept the offer ofyour kind assistance.""There, then, that is right; and now the first thing to do is to have areally good feed. You must get in some wood too, for it is frightfullycold. My old bones are half frozen; and afterward we will talk of afresh rig out for you both.""Yes," remarked Rose with a faint sigh; "but to do all that, we want alot of money.""Well, how do you know that I can't find it?"Daddy Tantaine unbuttoned his great coat with grave deliberation, anddrew from an inner pocket a small scrap of paper which had beenfastened to the lining by a pin. This he unfolded with the greatest ofcare and laid upon the table.

"A banknote for five hundred francs!" exclaimed Rose, with extremesurprise. Paul did not utter a word. Had he seen the woodwork of thechair upon which he was leaning burst into flower and leaf, he couldnot have looked more surprised. Who could have expected to find such asum concealed beneath the old man's tatters, and how could he haveobtained so much money? The idea that some robbery had been committedat once occurred to both the young people, and they exchanged a meaningglance, which, however, did not escape the observation of theirvisitor.

"Pooh, pooh!" said he, without appearing in the slightest degreeannoyed. "You must not give way to evil thoughts or suspicions. It is afact that banknotes for five hundred francs don't often grow out of aragged pocket like mine. But I got this fellow honestly,--that I canguarantee."Rose paid no attention to his words; indeed, she took no interest inthem. The note was there, and that was enough for her. She took it upand smoothed it out as though the crisp paper communicated a pleasantsensation to her fingers.

"I must tell you," resumed Daddy Tantaine, "that I am employed by asheriff's officer, and that, in addition, I do a little bill collectingfor various persons. By these means I have often comparatively largesums in my possession, and I can lend you five hundred francs for ashort time without any inconvenience to myself."Paul's necessities and conscience were fighting a hard battle, and heremained silent, as a person generally does before arriving at amomentous decision.

At length he broke the silence. "No," said he, "your offer is one thatI cannot accept, for I feel--""This is no time, my dear Paul, to talk of feelings," interrupted Rose;"besides, can you not see that our refusal to accept the loan annoysthis worthy gentleman?""The young lady is quite right," returned Daddy Tantaine. "Come, let ussay that the matter is settled. Go out and get in something to eat,sharp, for it has struck four some time ago."At these words, Rose started, and a scarlet flush spread over hercheek. "Four o'clock," repeated she, thinking of her letter; but aftera moment's reflection she stepped up to the cracked mirror, andarranging her tattered skirts, took up the banknote and left the room.

"She is a rare beauty," remarked Daddy Tantaine with the air of one whowas an authority in such matters, "and as clever as they make them. Ah!

if she had only some one to give her a hint, she might rise to anyheight."Paul's ideas were in such a wild state of confusion, that he could makeno reply; and, now that he was no longer held in thrall by Rose'spresence, he began to be terrified at what had taken place, for heimagined that he caught a sinister expression in the old man's facewhich made him very suspicious of the wisdom of the course he had beenpersuaded to pursue. Was there ever such an unheard-of event as an oldman of such a poverty-stricken appearance showering banknotes upon theheads of perfect strangers? There was certainly something mysterious inthe affair, and Paul made up his mind that he would do his utmost toavoid being compromised.

"I have thought the matter over," said he resolutely; "and it isimpossible for me to accept the loan of a sum which it would bedifficult for me to repay.""My dear young friend, that is not the way to talk. If you do not havea good opinion of yourself, all the world will judge you according toyour own estimation. Your inexperience has, up to this time, been thesole cause of your failure. Poverty soon changes a boy into a man asstraw ripens fruit; but the first thing you must do is to put allconfidence in me. You can repay the five hundred francs at yourconvenience, but I must have six per cent. for my money and your noteof hand.""But really--," began Paul.

"I am looking at the matter in a purely business light, so we can dropsentiment."Paul had so little experience in the ways of the world, that the merefact of giving his acceptance for the money borrowed put him at once athis ease, though he knew well that his name was not a very valuableaddition to the slip of paper.

Daddy Tantaine, after a short search through his pockets, discovered abill stamp, and, placing it on the table, said, "Write as I shalldictate:--'On the 8th of June, 188-, I promise to pay to M. Tantaine or orderthe sum of five hundred francs for value received, such sum tobear interest at the rate of six per cent. per annum.

'Frs. 500.

'PAUL VIOLAINE.' "The young man had just completed his signature when Rose made herappearance, bearing a plentiful stock of provisions in her arms. Hereyes had a strange radiance in them, which Paul, however, did notnotice, as he was engaged in watching the old man, who, after carefullyinspecting the document, secured it in one of the pockets of his raggedcoat.

"You will, of course, understand, sir," remarked Paul, "that there isnot much chance of my being able to save sufficient to meet this billin four months, so that the date is a mere form."A smile of benevolence passed over Daddy Tantaine's features. "Andsuppose," said he, "that I, the lender, was to put the borrower in aposition to repay the advance before a month had passed?""Ah! but that is not possible.""I do not say, my young friend, that I could do this myself; but I havea good friend whose hand reaches a long way. If I had only listened tohis advice when I was younger, you would not have caught me to-day inthe Hotel de Perou. Shall I introduce you to him?""Am I a perfect fool, to throw away such a chance?""Good! I shall see him this evening, and will mention your name to him.

Call on him at noon to-morrow, and if he takes a fancy to you,--decidesto push you, your future is assured, and you will have no doubts as togetting on."He took out a card from his pocket and handed it to Paul, adding, "Thename of my friend is Mascarin."Meanwhile Rose, with a true Parisian's handiness, had contrived torestore order from chaos, and had arranged the table, with its one ortwo pieces of broken crockery, with scraps of brown paper instead ofplates. A fresh supply of wood crackled bravely on the hearth, and twocandles, one of which was placed in a chipped bottle, and the other ina tarnished candlestick belonging to the porter of the hotel. In theeyes of both the young people the spectacle was a truly delightful one,and Paul's heart swelled with triumph. The business had beensatisfactorily concluded, and all his misgivings were at an end.

"Come, let us gather round the festive board," said he joyously. "Thisis breakfast and dinner in one. Rose, be seated; and you, my dearfriend, will surely share with us the repast we owe to you?"With many protestations of regret, however, Daddy Tantaine pleaded animportant engagement at the other end of Paris. "And," added he, "it isabsolutely necessary that I should see Mascarin this evening, for Imust try my best to make him look on you with a favorable eye."Rose was very glad when the old man took his departure, for hisugliness, the shabbiness of his dress, and his general aspect of dirt,drove away all the feelings of gratitude she ought to have evinced, andinspired in her loathing and repugnance; and she fancied that his eyes,though veiled by his colored glasses, could detect the minutest secretsof her heart; but still this did not prevent her putting on a sweetsmile and entreating him to remain.

But Daddy Tantaine was resolute; and after impressing upon Paul thenecessity of punctuality, he went away, repeating, as he passed throughthe door, "May good appetite be present at your little feast, mydears."As soon, however, as the door was closed he bent down and listened. Theyoung people were as merry as larks, and their laughter filled the bareattic of the Hotel de Perou. Why should not Paul have been in goodspirits? He had in his pocket the address of the man who was to makehis fortune, and on the chimney-piece was the balance of the banknote,which seemed to him an inexhaustible sum. Rose, too, was delighted, andcould not refrain from jeering at their benefactor, whom shestigmatized as "an old idiot.""Laugh while you can, my dears!" muttered Daddy Tantaine; "for this maybe the last time you will do so."With these words he crept down the dark staircase, which was onlylighted up on Sundays, owing to the high price of gas, and, peepingthrough the glass door of the porter's lodge, saw Madame Loupinsengaged in cooking; and, with the timid knock of a man who has learnedhis lesson in poverty's grammar, he entered.

"Here is my rent, madame," said he, placing on the table ten francs andtwenty centimes. Then, as the woman was scribbling a receipt, helaunched into a statement of his own affairs, and told her that he hadcome into a little property which would enable him to live in comfortduring his few remaining years on earth; and--evidently fearing thathis well-known poverty might cause Madame Loupins to discredit hisassertions--drew out his pocketbook and exhibited several banknotes.

This exhibition of wealth so surprised the landlady, that when the oldman left she insisted on lighting him to the door. He turned eastwardas soon as he had left the house, and, glancing at the names of theshops, entered a grocer's establishment at the corner of the Rue dePetit Pont. This grocer, thanks to a certain cheap wine, manufacturedfor him by a chemist at Bercy, had achieved a certain notoriety in thatquarter. He was very stout and pompous, a widower, and a sergeant inthe National Guard. His name was Melusin. In all poor districts fiveo'clock is a busy hour for the shopkeepers, for the workmen arereturning from their labors, and their wives are busy in theirpreparations for their evening meal. M. Melusin was so busily engaged,giving orders and seeing that they were executed, that he did not evennotice the entrance of Daddy Tantaine; but had he done so, he would nothave put himself out for so poorly dressed a customer. But the old manhad left behind him in the Hotel de Perou every sign of humility andservility, and, making his way to the least crowded portion of theshop, he called out in imperative accents, "M. Melusin!"Very much surprised, the grocer ceased his avocation and hastened toobey the summons. "How the deuce does the man know me?" muttered he,forgetting that his name was over the door in gilt letters fully sixinches long.

"Sir," said Daddy Tantaine, without giving the grocer time to speak,"did not a young woman come here about half an hour ago and change anote for five hundred francs?""Most certainly," answered M. Melusin; "but how did you know that? Ah,I have it!" he added, striking his forehead; "there has been a robbery,and you are in pursuit of the criminal. I must confess that the girllooked so poor, that I guessed there was something wrong. I saw herfingers tremble.""Pardon me," returned Daddy Tantaine. "I have said nothing about arobbery. I only wished to ask you if you would know the girl again?""Perfectly--a really splendid girl, with hair that you do not see everyday. I have reason to believe that she lives in the Rue Hachette. Thepolice are not very popular with the shopkeeping class; but the latter,desirous of keeping down crime, generally afford plenty of information,and in the interests of virtue will even risk losing customers, who gooff in a huff at not being attended to while they are talking to theofficers of justice. Shall I," continued the grocer, "send one of theerrand boys to the nearest police station?""No, thank you," replied Daddy Tantaine. "I should prefer your keepingthe matter quiet until I communicate with you once more.""Yes, yes, I see; a false step just now would put them on their guard.""Just so. Now, will you let me have the number of the note, if youstill have it? I wish you also to make a note of the date as well asthe number.""Yes, yes, I see," returned the grocer. "You may require my books ascorroborative evidence; that is often the way. Excuse me; I will beback directly."All that Daddy Tantaine had desired was executed with the greatestrapidity, and he and the grocer parted on the best terms, and thetradesman watched his visitor's departure, perfectly satisfied that hehad been assisting a police officer who had deemed it fit to assume adisguise. Daddy Tantaine cared little what he thought, and, gaining thePlace de Petit Pont, stopped and gazed around as if he was waiting forsome one. Twice he walked round it in vain; but in his third circuit hecame to a halt with an exclamation of satisfaction, for he had seen theperson of whom he had been in search, who was a detestable lookingyouth of about eighteen years of age, though so thin and stunted thathe hardly appeared to be fifteen.

The lad was leaning against the wall of the Quay St. Michel, openlyasking alms, but keeping a sharp lookout for the police. At the firstglance it was easy to detect in him the hideous outgrowth of the greatcity, the regular young rough of Paris, who, at eight years of age,smokes the butt ends of cigars picked up at the tavern doors and getstipsy on coarse spirits. He had a thin crop of sandy hair, hiscomplexion was dull and colorless, and a sneer curled the corners ofhis mouth, which had a thick, hanging underlip, and his eyes had anexpression in them of revolting cynicism. His dress was tattered anddirty, and he had rolled up the sleeve of his right arm, exhibiting adeformed limb, sufficiently repulsive to excite the pity of the passersby. He was repeating a monotonous whine, in which the words "poorworkman, arm destroyed by machinery, aged mother to support," occurredcontinually.

Daddy Tantaine walked straight up to the youth, and with a sound cuffsent his hat flying.

The lad turned sharply round, evidently in a terrible rage; but,recognizing his assailant, shrank back, and muttered to himself,"Landed!" In an instant he restored his arm to its originally healthycondition, and, picking up his cap, replaced it on his head, and humblywaited for fresh orders.

"Is this the way you execute your errands?" asked Daddy Tantaine,snarling.

"What errands? I have heard of none!""Never you mind that. Did not M. Mascarin, on my recommendation, putyou in the way of earning your livelihood? and did you not promise togive up begging?""Beg pardon, guv'nor, I meant to be on the square, but I didn't like towaste time while I was a-waiting. I don't like a-being idle and I havecopped seven browns.""Toto Chupin," said the old man, with great severity, "you willcertainly come to a bad end. But come, give your report. What have youseen?"During this conversation they were walking slowly along the quay, andhad passed the Hotel Dieu.

"Well, guv'nor," replied the young rogue, "I just saw what you said Ishould. At four sharp, a carriage drove into the Place, and pulled upbang opposite the wigfaker's. Dash me, if it weren't a swell turnout!--horse, coachman, and all, in real slap-up style. It waited so long thatI thought it had taken root there.""Come, get on! Was there any one inside?""I should think there was! I twigged him at once, by the descriptionyou gave me. I never see a cove togged out as he was,--tall hat, lightsit-down-upons, and a short coat--wasn't it cut short! but in reallybang-up style. To be certain, I went right up to him, for it wasgetting dark, and had a good look at him. He had got out of the trap,and was marching up and down the pavement, with an unlighted cigarstuck in his mouth. I took a match, and said, 'Have a light, my nobleswell?' and hanged if he didn’t give me ten centimes! My! ain't heugly!--short, shrivelled up, and knock-kneed, with a glass in his eye,and altogether precious like a monkey."Daddy Tantaine began to grow impatient with all this rigmarole. "Come,tell me what took place," said he angrily.

"Precious little. The young swell didn't seem to care about dirtyinghis trotter-cases; he kept slashing about with his cane, and staringat all the gals. What an ass that masher is! Wouldn't I have liked tohave punched his head! If you ever want to hide him, daddy, pleasethink of yours truly. He wouldn't stand up to me for five minutes.""Go on, my lad; go on.""Well, we had waited half an hour, when all at once a woman came sharpround the corner, and stops before the masher. Wasn't she a fine gal!

and hadn't she a pair of sparklers! but she had awfully seedy togs on.

But they spoke in whispers.""So you did not hear what they said?""Do you take me for a flat? The gal said, 'Do you understand?--to-morrow.' Then the swell chap, says he, 'Do you promise?' and thegal, she answers back, 'Yes, at noon.' Then they parted. She went offto the Rue Hachette, and the masher tumbled into his wheelbox. Thejarvey cracked his whip, and off they went in a brace of shakes. Nowhand over them five francs."Daddy Tantaine did not seem surprised at this request, and he gave overthe money to the young loafer, with the words, "When I promise, I paydown on the nail; but remember Toto Chupin, you'll come to grief oneday. Good-night. Our ways lie in different directions."The old man, however, lingered until he had seen the lad go off towardthe Jardin des Plantes, and then, turning round, went back by the wayhe had come. "I have not lost my day," murmured he. "All theimprobabilities have turned out certainties, and matters are goingstraight. Won't Flavia be awfully pleased?"
Chapter 2 A REGISTRY OFFICE
　　2The establishment of the influential friend of Daddy Tantaine wassituated in the Rue Montorgeuil, not far from the Passage de la ReineHortense. M. B. Mascarin has a registry office for the engagement ofboth male and female servants. Two boards fastened upon each side ofthe door announce the hours of opening and closing, and give a list ofthose whose names are on the books; they further inform the publicthat the establishment was founded in 1844, and is still in the samehands. It was the long existence of M. Mascarin in a business which isusually very short-lived that had obtained for him a great amount ofconfidence, not only in the quarter in which he resided, butthroughout the whole of Paris. Employers say that he sends them thebest of servants, and the domestics in their turn assert that he onlydespatches them to good places. But M. Mascarin has still furtherclaims on the public esteem; for it was he who, in 1845, founded andcarried out a project which had for its aim and end the securing of ashelter for servants out of place. The better to carry out this,Mascarin took a partner, and gave him the charge of a furnished houseclose to the office. Worthy as these projects were, Mascarin contrivedto draw considerable profit from them, and was the owner of the housebefore which, in the noon of the day following the events we havedescribed, Paul Violaine might have been seen standing. The fivehundred francs of old Tantaine, or at any rate a portion of them, hadbeen well spent, and his clothes did credit to his own taste and theskill of his tailor. Indeed, in his fine feathers he looked sohandsome, that many women turned to gaze after him. He however tookbut little notice of this, for he was too full of anxiety, havinggrave doubts as to the power of the man whom Tantaine had assertedcould, if he liked, make his fortune. "A registry office!" muttered hescornfully. "Is he going to propose a berth of a hundred francs amonth to me?" He was much agitated at the thoughts of the impendinginterview, and, before entering the house, gazed upon its exteriorwith great interest. The house much resembled its neighbors. Theentrances to the Registry Office and the Servants' Home were in thecourtyard, at the arched entrance to which stood a vendor of roastchestnuts.

"There is no use in remaining here," said Paul. Summoning, therefore,all his resolution, he crossed the courtyard, and, ascending a flightof stairs, paused before a door upon which "OFFICE" was written. "Comein!" responded at once to his knock. He pushed open the door, andentered a room, which closely resembled all other similar offices.

There were seats all round the room, polished by frequent use. At theend was a sort of compartment shut in by a green baize curtain,jestingly termed "the Confessional" by the frequenters of the office.

Between the windows was a tin plate, with the words, "All fees to bepaid in advance," in large letters upon it. In one corner a gentlemanwas seated at a writing table, who, as he made entries in a ledger,was talking to a woman who stood beside him.

"M. Mascarin?" asked Paul hesitatingly.

"What do you want with him?" asked the man, without looking up fromhis work. "Do you wish to enter your name? We have now vacancies forthree bookkeepers, a cashier, a confidential clerk--six other goodsituations. Can you give good references?"These words seemed to be uttered by rote.

"I beg your pardon," returned Paul; "but I should like to see M.

Mascarin. One of his friends sent me here."This statement evidently impressed the official, and he replied almostpolitely, "M. Mascarin is much occupied at present, sir; but he willsoon be disengaged. Pray be seated."Paul sat down on a bench, and examined the man who had just spokenwith some curiosity. M. Mascarin's partner was a tall and athleticman, evidently enjoying the best of health, and wearing a largemoustache elaborately waxed and pointed. His whole appearancebetokened the old soldier. He had, so he asserted, served in thecavalry, and it was there that he had acquired the /soubriquet/ bywhich he was known--Beaumarchef, his original name being David. He wasabout forty-five, but was still considered a very good-looking fellow.

The entries that he was making in the ledger did not prevent him fromkeeping up a conversation with the woman standing by him. The woman,who seemed to be a cross between a cook and a market-woman, might bedescribed as a thoroughly jovial soul. She seasoned her conversationwith pinches of snuff, and spoke with a strong Alsatian brogue.

"Now, look here," said Beaumarchef; "do you really mean to say thatyou want a place?""I do that.""You said that six months ago. We got you a splendid one, and threedays afterward you chucked up the whole concern.""And why shouldn't I? There was no need to work then; but now it isanother pair of shoes, for I have spent nearly all I had saved."Beaumarchef laid down his pen, and eyed her curiously for a second ortwo; then he said,--"You've been making a fool of yourself somehow, I expect."She half turned away her head, and began to complain of the hardnessof the terms and of the meanness of the mistresses, who, instead ofallowing their cooks to do the marketing, did it themselves, and socheated their servants out of their commissions.

Beaumarchef nodded, just as he had done half an hour before to a ladywho had complained bitterly of the misconduct of her servants. He wascompelled by his position to sympathize with both sides.

The woman had now finished her tirade, and drawing the amount of thefee from a well-filled purse, placed it on the table, saying,--"Please, M. Beaumarchef, register my name as Caroline Scheumal, andget me a real good place. It must be a cook, you understand, and Iwant to do the marketing without the missus dodging around.""Well, I'll do my best.""Try and find me a wealthy widower, or a young woman married to a veryold fellow. Now, do look round; I'll drop in again to-morrow;" andwith a farewell pinch of snuff, she left the office.

Paul listened to this conversation with feelings of anger andhumiliation, and in his heart cursed old Tantaine for havingintroduced him into such company. He was seeking for some plausibleexcuse for withdrawal, when the door at the end of the room was thrownopen, and two men came in, talking as they did so. The one was youngand well dressed, with an easy, swaggering manner, which ignorantpeople mistake for good breeding. He had a many-colored rosette at hisbuttonhole, showing that he was the knight of more than one foreignorder. The other was an elderly man, with an unmistakable legal airabout him. He was dressed in a quilted dressing-gown, fur-lined shoes,and had on his head an embroidered cap, most likely the work of thehands of some one dear to him. He wore a white cravat, and his sightcompelled him to use colored glasses.

"Then, my dear sir," said the younger man, "I may venture to entertainhopes?""Remember, Marquis," returned the other, "that if I were acting alone,what you require would be at once at your disposal. Unfortunately, Ihave others to consult.""I place myself entirely in your hands," replied the Marquis.

The appearance of the fashionably dressed young man reconciled Paul tothe place in which he was.

"A Marquis!" he murmured; "and the other swell-looking fellow must beM. Mascarin."Paul was about to step forward, when Beaumarchef respectfully accostedthe last comer,--"Who do you think, sir," said he, "I have just seen?""Tell me quickly," was the impatient reply.

"Caroline Schimmel; you know who I mean.""What! the woman who was in the service of the Duchess of Champdoce?""Exactly so."M. Mascarin uttered an exclamation of delight.

"Where is she living now?"Beaumarchef was utterly overwhelmed by this simple question. For thefirst time in his life he had omitted to take a client's address. Thisomission made Mascarin so angry that he forgot all his good manners,and broke out with an oath that would have shamed a London cabman,--"How could you be such an infernal fool? We have been hunting for thiswoman for five months. You knew this as well as I did, and yet, whenchance brings her to you, you let her slip through your fingers andvanish again.""She'll be back again, sir; never fear. She won't fling away the moneythat she had paid for fees.""And what do you think that she cares for ten sous or ten francs?

She'll be back when she thinks she will; but a woman who drinks and isoff her head nearly all the year round----"Inspired by a sudden thought, Beaumarchef made a clutch at his hat.

"She has only just gone," said he; "I can easily overtake her."But Mascarin arrested his progress.

"You are not a good bloodhound. Take Toto Chupin with you; he isoutside with his chestnuts, and is as fly as they make them. If youcatch her up, don't say a word, but follow her up, and see where shegoes. I want to know her whole daily life. Remember that no item,however unimportant it may seem, is not of consequence."Beaumarchef disappeared in an instant, and Mascarin continued togrumble.

"What a fool!" he murmured. "If I could only do everything myself. Iworried my life out for months, trying to find the clue to the mysterywhich this woman holds, and now she has again escaped me."Paul, who saw that his presence was not remarked, coughed to drawattention to it. In an instant Mascarin turned quickly round.

"Excuse me," said Paul; but the set smile had already resumed itsplace upon Mascarin's countenance.

"You are," remarked he, civilly, "Paul Violaine, are you not?"The young man bowed in assent.

"Forgive my absence for an instant. I will be back directly," saidMascarin.

He passed through the door, and in another instant Paul heard his namecalled.

Compared to the outer chamber, Mascarin's office was quite a luxuriousapartment, for the windows were bright, the paper on the walls fresh,and the floor carpeted. But few of the visitors to the office couldboast of having been admitted into this sanctum; for generallybusiness was conducted at Beaumarchef's table in the outer room. Paul,however, who was unacquainted with the prevailing rule, was not awareof the distinction with which he had been received. Mascarin, on hisvisitor's entrance, was comfortably seated in an armchair before thefire, with his elbow on his desk--and what a spectacle did that deskpresent! It was a perfect world in itself, and indicated that itsproprietor was a man of many trades. It was piled with books anddocuments, while a great deal of the space was occupied by squarepieces of cardboard, upon each of which was a name in large letters,while underneath was writing in very minute characters.

With a benevolent gesture, Mascarin pointed to an armchair, and inencouraging tones said, "And now let us talk."It was plain to Paul that Mascarin was not acting, but that the kindand patriarchal expression upon his face was natural to it, and theyoung man felt that he could safely intrust his whole future to him.

"I have heard," commenced Mascarin, "that your means of livelihood arevery precarious, or rather that you have none, and are ready to takethe first one that offers you a means of subsistence. That, at least,is what I hear from my poor friend Tantaine.""He has explained my case exactly.""Good; only before proceeding to the future, let us speak of thepast."Paul gave a start, which Mascarin noticed, for he added,--"You will excuse the freedom I am taking; but it is absolutelynecessary that I should know to what I am binding myself. Tantainetells me that you are a charming young man, strictly honest, and welleducated; and now that I have had the pleasure of meeting you, I amsure that he is right; but I can only deal with proofs, and must bequite certain before I act on your behalf with third parties.""I have nothing to conceal, sir, and am ready to answer anyquestions," responded Paul.

A slight smile, which Paul did not detect, played round the corners ofMascarin's mouth, and, with a gesture, with which all who knew himwere familiar, he pushed back his glasses on his nose.

"I thank you," answered he; "it is not so easy as you may suppose tohide anything from me." He took one of the packets of pasteboard slipsform his desk, and shuffling them like a pack of cards, continued,"Your name is Marie Paul Violaine. You were born at Poitiers, in theRue des Vignes, on the 5th of January, 1843, and are therefore in yourtwenty-fourth year.""That is quite correct, sir.""You are an illegitimate child?"The first question had surprised Paul; the second absolutely astoundedhim.

"Quite true, sir," replied he, not attempting to hide his surprise;"but I had no idea that M. Tantaine was so well informed; thepartition which divided our rooms must have been thinner than Ithought."Mascarin took no notice of this remark, but continued to shuffle andexamine his pieces of cardboard. Had Paul caught a clear glimpse ofthese, he would have seen his initials in the corner of each.

"Your mother," went on Mascarin, "kept, for the last fifteen years ofher life, a little haberdasher's shop.""Just so.""But a business of that description in a town like Poitiers, does notbring in very remunerative results, and luckily she received for yoursupport and education a sum of one thousand francs per year."This time Paul started from his seat, for he was sure that Tantainecould not have learned this secret at the Hotel de Perou.

"Merciful powers, sir!" cried he; "who could have told you a thingthat has never passed my lips since my arrival in Paris, and of whicheven Rose is entirely ignorant?"Mascarin raised his shoulders.

"You can easily comprehend," remarked he, "that a man in my line ofbusiness has to learn many things. If I did not take the greatestprecautions, I should be deceived daily, and so lead others intoerror."Paul had not been more than an hour in the office, but the directionsgiven to Beaumarchef had already taught him how many of these eventswere arranged.

"Though I may be curious," went on Mascarin, "I am the symbol ofdiscretion; so answer me frankly: How did your mother receive thisannuity?""Through a Parisian solicitor.""Do you know him?""Not at all," answered Paul, who had begun to grow uneasy under thisquestioning, for a kind of vague apprehension was aroused in his mind,and he could not see the utility of any of these interrogations. Therewas, however, nothing in Mascarin's manner to justify the misgivingsof the young man, for he appeared to ask all these questions in quitea matter-of-course way, as if they were purely affairs of business.

After a protracted silence, Mascarin resumed,--"I am half inclined to believe that the solicitor sent the money onhis own account.""No, sir," answered Paul. "I am sure you are mistaken.""Why are you so certain?""Because my mother, who was the incarnation of truth, often assured methat my father died before my birth. Poor mother! I loved andrespected her too much to question her on these matters. One day,however, impelled by an unworthy feeling of curiosity, I dared to askher the name of our protector. She burst into tears, and then I felthow mean and cruel I had been. I never learned his name but I knowthat he was not my father."Mascarin affected not to notice the emotion of his young client.

"Did the allowance cease at your mother's death?" continued he.

"No; it was stopped when I came of age. My mother told me that thiswould be the case; but it seems only yesterday that she spoke to me ofit. It was on my birthday, and she had prepared a little treat for mysupper; for in spite of the affliction my birth had caused her, sheloved me fondly. Poor mother! 'Paul,' said she, 'at your birth agenuine friend promised to help me to bring up and educate you, and hekept his word. But you are now twenty-one, and must expect nothingmore from him. My son, you are a man now, and I have only you to lookto. Work and earn an honest livelihood----' "Paul could proceed no farther, for his emotions choked him.

"My mother died suddenly some ten months after this conversation--without time to communicate anything to me, and I was left perfectlyalone in the world; and were I to die to-morrow, there would not be asoul to follow me to my grave."Mascarin put on a sympathetic look.

"Not quite so bad as that, my young friend; I trust that you have onenow."Mascarin rose from his seat, and for a few minutes paced up and downthe room, and then halted, with his arms folded, before the young man.

"You have heard me," said he, "and I will not put any furtherquestions which it will but pain you to reply to, for I only wished totake your measure, and to judge of your truth from your replies. Youwill ask why? Ah, that is a question I cannot answer to-day, but youshall know later on. Be assured, however, that I know everything aboutyou, but I cannot tell you by what means. Say it has all happened bychance. Chance has broad shoulders, and can bear a great deal."This ambiguous speech caused a thrill of terror to pass through Paul,which was plainly visible on his expressive features.

"Are you alarmed?" asked Mascarin, readjusting his spectacles.

"I am much surprised, sir," stammered Paul.

"Come, come! what can a man in your circumstances have to fear? Thereis no use racking your brain; you will find out all you want quicklyenough, and had best make up your mind to place yourself in my handswithout reserve, for my sole desire is to be of service to you."These words were uttered in the most benevolent manner; and as heresumed his seat, he added,--"Now let us talk of myself. Your mother, whom you justly say was athoroughly good woman, pinched herself in order to keep you at collegeat Poitiers. You entered a solicitor's office at eighteen, I think?""Yes, sir.""But your mother's desire was to see you established at Loudon orCevray. Perhaps she hoped that her wealthy friend would aid you stillfurther. Unluckily, however, you had no inclination for the law."Paul smiled, but Mascarin went on with some little severity.

"I repeat, unfortunately; and I think that by this time you have gonethrough enough to be of my opinion. What did you do instead ofstudying law? You did--what? You wasted your time over music, andcomposed songs, and, I know, an opera, and thought yourself a perfectgenius."Paul had listened up to this time with patience, but at this sarcasmhe endeavored to protest; but it was in vain, for Mascarin went onpitilessly,--"One day you abandoned the study of the law, and told your mother thatuntil you had made your name as a musical composer you would givelessons on the piano; but you could obtain no pupils, and--well, justlook in the glass yourself, and say if you think that your age andappearance would justify parents in intrusting their daughters to yourtuition?"Mascarin stopped for a moment and consulted his notes afresh.

"Your departure from Poitiers," he went on, "was your last act offolly. The very day after your poor mother's death you collectedtogether all her scanty savings, and took the train to Paris.""Then, sir, I had hoped----""What, to arrive at fortune by the road of talent? Foolish boy! Everyyear a thousand poor wretches have been thus intoxicated by theirprovincial celebrity, and have started for Paris, buoyed up by similarhopes. Do you know the end of them? At the end of ten years--I givethem no longer--nine out of ten die of starvation and disappointment,and the other joins the criminal army."Paul had often repeated this to himself, and could, therefore, make noreply.

"But," went on Mascarin, "you did not leave Poitiers alone; youcarried off with you a young girl named Rose Pigoreau.""Pray, let me explain.""It would be useless. The fact speaks for itself. In six months yourlittle store had disappeared; then came poverty and starvation, and atlast, in the Hotel de Perou, your thoughts turned to suicide, and youwere only saved by my old friend Tantaine."Paul felt his temper rising, for these plain truths were hard to bear;but fear lest he should lose his protector kept him silent.

"I admit everything, sir," said he calmly. "I was a fool, and almostmad, but experience has taught me a bitter lesson. I am here to-day,and this fact should tell you that I have given up all my vainhallucinations.""Will you give up Rose Pigoreau?"As this abrupt question was put to him, Paul turned pale with anger.

"I love Rose," answered he coldly; "she believes in me, and has sharedmy troubles with courage, and one day she shall be my wife."Raising his velvet cap from his head, Mascarin bowed with an ironicalair, saying, "Is that so? Then I beg a thousand pardons. It is urgentthat you should have immediate employment. Pray, what can you do? Notmuch of anything, I fancy;--like most college bred boys, you can do alittle of everything, and nothing well. Had I a son, and an enormousincome, I would have him taught a trade."Paul bit his lip; but he knew the portrait was a true one.

"And now," continued Mascarin, "I have come to your aid, and what doyou say to a situation with a salary of twelve thousand francs?"This sum was so much greater than Paul had dared to hope, that hebelieved Mascarin was amusing himself at his expense.

"It is not kind of you to laugh at me, under the presentcircumstances," remarked he.

Mascarin was not laughing at him; but it as fully half an hour beforehe could prove this to Paul.

"You would like more proof of what I say," said he, after a longconversation. "Very well, then; shall I advance your first month'ssalary?" And as he spoke, he took a thousand-franc note from his desk,and offered it to Paul. The young man rejected the note; but the forceof the argument struck him; and he asked if he was capable of carryingout the duties which such a salary doubtless demanded.

"Were I not certain of your abilities, I should not offer it to you,"replied Mascarin. "I am in a hurry now, or I would explain the wholeaffair; but I must defer doing so until to-morrow, when please come atthe same hour as you did to-day."Even in his state of surprise and stupefaction, Paul felt that thiswas a signal for him to depart.

"A moment more," said Mascarin. "You understand that you can no longerremain at the Hotel de Perou? Try and find a room in thisneighborhood; and when you have done so, leave the address at theoffice. Good-bye, my young friend, until to-morrow, and learn to beargood fortune."For a few minutes Mascarin stood at the door of the office watchingPaul, who departed almost staggering beneath the burden of so manyconflicting emotions; and when he saw him disappear round the corner,he ran to a glazed door which led to his bed chamber, and in a loudwhisper called, "Come in, Hortebise. He has gone."A man obeyed the summons at once, and hurriedly drew up a chair to thefire. "My feet are almost frozen," exclaimed he; "I should not know itif any one was to chop them off. Your room, my dear Baptiste, is aperfect refrigerator. Another time, please, have a fire lighted init."This speech, however, did not disturb Mascarin's line of thought. "Didyou hear all?" asked he.

"I saw and heard all that you did.""And what do you think of the lad?""I think that Daddy Tantaine is a man of observation and powerfulwill, and that he will mould this child between his fingers like wax."
Chapter 3 THE OPINION OF DR. HORTEBISE.
　　3Dr. Hortebise, who had addressed Mascarin so familiarly by hisChristian name of Baptiste, was about fifty-six years of age, but hecarried his years so well, that he always passed for forty-nine. Hehad a heavy pair of red, sensual-looking lips, his hair was untintedby gray, and his eyes still lustrous. A man who moved in the bestsociety, eloquent in manner, a brilliant conversationalist, and vividin his perceptions, he concealed under the veil of good-humoredsarcasm the utmost cynicism of mind. He was very popular and muchsought after. He had but few faults, but quite a catalogue ofappalling vices. Under this Epicurean exterior lurked, it wasreported, the man of talent and the celebrated physician. He was not ahard-working man, simply because he achieved the same results withouttoil or labor. He had recently taken to homoeopathy, and started amedical journal, which he named /The Globule/, which died at its fifthnumber. His conversation made all society laugh, and he joined in theridicule, thus showing the sincerity of his views, for he was neverable to take the round of life seriously. To-day, however, Mascarin,well as he knew his friend, seemed piqued at his air of levity.

"When I asked you to come here to-day," said he, "and when I beggedyou to conceal yourself in my bedroom--""Where I was half frozen," broke in Hortebise.

"It was," went on Mascarin, "because I desired your advice. We havestarted on a serious undertaking,--an undertaking full of peril bothto you and to myself.""Pooh! I have perfect confidence in you,--whatever you do is donewell, and you are not the man to fling away your trump cards.""True; but I may lose the game, after all, and then----"The doctor merely shook a large gold locket that depended from hiswatch chain.

This movement seemed to annoy Mascarin a great deal. "Why do you flashthat trinket at me?" asked he. "We have known each other for five andtwenty years,--what do you mean to imply? Do you mean that the locketcontains the likeness of some one that you intend to make use of lateron? I think that you might render such a step unnecessary by giving meyour present advice and attention."Hortebise threw himself back in his chair with an expression ofresignation. "If you want advice," remarked he, "why not apply to ourworthy friend Catenac?--he knows something of business, as he is alawyer."The name of Catenac seemed to irritate Mascarin so much, that calm,and self-contained as he usually was, he pulled off his cap and dashedit on his desk.

"Are you speaking seriously?" said he angrily.

"Why should I not be in earnest?"Mascarin removed his glasses, as though without them he could the moreeasily peer into the depths of the soul of the man before him.

"Because," replied he slowly, "both you and I distrust Catenac. Whendid you see him last?""More than three months ago.""True, and I allow that he seems to be acting fairly toward his oldassociates; but you will admit that, in keeping away thus, his conductis without excuse, for he has made his fortune; and though he pretendsto be poor, he is certainly a man of wealth.""Do you really think so?""Were he here, I would force him to acknowledge that he is worth amillion, at least.""A million!" exclaimed the doctor, with sudden animation.

"Yes, certainly. You and I, Hortebise, have indulged our every whim,and have spent gold like water, while our friend garnered his harvestand stored it away. But poor Catenac has no expensive tastes, nor doeshe care for women or the pleasures of the table. While we indulged inevery pleasure, he lent out his money at usurious interest. But, stop,--how much do you spend per annum?""That is a hard question to answer; but, say, forty thousand francs.""More, a great deal more; but calculate what a capital sum that wouldamount to during the twenty years we have done business together."The doctor was not clever at figures; he made several vain attempts tosolve the problem, and at last gave it up in despair. "Forty andforty," muttered he, tapping the tips of his fingers, are eighty, thenforty--""Call it eight hundred thousand francs," broke in Mascarin. "Say Idrew the same amount as you did. We have spent ours, and Catenac hassaved his, and grown rich; hence my distrust. Our interests are nolonger identical. He certainly comes here every month, but it is onlyto claim his share; he consents to take his share of the profits, butshirks the risks. It is fully ten years since he brought in anybusiness. I don't trust him at all. He always declines to join in anyscheme that we propose, and sees danger in everything.""He would not betray us, however."Mascarin took a few moments for reflection. "I think," said he, "thatCatenac is afraid of us. He knows that the ruin of me would entail thedestruction of the other two. This is our only safeguard; but if hedare not injure us openly, he is quite capable of working against usin secret. Do you remember what he said the last time he was here?

That we ought to close our business and retire. How should /we/ live?

for he is rich and we are poor. What on earth are you doing,Hortebise?" he added, for the physician, who had the reputation ofbeing worth an enormous amount, had taken out his purse, and was goingover the contents.

"I have scarcely three hundred and twenty-seven francs!" answered hewith a laugh. "What is the state of your finances?"Mascarin made a grimace. "I am not so well off as you; and besides,"he continued in a low voice, as though speaking to himself, "I havecertain ties which you do not possess."For the first time during this interview a cloud spread over thedoctor's countenance.

"Great Heavens!" said he, "and I was depending on you for threethousand francs, which I require urgently."Mascarin smiled slyly at the doctor's uneasiness. "Don't worry," heanswered. "You can have that; there out to be some six or eightthousand francs in the safe. But that is all, and that is the last ofour common capital,--this after twenty years of toil, danger, andanxiety, and we have not twenty years before us to make a freshfortune in.""Yes," continued Mascarin, "we are getting old, and therefore have thegreater reason for making one grand stroke to assure our fortune. WereI to fall ill to-morrow, all would go to smash.""Quite true," returned the doctor, with a slight shudder.

"We must, and that is certain, venture on a bold stroke. I have saidthis for years, and woven a web of gigantic proportions. Do you nowknow why at this last moment I appeal to you, and not to Catenac forassistance? If only one out of two operations that I have fullyexplained to you succeeds, our fortune is made.""I follow you exactly.""The question now is whether the chance of success is sufficientlygreat to warrant our going on with these undertakings. Think it overand let me have your opinion."An acute observer could easily have seen that the doctor was a man ofresource, and a thoroughly competent adviser, for the reason that hiscoolness never deserted him. Compelled to choose between the use ofthe contents of his locket, or the continuance of a life of luxuriousease, the smile vanished from the doctor's face, and he began toreflect profoundly. Leaning back in his chair, with his feet restingon the fender, he carefully studied every combination in theundertaking, as a general inspects the position taken up by the enemy,when a battle is impending, upon which the fate of an empire mayhinge. That this analysis took a favorable turn, was evident, forMascarin soon saw a smile appear upon the doctor's lips. "We must makethe attack at one," said he; "but make no mistake; the projects youpropose are most dangerous, and a single error upon our side wouldentail destruction; but we must take some risk. The odds are againstus, but still we may win. Under these circumstances, and as necessitycheers us on, I say, /Forward!/" As he said this, he rose to his feet,and extending his hand toward his friend, exclaimed, "I am entirely atyour disposal."Mascarin seemed relieved by the doctor's decision, for he was in thatframe of mind when, however self-reliant a man may be, he has adisinclination to be left alone, and the aid of a stout ally is of theutmost service.

"Have you considered every point carefully?" asked he. "You know thatwe can only act at present upon one of the undertakings, and that isthe one of which the Marquis de Croisenois----""I know that.""With reference to the affair of the Duke de Champdoce, I have stillto gather together certain things necessary for the ultimate successof the scheme. There is a mystery in the lives of the Duke andDuchess,--of this there is no doubt,--but what is this secret? I wouldlay my life that I have hit upon the correct solution; but I want nosuspicions, no probabilities; I want absolute certainties. And now,"continued he, "this brings us back to the first question. What do youthink of Paul Violaine?"Hortebise walked up and down the room two or three times, and finallystopped opposite to his friend. "I think," said he, "that the lad hasmany of the qualities we want, and we might find it hard to discoverone better suited for our purpose. Besides, he is a bastard, knowsnothing of his father, and therefore leaves a wide field forconjecture; for every natural son has the right to consider himself,if he likes, the offspring of a monarch. He has no family or any oneto look after him, which assures us that whatever may happen, there isno one to call us to account. He is not overwise, but has a certainamount of talent, and any quantity of ridiculous self-conceit. He iswonderfully handsome, which will make matters easier, but--""Ah, there is a 'but' then?""More than one," answered the doctor, "for there are three forcertain. First, there is Rose Pigoreau, whose beauty has so captivatedour old friend Tantaine,--she certainly appears to be a danger in thefuture.""Be easy," returned Mascarin; "we will quickly remove this young womanfrom our road.""Good; but do not be too confident," answered Hortebise, in his usualtone. "The danger from her is not the one you think, and which you aretrying to avoid. You think Paul loves her. You are wrong. He woulddrop her to-morrow, so that he could please his self-indulgence. Butthe woman who thinks that she hates her lover often deceives herself;and Rose is simply tired of poverty. Give her a little amount ofcomfort, good living, and luxury, and you will see her give them allup to come back to Paul. Yes, I tell you, she will harass and annoyhim, as women of her class who have nothing to love always do. Shewill even go to Flavia to claim him.""She had better not," retorted Mascarin, in threatening accents.

"Why, how could you prevent it? She has known Paul from his infancy.

She knew his mother; she was perhaps brought up by her, perhaps evenlived in the same street. Look out, I say, for danger from thatquarter.""You may be right, and I will take my precautions."It was sufficient for Mascarin to be assured of a danger to find meansof warding it off.

"My second 'but,' " continued Hortebise, "is the idea of themysterious protector of whom the young man spoke. His mother, he says,has reason to know that his father is dead, and I believe in the truthof the statement. In this case, what has become of the person who paidMadame Violaine her allowance?""You are right, quite right; these are the crevices in our armor; butI keep my eyes open, and nothing escapes me."The doctor was growing rather weary, but he still went oncourageously. "My third 'but' " said he, "is perhaps the strongest. Wemust see the young fellow at once. It may be to-morrow, without evenhaving prepared him or taught him his part. Suppose we found that hewas honest! Imagine--if he returned a firm negative to all yourdazzling offers!"Mascarin rose to his feet in his turn. "I do not think that there isany chance of that," said he.

"Why not, pray?""Because when Tantaine brought him to me, he had studied himcarefully. He is as weak as a woman, and as vain as a journalist.

Besides, he is ashamed at being poor. No; I can mould him like waxinto any shape I like. He will be just what we wish.""Are you sure," asked Hortebise, "that Flavia will have nothing to sayin this matter?""I had rather, with your permission, say nothing on that head,"returned Mascarin. He broke off his speech and listened eagerly.

"There is some one listening," said he. "Hark!"The sound was repeated, and the doctor was about to seek refuge in theinner room, when Mascarin laid a detaining hand upon his arm.

"Stay," observed he, "it is only Beaumarchef;" and as he spoke, hestruck a gilded bell that stood on his desk. In another instantBeaumarchef appeared, and with an air in which familiarity was mingledwith respect, he saluted in military fashion.

"Ah," said the doctor pleasantly, "do you take your nips of brandyregularly?""Only occasionally, sir," stammered the man.

"Too often, too often, my good fellow. Do you think that your nose andeyelids are not real telltales?""But I assure you, sir--""Do you not remember I told you that you had asthmatic symptoms? Why,the movement of your pectoral muscles shows that your lungs areaffected.""But I have been running, sir."Mascarin broke in upon this conversation, which he consideredfrivolous. "If he is out of breath," remarked he, "it is because hehas been endeavoring to repair a great act of carelessness that he hascommitted. Well, Beaumarchef, how did you get on?""All right, sir," returned he, with a look of triumph. "Good!""What are you talking about?" asked the doctor.

Mascarin gave his friend a meaning glance, and then, in a carelessmanner, replied, "Caroline Schimmel, a former servant of the Champdocefamily, also patronizes our office. How did you find her,Beaumarchef?""Well, an idea occurred to me.""Pooh! do you have ideas at your time of life?"Beaumarchef put on an air of importance. "My idea was this," he wenton: "as I left the office with Toto Chupin, I said to myself, thewoman would certainly drop in at some pub before she reached theboulevard.""A sound argument," remarked the doctor.

"Therefore Toto and I took a squint into every one we passed, andbefore we got to the Rue Carreau we saw her in one, sure enough.""And Toto is after her now?""Yes, sir; he said he would follow her like her shadow, and will bringin a report every day.""I am very pleased with you, Beaumarchef," said Mascarin, rubbing hishands joyously.

Beaumarchef seemed highly flattered, but continued,--"This is not all.""What else is there to tell?""I met La Candele on his way from the Place de Petit Pont, and he hasjust seen that young girl--you know whom I mean--driving off in a two-horse Victoria. He followed it, of course. She has been placed in agorgeous apartment in the Rue Douai; and from what the porter says,she must be a rare beauty; and La Candele raved about her, and saysthat she has the most magnificent eyes in the world.""Ah," remarked Hortebise, "then Tantaine was right in his descriptionof her.""Of course he was," answered Mascarin with a slight frown, "and thisproves the justice of the objection you made a little time back. Agirl possessed of such dazzling beauty may even influence the fool whohas carried her off to become dangerous."Beaumarchef touched his master's arm kindly. "If you wish to get ridof the masher," said he, "I can show you a way;" and throwing himselfinto the position of a fencer, he made a lunge with his right arm,exclaiming, "One, two!""A Prussian quarrel," remarked Mascarin. "No; a duel would do us nogood. We should still have the girl on our hands, and violent measuresare always to be avoided." He took off his glasses, wiped them, andlooking at the doctor intently, said, "Suppose we take an epidemic asour ally. If the girl had the smallpox, she would lose her beauty."Cynical and hardened as the doctor was, he drew back in horror at thisproposal. "Under certain circumstances," remarked he, "science mightaid us; but Rose, even without her beauty, would be just as dangerousas she is now. It is /her/ affection for Paul that we have to check,and not /his/ for her; and the uglier a woman is, the more she clingsto her lover.""All this is worthy of consideration," returned Mascarin; "meanwhilewe must take steps to guard ourselves from the impending danger. Haveyou finished that report on Gandelu, Beaumarchef? What is hisposition?""Head over ears in debt, sir, but not harassed by his creditorsbecause of his future prospects.""Surely among these creditors there are some that we could influence?"said Mascarin. "Find this out, and report to me this evening; andfarewell for the present."When again alone, the two confederates remained silent for some time.

The decisive moment had arrived. As yet they were not compromised; butif they intended to carry out their plans, they must no longer remaininactive; and both of these men had sufficient experience to know thatthey must look at the position boldly, and make up their minds atonce. The pleasant smile upon the doctor's face faded away, and hisfingers played nervously with his locket. Mascarin was the first tobreak the silence.

"Let us no longer hesitate," said he; "let us shut our eyes to thedanger and advance steadily. You heard the promises made by theMarquis de Croisenois. He will do as we wish, but under certainconditions. Mademoiselle de Mussidan must be his bride.""That will be impossible.""Not so, if we desire it: and the proof of this is, that before twoo'clock the engagement between Mademoiselle Sabine and the Baron deBreulh-Faverlay will be broken off."The doctor heaved a deep sigh. "I can understand Catenac's scruples.

Ah! if, like him, I had a million!"During this brief conversation Mascarin had gone into his sleepingroom and was busily engaged in changing his dress.

"If you are ready," remarked the doctor, "we will make a start."In reply, Mascarin opened the door leading into the office. "Get acab, Beaumarchef," said he.
Chapter 4 A TRUSTWORTHY SERVANT.
　　4In the city of Paris it is impossible to find a more fashionablequarter than the one which is bounded on the one side by the RueFaubourg Saint Honore and on the other by the Seine, and commences atthe Place de la Concorde and ends at the Avenue de l'Imperatrice. Inthis favored spot millionaires seem to bloom like the rhododendron inthe sunny south. There are the magnificent palaces which they haveerected for their accommodation, where the turf is ever verdant, andwhere the flowers bloom perennially; but the most gorgeous of allthese mansions was the Hotel de Mussidan, the last /chef d'oeuvre/ ofSevair, that skilful architect who died just as the world wasbeginning to recognize his talents. With a spacious courtyard in frontand a magnificent garden in the rear, the Hotel de Mussidan is aselegant as it is commodious. The exterior was extremely plain, and notdisfigured by florid ornamentation. White marble steps, with a lightand elegant railing at the sides, lead to the wide doors which openinto the hall. The busy hum of the servants at work at an early hourin the yard tells that an ample establishment is kept up. There can beseen luxurious carriages, for occasions of ceremony, and the parkphaeton, and the simple brougham which the Countess uses when she goesout shopping; and that carefully groomed thoroughbred is Mirette, thefavorite riding horse of Mademoiselle Sabine. Mascarin and hisconfederate descended from their cab a little distance at the cornerof the Avenue Matignon. Mascarin, in his dark suit, with his spotlesswhite cravat and glittering spectacles, looked like some highlyrespectable functionary of State. Hortebise wore his usual smile,though his cheek was pale.

"Now," remarked Mascarin, "let me see,--on what footing do you standwith the Mussidans? Do they look upon you as a friend?""No, no; a poor doctor, whose ancestors were not among the Crusades,could not be the intimate friend of such haughty nobles as theMussidans.""But the Countess knows you, and will not refuse to receive you, norhave you turned out as soon as you begin to speak; for, taking shelterbehind some rogue without a name, you can shelter your own reputation.

I will see the Count.""Take care of him," said Hortebise thoughtfully. "He has a reputationfor being a man of ungovernable temper, and, at the first word fromyou that he objects to, would throw you out of the window as soon aslook at you."Mascarin shrugged his shoulders. "I can bring him to reason," answeredhe.

The two confederates walked a little past the Hotel de Mussidan, andthe doctor explained the interior arrangements of the house.

"I," continued Mascarin, "will insist upon the Count's breaking offhis daughter's engagement with M. de Breulh-Faverlay, but shall notsay a word about the Marquis de Croisenois, while you will take theopportunity of putting his pretensions before the Countess, and willnot say a word of M. de Breulh-Faverlay.""I have learned my lesson, and shall not forget it.""You see, doctor, the beauty of the whole affair is, that the Countesswill wonder how her husband will take her interference, while he willbe at a loss how to break the news to his wife. How surprised theywill be when they find that they have both the same end in view!"There was something so droll in the whole affair, that the doctorburst into a loud laugh.

"We go by such different roads," said he, "that they will neversuspect that we are working together. Faith! my dear Baptiste, you aremuch more clever than I thought.""Don't praise me until you see that I am successful."Mascarin stopped opposite to a /café/ in the Faubourg Saint Honore.

"Wait here for me, doctor," said he, "while I make a little call. Ifall is all right; I will come for you again; then I will see theCount, and twenty minutes later do you go to the house and ask for theCountess."The clock struck four as the worthy confederates parted, and Mascarincontinued his way along the Faubourg Saint Honore, and again stoppedbefore a public house, which he entered, the master of which, FatherCanon, was so well known in the neighborhood that he had not thoughtit worth while to have his name painted over the door. He did notprofess to serve his best wine to casual customers, but for regularfrequenters of his house, chiefly the servants of noble families, hekept a better brand of wine. Mascarin's respectable appearanceinclined the landlord to step forward. Among Frenchmen, who are alwaysfull of gayety, a serious exterior is ever an excellent passport.

"What can I do for you, sir?" asked he with great politeness.

"Can I see Florestan?""In Count de Mussidan's service, I believe?""Just so; I have an appointment with him here.""He is downstairs in the band-room," replied the landlord. "I willsend for him.""Don't trouble; I will go down," and, without waiting for permission,Mascarin descended some steps that apparently led to a cellar.

"It appears to me," murmured Father Canon, "that I have seen thiscove's face before."Mascarin pushed open a door at the bottom of the flight of stairs, anda strange and appalling noise issued from within (but this neithersurprised nor alarmed him), and entered a vaulted room arranged like a/café/, with seats and tables, filled with customers. In the centre,two men, in their shirt sleeves, with crimson faces, were performingupon horns; while an old man, with leather gaiters, buttoning to theknee, and a broad leather belt, was whistling the air the hornplayerswere executing. As Mascarin politely took off his hat, the performersceased, and the old man discontinued his whistling, while a well-builtyoung fellow, with pumps and stockings, and wearing a fashionablemustache, exclaimed,--"Aha, it is that good old Mascarin. I was expecting you; will youdrink?"Without waiting for further invitation Mascarin helped himself from abottle that stood near.

"Did Father Canon tell you that I was here?" asked the young man, whowas the Florestan Mascarin had been inquiring for. "You see,"continued he, "that the police will not permit us to practise thehorn; so, you observe, Father Canon has arranged this undergroundstudio, from whence no sound reaches the upper world."The hornplayers had now resumed their lessons, and Florestan wascompelled to place both hands to the side of his mouth, in order torender himself audible, and to shout with all his might.

"That old fellow there is a huntsman in the service of the Duke deChampdoce, and is the finest hornplayer going. I have only had twentylessons from him, and am getting on wonderfully.""Ah!" exclaimed Mascarin, "when I have more time I must hear yourperformance; but to-day I am in a hurry, and want to say a few wordsto you in private.""Certainly, but suppose we go upstairs and ask for a private room."The rooms he referred to were not very luxuriously furnished, but wereadmirably suited for confidential communications; and had the wallsbeen able to speak, they could have told many a strange tale.

Florestan and Mascarin seated themselves in one of these before asmall table, upon which Father Canon placed a bottle of wine and twoglasses.

"I asked you to meet me here, Florestan," began Mascarin, "because youcan do me a little favor.""Anything that is in my power I will do," said the young man.

"First, a few words regarding yourself. How do you get on with Countde Mussidan?"Mascarin had adopted an air of familiarity which he knew would pleasehis companion.

"I don't care about the place," replied Florestan, "and I am going toask Beaumarchef to look out another one for me.""I am surprised at that; all your predecessors said that the Count wasa perfect gentleman--""Just try him yourself," broke in the valet. "In the first place he isas fickle as the wind, and awfully suspicious. He never leavesanything about,--no letters, no cigars, and no money. He spends halfhis time in locking things up, and goes to bed with his keys under hispillow.""I allow that such suspicion on his part is most unpleasant.""It is indeed, and besides he is awfully violent. He gets in a rageabout nothing, and half a dozen times in the day he looks ready tomurder you. On my word, I am really frightened at him."This account, coupled with what he had heard from Hortebise seemed torender Mascarin very thoughtful.

"Is he always like this, or only at intervals?""He is always a beast, but he is worse after drink or losing at cards.

He is never home until after four in the morning.""And what does his wife say?"The query made Florestan laugh.

"Madame does not bother herself about her lord and master, I canassure you. Sometimes they don't meet for weeks. All she wants isplenty of money. And ain't we just dunned!""But the Mussidans are wealthy?""Tremendously so, but at times there is not the value of a franc inthe house. Then Madame is like a tigress, and would sent to borrowfrom all her friends.""But she must feel much humiliated?""Not a bit; when she wants a heavy amount, she sends off to the Dukede Champdoce, and he always parts; but she doesn't mince matters withhim.""It would seem as if you had known the contents of your mistress'sletters?" remarked Mascarin with a smile.

"Of course I have; I like to know what is in the letters I carryabout. She only says, 'My good friend, I want so much,' and back comesthe money without a word. Of course it is easy to see that there hasbeen something between them.""Yes, evidently.""And when master and missus do meet they only have rows, and suchrows! When the working man has had a drop too much, he beats his wife,she screams, then they kiss and make it up; but the Mussidans saythings to each other in cold blood that neither can ever forgive."From the air with which Mascarin listened to these details, it almostseemed as if he had been aware of them before.

"Then," said he, "Mademoiselle Sabine is the only nice one in thehouse?""Yes, she is always gentle and considerate.""Then you think that M. de Breulh-Faverlay will be a happy man?""Oh, yes; but perhaps this marriage will----" but here Florestaninterrupted himself and assumed an air of extreme caution. Afterlooking carefully round, he lowered his voice, and continued,"Mademoiselle Sabine has been left so much to herself that she actsjust as she thinks fit.""Do you mean," asked Mascarin, "that the young lady has a lover?""Just so.""But that must be wrong; and let me tell you that you ought not torepeat such a story."The man grew quite excited.

"Story," repeated he; "I know what I know. If I spoke of a lover, itis because I have seen him with my own eyes, not once, but twice."From the manner in which Mascarin received this intelligence,Florestan saw that he was interested in the highest degree.

"I'll tell you all about it," continued he. "The first time was whenshe went to mass; it came on to rain suddenly, and Modeste, her maid,begged me to go for an umbrella. As soon as I came back I went in andsaw Mademoiselle Sabine standing by the receptacle for holy water,talking to a young fellow. Of course I dodged behind a pillar, andkept a watch on the pair--""But you don't found all your story on this?""I think you would, had you seen the way they looked into each other'seyes.""What was he like?""Very good looking, about my height, with an aristocratic air.""How about the second time?""Ah, that is a longer story. I went one day with Mademoiselle when shewas going to see a friend in the Rue Marboeuf. She waited at a cornerof the street, and beckoned me to her. 'Florestan,' said she, 'Iforgot to post this letter; go and do so; I will wait here for you.' ""Of course you read it?""No. I thought there was something wrong. She wants to get rid of you,so, instead of posting it, I slunk behind a tree and waited. I hadhardly done so, when the young fellow I had seen at the chapel cameround the corner; but I scarcely knew him. He was dressed just like aworking man, in a blouse all over plaster. They talked for about tenminutes, and Mademoiselle Sabine gave him what looked like aphotograph."By this time the bottle was empty, and Florestan was about to call foranother, when Mascarin checked him, saying--"Not to-day; it is growing late, and I must tell you what I want youto do for me. Is the Count at home now?""Of course he is; he has not left his room for two days, owing tohaving slipped going downstairs.""Well, my lad, I must see your master; and if I sent up my card, theodds are he would not see me, so I rely upon you to show me up withoutannouncing me."Florestan remained silent for a few minutes.

"It is no easy job," he muttered, "for the Count does not likeunexpected visitors, and the Countess is with him just now. However,as I am not going to stay, I'll chance it."Mascarin rose from his seat.

"We must not be seen together," said he; "I'll settle the score; doyou go on, and I will follow in five minutes. Remember we don't knoweach other.""I am fly; and mind you look out a good place for me."Mascarin paid the bill, and then looked into the /café/ to inform thedoctor of his movements, and a few minutes later, Florestan in hismost sonorous voice, threw open the door of his master's room andannounced,--"M. Mascarin."
Chapter 5 A FORGOTTEN CRIME.
　　5Baptiste Mascarin had been in so many strange situations, from whichhe had extricated himself with safety and credit, that he had thefullest self-confidence, but as he ascended the wide staircase of theHotel de Mussidan, he felt his heart beat quicker in anticipation ofthe struggle that was before him. It was twilight out of doors, butall within was a blaze of light. The library into which he was usheredwas a vast apartment, furnished in severe taste. At the sound of theunaristocratic name of Mascarin, which seemed as much out of place asa drunkard's oath in the chamber of sleeping innocence, M. de Mussidanraised his head in sudden surprise. The Count was seated at the otherend of the room, reading by the light of four candles placed in amagnificently wrought candelabra. He threw down his paper, and raisinghis glasses, gazed with astonishment at Mascarin, who, with his hat inhis hand and his heart in his mouth, slowly crossed the room,muttering a few unintelligible apologies. He could make nothing,however, of his visitor, and said, "Whom do you wish to see, sir?""The Count de Mussidan," stuttered Mascarin; "and I hope that you willforgive this intrusion."The Count cut his excuse short with a haughty wave of his hand.

"Wait," said he imperiously. He then with evident pain rose from hisseat, and crossing the room, rang the bell violently, and thenreseated himself. Mascarin, who still remained in the centre of theroom, inwardly wondered if after all he was to be turned out of thehouse. In another second the door opened, and the figure of thefaithful Florestan appeared.

"Florestan," said the Count, angrily, "this is the first time that youhave permitted any one to enter this room without my permission; ifthis occurs again, you leave my service.""I assure your lordship," began the man.

"Enough! I have spoken; you know what to expect."During this brief colloquy, Mascarin studied the Count with thedeepest attention.

The Count Octave de Mussidan in no way resembled the man sketched byFlorestan. Since the time of Montaigne, a servant's portrait of hisemployer should always be distrusted. The Count looked fully sixty,though he was but fifty years of age; he was undersized, and he lookedshrunk and shrivelled; he was nearly bald, and his long whiskers wereperfectly white. The cares of life had imprinted deep furrows on hisbrow, and told too plainly the story of a man who, having drained thechalice of life to the bottom, was now ready to shiver the goblet. AsFlorestan left the room the Count turned to Mascarin, and in the sameglacial tone observed, "And now, sir, explain this intrusion."Mascarin had often been rebuffed, but never so cruelly as this. Hisvanity was sorely wounded, for he was vain, as all are who think thatthey possess some hidden influence, and he felt his temper giving way.

"Pompous idiot!" thought he; "we will see how he looks in a shorttime;" but his face did not betray this, and his manner remainedcringing and obsequious. "You have heard my name, my lord, and I am ageneral business agent."The Count was deceived by the honest accents which long practice hadtaught Mascarin to use, and he had neither a suspicion nor apresentiment.

"Ah!" said he majestically, "a business agent, are you? I presume youcome on behalf of one of my creditors. Well, sir, as I have beforetold these people, your errand is a futile one. Why do they worry mewhen I unhesitatingly pay the extravagant interest they are pleased todemand? They know that they are all knaves. They are aware that I amrich, for I have inherited a great fortune, which is certainly withoutencumbrance; for though I could raise a million to-morrow upon myestates in Poitiers, I have up to this time not chosen to do so."Mascarin had at length so recovered his self-command that he listenedto this speech without a word, hoping to gain some information fromit.

"You may tell this," continued the Count, "to those by whom you areemployed.""Excuse me, my lord--""But what?""I cannot allow--""I have nothing more to say; all will be settled as I promised, when Ipay my daughter's dowry. You are aware that she will shortly be unitedto M. de Breulh-Faverlay."There was no mistaking the order to go, contained in these words, butMascarin did not offer to do so, but readjusting his spectacles,remarked in a perfectly calm voice,--"It is this marriage that has brought me here."The Count thought that his ears had deceived him. "What are yousaying?" said he.

"I say," repeated the agent, "that I am sent to you in connection withthis same marriage."Neither the doctor nor Florestan had exaggerated the violence of theCount's temper. Upon hearing his daughter's name and marriagementioned by this man, his face grew crimson and his eyes gleamed witha lurid fire.

"Get out of this!" cried he, angrily.

But this was an order that Mascarin had no intention of obeying.

"I assure you that what I have to say is of the utmost importance,"said he.

This speech put the finishing touch to the Count's fury.

"You won't go, won't you?" said he; and in spite of the pain that atthe moment evidently oppressed him, he stepped to the bell, but wasarrested by Mascarin, uttering in a warning voice the words,--"Take care; if you ring that bell, you will regret it to the last dayof your life."This was too much for the Count's patience, and letting go the bellrope, he snatched up a walking cane that was leaning against thechimneypiece, and made a rush toward his visitor. But Mascarin did notmove or lift his hand in self-defence, contenting himself with sayingcalmly,--"No violence, Count; remember Montlouis."At this name the Count grew livid, and dropping the cane from hisnerveless hand staggered back a pace or two. Had a spectre suddenlystood up before him with threatening hand, he could not have been morehorrified.

"Montlouis!" he murmured; "Montlouis!"But now Mascarin, thoroughly assured of the value of his weapon, hadresumed all his humbleness of demeanor.

"Believe me, my lord," said he, "that I only mentioned this name onaccount of the immediate danger that threatens you."The Count hardly seemed to pay attention to his visitor's words.

"It was not I," continued Mascarin, "who devised the project ofbringing against you an act which was perhaps a mere accident. I amonly a plenipotentiary from persons I despise, to you, for whom Ientertain the very highest respect."By this time the Count had somewhat recovered himself.

"I really do not understand you," said he, in a tone he vainlyendeavored to render calm. "My sudden emotion is only too easilyexplained. I had a sad misfortune. I accidentally shot my secretary,and the poor young man bore the name you just now mentioned; but thecourt acquitted me of all blame in the matter."The smile upon Mascarin's face was so full of sarcasm that the Countbroke off.

"Those who sent me here," remarked the agent, slowly, "are wellacquainted with the evidence produced in court; but unfortunately,they know the real facts, which certain honorable gentlemen had senseto conceal at any risk."Again the Count started, but Mascarin went on implacably,--"But reassure yourself, your friend did not betray you voluntarily.

Providence, in her inscrutable decrees----"The Count shuddered.

"In short, sir, in short----"Up to this time Mascarin had remained standing, but now that he sawthat his position was fully established, he drew up a chair and satdown. The Count grew more livid at this insolent act, but made nocomment, and this entirely removed any doubts from the agent's mind.

"The event to which I have alluded has two eye-witnesses, the Baron deClinchain, and a servant, named Ludovic Trofin, now in the employ ofthe Count du Commarin.""I did not know what had become of Trofin.""Perhaps not, but my people do. When he swore to keep the mattersecret, he was unmarried, but a few years later, having entered thebonds of matrimony, he told all to his young wife. This woman turnedout badly; she had several lovers, and through one of them the mattercame to my employer's ears.""And it was on the word of a lackey, and the gossip of a dissolutewoman, that they have dared to accuse me."No word of direct accusation had passed, and yet the Count sought todefend himself.

Mascarin saw all this, and smiled inwardly, as he replied, "We haveother evidence than that of Ludovic.""But," said the Count, who was sure of the fidelity of his friend,"you do not, I suppose, pretend that the Baron de Clinchain hasdeceived me?"The state of mental anxiety and perturbation into which this man ofthe world had been thrown must have been very intense for him not tohave perceived that every word he uttered put a fresh weapon in hisadversary's hands.

"He has not denounced you by word of mouth," replied the agent. "Hehas done far more; he has written his testimony.""It is a lie," exclaimed the Count.

Mascarin was not disturbed by this insult.

"The Baron has written," repeated he, "though he never thought thatany eye save his own would read what he had penned. As you are aware,the Baron de Clinchain is a most methodical man, and punctilious to adegree.""I allow that; continue.""Consequently you will not be surprised to learn that from hisearliest years he has kept a diary, and each day he puts down in themost minute manner everything that has occurred, even to the differentconditions of his bodily health."The Count knew of his friend's foible, and remembered that when theywere young many a practical joke had been played upon his friend onthis account, and now he began to perceive the dangerous ground uponwhich he stood.

"On hearing the facts of the case from Ludovic's wife's lover,"continued Mascarin, "my employers decided that if the tale was a trueone, some mention of it would be found in the Baron's diary; andthanks to the ingenuity and skill of certain parties, they have had intheir possession for twenty-four hours the volume for the year 1842.""Scoundrels!" muttered the Count.

"They find not only one, but three distinct statements relating to theaffair in question."The Count started again to his feet with so menacing a look, that theworthy Mascarin pushed back his chair in anticipation of an immediateassault.

"Proofs!" gasped the Count. "Give me proofs.""Everything has been provided for, and the three leaves by which youare so deeply compromised have been cut from the book.""Where are these pages?"Mascarin at once put on an air of injured innocence.

"I have not seen them, but the leaves have been photographed, and aprint has been entrusted to me, in order to enable you to recognizethe writing."As he spoke he produced three specimens of the photographic art,wonderfully clear and full of fidelity. The Count examined them withthe utmost attention, and then in a voice which trembled with emotion,he said, "True enough, it is his handwriting."Not a line upon Mascarin's face indicated the delight with which hereceived this admission.

"Before continuing the subject," he observed placidly, "I consider itnecessary for you to understand the position taken up by the Baron deClinchain. Do you wish, my lord, to read these extracts, or shall I doso for you?""Read," answered the Count, adding in a lower voice, "I cannot see todo so."Mascarin drew his chair nearer to the lights on the table. "Iperceive," said he, "that the first entry was made on the eveningafter the--well, the accident. This is it: 'October 26, 1842. Earlythis morning went out shooting with Octave de Mussidan. We wereaccompanied by Ludovic, a groom, and by a young man named Montlouis,whom Octave intends one day to make his steward. It was a splendidday, and by twelve o'clock I had killed a leash of hares. Octave wasin excellent spirits, and by one o'clock we were in a thick cover notfar from Bevron. I and Ludovic were a few yards in front of theothers, when angry voices behind attracted our attention. Octave andMontlouis were arguing violently, and all at once the Count struck hisfuture steward a violent blow. In another moment Montlouis came up tome. "What is the matter?" cried I. Instead of replying to my question,the unhappy young man turned back to his master, uttering a series ofthreats. Octave had evidently been reproaching him for some lowintrigue he had been engaged in, and was reflecting upon the characterof the woman. "At any rate," cried Montlouis, "she is quite asvirtuous as Madame de Mussidan was before her marriage."" 'As Octave heard these words, he raised the loaded gun he held inhis hand and fired. Montlouis fell to the ground, bathed in blood. Weall ran up to him, but he was quite dead, for the charge of shot hadpenetrated his heart. I was almost beside myself, but Octave's despairwas terrible to witness. Tearing his hair, he knelt beside the deadman. Ludovic, however, maintained his calmness. "We must say that itwas an accident," observed he quickly. "Thinking that Montlouis wasnot near, my master fired into cover."" 'This was agreed to, and we carefully arranged what we should say.

It was I who went before the magistrate and made a deposition, whichwas unhesitatingly received. But, oh, what a fearful day! My pulse isat eighty, and I feel I shall not sleep all night. Octave is half mad,and Heaven knows what will become of him.' "The Count, from the depths of his armchair, listened without apparentemotion to this terrible revelation. He was quite crushed, and wassearching for some means to exorcise the green spectre of the past,which had so suddenly confronted him. Mascarin never took his eyes offhim. All at once the Count roused himself from his prostration, as aman awakes from a hideous dream. "This is sheer folly," cried he.

"It is folly," answered Mascarin, "that would carry much weight withit.""And suppose I were to show you," returned the Count, "that all theseentries are the offspring of a diseased mind?"Mascarin shook his head with an air of affected grief. "There is nouse, my lord, in indulging in vain hopes. We," he continued, wishingto associate himself with the Count, "we might of course admit thatthe Baron de Clinchain had made this entry in his diary in a moment oftemporary insanity, were it not for the painful fact that there wereothers. Le me read them.""Go on; I am all attention.""We find the following, three days later: 'Oct. 29th, 1842. I am mostuneasy about my health. I feel shooting pains in all my joints. Thederangement of my system arises entirely from this business ofOctave's. I had to run the gauntlet of a second court, and the judge'seyes seemed to look me through and through. I also saw with much alarmthat my second statement differs somewhat from the first one, so Ihave now learned it by heart. Ludovic is a sharp fellow, and quiteself-possessed. I would like to have him in my household. I keepmyself shut up in my house for fear of meeting friends who want tohear all the details of the accident. I believe I may say that I haverepeated the story more than a couple of dozen times.' Now, my lord,"added Mascarin, "what do you say to this?""Continue the reading of the extracts.""The third allusion, though it is short, is still very important:

'November 3rd, 1842. Thank Heaven! all is over. I have just returnedfrom the court. Octave has been acquitted. Ludovic had behavedwonderfully. He explained the reason of the misadventure in a way thatwas really surprising in an uneducated man, and there was not an atomof suspicion among judge, jury, or spectators. I have changed my mind;I would not have a fellow like Ludovic in my service; he is much toosharp. When I had been duly sworn, I gave my evidence. Though I wasmuch agitated, I went through it all right; but when I got home I feltvery ill, and discovered that my pulse was down to fifty. Ah, me! whatterrible misfortunes are wrought by a momentary burst of anger. I nowwrite this sentence in my diary: /"Never give way to firstimpulses."/' These words," continued Mascarin, "were inscribed onevery one of the pages following,--at least so those who examined theentries informed me."Mascarin persisted in representing himself as the agent of others, butstill the Count made no allusion to the persons in the background.

After a few moments the Count rose and limped up and down, as thoughhe hoped by this means to collect his ideas, or perhaps in order toprevent his visitor from scanning his face too closely.

"Have you done?" asked he, all at once.

"Yes, my lord.""Have you thought what an impartial judge would say?""I think I have.""He would say," broke in the Count, "that no sane man would havewritten such things down, for there are certain secrets which we donot whisper even to ourselves, and it is hardly likely that any manwould make such compromising entries in a diary which might be lost orstolen, and which would certainly be read by his heir. Do you thinkthat a man of high position would record his perjury, which is a crimethat would send him to penal servitude?"Mascarin gazed upon the Count with an air of pity.

"You are not going the right way, my lord, to get out of your trouble.

No lawyer would adopt your theory. If the remaining volumes of M. deClinchain's diaries were produced in court, I imagine that otherequally startling entries would be found in them."The Count now appeared to have arrived at some decision, and tocontinue the conversation simply for the purpose of gaining time.

"Well," said he, "I will give up this idea; but how do I know thatthese documents are not forgeries? Nowadays, handwritings are easilyfacsimilied, when even bankers find it hard to distinguish betweentheir own notes and counterfeit ones.""That can be settled by seeing if certain leaves are missing from theBaron's diary.""That does not prove much.""Pardon me, it proves a great deal. This new line of argument, Iassure you, will avail you as little as the other. I am perfectlyaware that the Baron de Clinchain will utter whatever words you mayplace in his mouth. Let us suppose that the leaves which have beentorn out should fit into the book exactly. Would not that be a strongpoint?"The Count smiled ironically, as though he had a crushing reply inreserve.

"And so this is your opinion, is it?" said he.

"It is indeed.""Then all I have to do is to plead guilty. I did kill Montlouis, justas Clinchain describes, but----" and as he spoke he took a heavyvolume from a shelf, and opening it at a certain place laid it beforeMascarin, remarking,--"this is the criminal code; read. 'Allproceedings in criminal law shall be cancelled after a lapse of tenyears.' "The Count de Mussidan evidently thought that he had crushed hisadversary by this shattering blow; but it was not so, for instead ofexhibiting any surprise, Mascarin's smile was as bland as ever.

"I, too, know a little of the law," said he. "The very first day thismatter was brought to me, I turned to this page and read what you havejust shown me to my employers.""And what did they say?""That they knew all this, but that you would be glad to compromise theaffair, even at the expense of half your fortune."The agent's manner was so confident that the Count felt they haddiscovered some means of turning this crime of his early days toadvantage; but he was still sufficiently master of himself to show noemotion.

"No," replied he, "it is not such an easy matter as you think to gethold of half my fortune. I fancy that your friends' demands willassume a more modest tone, the more so when I repeat that thesemorsels of paper, stolen from my friend's diary, are absolutelyworthless.""Do you think so?""Certainly, for the law on this matter speaks plainly enough."Mascarin readjusted his glasses, a sure indication that he was goingto make an important reply.

"You are quite right, my lord," said he, slowly. "There is nointention of taking you before any court, for there is no penalty nowfor a crime committed twenty-three years ago; but the miserablewretches whom I blush to act for have arranged a plan which will bedisagreeable in the highest degree both for you and the Baron.""Pray tell me what this clever plan is.""Most certainly. I came here to-day for this very purpose. Let usfirst conclude that you have rejected the request with which Iapproached you.""Do you call this style of thing a request?""What is the use of quarrelling over words. Well, to-morrow, myclients--though I am ashamed to speak of them as such--will send to awell known morning paper a tale, with the title, 'Story of a Day'sShooting.' Of course only initials will be used for the names, but nodoubt will exist as to the identity of the actors in the tragedy.""You forget that in actions for libel proofs are not admitted."Mascarin shrugged his shoulders.

"My employers forget nothing," remarked he; "and it is upon this verypoint that they have based their plans For this reason they introduceinto the matter a fifth party, of course an accomplice, whose name isintroduced into the story in the paper. Upon the day of itsappearance, this man lodges a complaint against the journal, andinsists on proving in a court of justice, that he did not form one ofthe shooting-party.""Well, what happens then?""Then, my lord, this man insists that the journal should give aretraction of the injurious statement and summons as witnesses bothyourself and the Baron de Clinchain, and as a conclusion, Ludovic; andas he claims damages, he employs a lawyer, who is one of theconfederates and behind the scenes. The lawyer will speak something tothis effect: 'That the Count de Mussidan is clearly a murderer; thatthe Baron de Clinchain is a perjurer, as proved by his ownhandwriting; Ludovic has been tampered with, but my client, anhonorable man, must not be classed with these, etc., etc.' Have I mademyself understood?"Indeed, he had, and with such cold and merciless logic that it seemedhopeless to expect to escape from the net that had been spread.

As these thoughts passed through the Count's brain, he saw at a glancethe whole terrible notoriety that the case would cause, and societygloating over the details. Yet such was the obstinacy of hisdisposition, and so impatient was he of control, that the moredesperate his position seemed, the fiercer was his resistance. He knewthe world well, and he also knew that the cutthroats who demanded hismoney with threats had every reason to dread the lynx eye of the law.

If he refused to listen to them, as his heart urged him, perhaps theywould not dare to carry out their threats. Had he alone been concernedin the matter, he would have resisted to the last, and fought it outto the last drop of his blood, and as a preliminary, would have beatenthe sneering rogue before him to a jelly; but how dared he expose hisfriend Clinchain, who had already braved so much for him? As he pacedup and down the library, these and many other thoughts swept acrosshis brain, and he was undecided whether to submit to these extortionsor throw the agent out of the window. His excited demeanor and theoccasional interjections that burst from his lips showed Mascarin thatthe account of him was not exaggerated, and that when led by passionhe would as soon shoot a fellow-creature as a rabbit. And yet, thoughhe knew not whether he should make his exit by the door or the window,he sat twirling his fingers with the most unconcerned air imaginable.

At last the Count gave ear to prudence. He stopped in front of theagent, and, taking no pains to hide his contempt, said,--"Come, let us make an end of this. How much do you want for thesepapers?""Oh, my lord!" exclaimed Mascarin; "surely you do not think that Icould be guilty----?"M. de Mussidan shrugged his shoulders. "Pray, do not take me for afool," said he, "but name your sum."Mascarin seemed a little embarrassed, and hesitated. "We don't wantmoney," answered he at length.

"Not money!" replied the Count.

"We want something that is of no importance to you, but of the utmostvalue to those who despatched me here. I am commissioned to inform youthat my clients desire that you should break off the engagementbetween your daughter and M. de Breulh-Faverlay, and that the missingpaper will be handed to you on the completion of her marriage with anyelse whom you may deem worthy of such an honor."This demand, which was utterly unexpected, so astonished the Countthat he could only exclaim, "Why, this is absolute madness!""No; it is plain, good sense, and a /bona fide/ offer."An idea suddenly flashed across the Count's mind. "Is it yourintention," asked he, "to furnish me with a son-in-law too?""I am sure, my lord," answered Mascarin, looking the picture ofdisinterested honesty, "that, even to save yourself, you would neversacrifice your daughter.""But--""You are entirely mistaken; it is M. de Breulh-Faverlay whom myclients wish to strike at, for they have taken an oath that he shallnever wed a lady with a million for her dowry."So surprised was the Count, that the whole aspect of the interviewseemed to have changed, and he now combated his own objections insteadof those of his unwelcome visitor. "M. de Breulh-Faverlay has mypromise," remarked he; "but of course it is easy to find a pretext.

The Countess, however, is in favor of the match, and the chiefopposition to any change will come from her."Mascarin did not think it wise to make any reply, and the Countcontinued, "My daughter also may not view this rupture withsatisfaction."Thanks to the information he had received from Florestan, Mascarinknew how much importance to attach to this. "Mademoiselle, at her ageand with her tastes, is not likely to have her heart seriouslyengaged." For fully a quarter of an hour the Count still hesitated. Heknew that he was entirely at the mercy of those miscreants, and hispride revolted at the idea of submission; but at length he yielded.

"I agree," said he. "My daughter shall not marry M. de Breulh-Faverlay."Even in his hour of triumph, Mascarin's face did not change. He bowedprofoundly, and left the room; but as he descended the stairs, herubbed his hands, exclaiming, "If the doctor has made as good a job ofit as I have, success is certain."
Chapter 6 A MEDICAL ADVISER
　　6Doctor Hortebise did not find it necessary to resort to any of thoseexpedients which Mascarin had found it advisable to use in order toreach Madame de Mussidan. As soon as he presented himself--that is,after a brief interval of five minutes--he was introduced into thepresence of the Countess. He rather wondered at this, for Madame deMussidan was one of those restless spirits that are seldom found athome, but are to be met with at exhibitions, on race-courses, at the/salons/, restaurants, shops, or theatres; or at the studio of somefamous artist; or at the rooms of some musical professor who haddiscovered a new tenor; anywhere and everywhere, in fact, except athome. Hers was one of those restless natures constantly craving forexcitement; and husband, home, and child were mere secondary objectsin her eyes. She had many avocations; she was a patroness of half adozen charitable institutions, but the chief thing that she did was tospend money. Gold seemed to melt in her grasp like so much snow, andshe never knew what became of the sums she lavished so profusely.

Husband and wife had long been almost totally estranged, and ledalmost separate existences. Dr. Hortebise was well aware of this, incommon with others who moved in society. Upon the appearance of thedoctor, the Countess dropped the book she had been perusing, and gavevent to an exclamation of delight. "Ah, doctor, this is really verykind of you;" and at the same time signed to the servant to place achair for the visitor.

The Countess was tall and slender, and at forty-five had the figure ofa girl. She had an abundance of fair hair, the color of whichconcealed the silver threads which plentifully interspersed it. Asubtle perfume hung about her, and her pale blue eyes were full ofpride and cold disdain.

"You know how to time your visits so well, doctor!" said she. "I amthoroughly bored, and am utterly weary of books, for it always seemsto me, when I read, that I had perused the same thing before somewhereor other. You have arrived at so opportune a moment, that you appearto be a favorite of timely chance."The doctor was indeed a favorite of chance; but the name of the chancewas Baptiste Mascarin.

"I see so few visitors," continued Madame de Mussidan, "that hardlyany one comes to see me. I must really set aside one day in the weekfor my at home; for when I do happen to stay at home, I feel fearfullydull and lonely. For two mortal hours I have been in this room. I havebeen nursing the Count."The doctor knew better than this; but he smiled pleasantly, and said,"Perfectly so," exactly at the right moment.

"Yes," continued the Countess, "my husband slipped on the stairs, andhurt himself very much. Our doctor says it is nothing; but then I putlittle faith in what doctors say.""I know that by experience, madame," replied Hortebise.

"Present company of course always excepted; but, do you know, I oncereally believed in you; but your sudden conversion to homeopathy quitefrightened me."The doctor smiled. "It is as safe a mode of practice as any other.""Do you really think so?""I am perfectly sure of it.""Well, now that you /are/ here, I am half inclined to ask youradvice.""I trust that you are not suffering.""No, thank heaven; I have never any cause to complain of my health;but I am very anxious about Sabine's state."Her affection of maternal solicitude was a charming pendant to herdisplay of conjugal affection, and again the doctor's expression ofassent came in in the right place.

"Yes, for a month, doctor, I have hardly seen Sabine, I have been somuch engaged; but yesterday I met her, and was quite shocked at thechange in her appearance.""Did you ask her what ailed her?""Of course, and she said, 'Nothing,' adding that she was perfectlywell.""Perhaps something had vexed her?""She,--why, don't you know that every one likes her, and that she isone of the happiest girls in Paris; but I want you to see her in spiteof that." She rang the bell as she spoke, and as soon as the footmanmade his appearance, said, "Lubin, ask Mademoiselle to have thegoodness to step downstairs.""Mademoiselle has gone out, madame.""Indeed! how long ago?""About three o'clock, madame.""Who went with her?""Her maid, Modeste.""Did Mademoiselle say where she was going to?""No, madame.""Very well, you can go."Even the imperturbable doctor was rather surprised at a girl ofeighteen being permitted so much freedom.

"It is most annoying," said the Countess. "However, let us hope thatthe trifling indisposition, regarding which I wished to consult you,will not prevent her marriage."Here was the opening that Hortebise desired.

"Is Mademoiselle going to be married?" asked he with an air ofrespectful curiosity.

"Hush!" replied Madame de Mussidan, placing her finger on her lips;"this is a profound secret, and there is nothing definitely arranged;but you, as a doctor, are a perfect father confessor, and I feel thatI can trust you. Let me whisper to you that it is quite possible thatSabine will be Madame de Breulh-Faverlay before the close of theyear."Hortebise had not Mascarin's courage; indeed, he was frequentlyterrified at his confederate's projects; but having once given in hisadherence, he was to be relied on, and did not hesitate for a moment.

"I confess, madame, that I heard that mentioned before;" returned hecautiously.

"And, pray, who was your informant?""Oh, I have had it from many sources; and let me say at once that itwas this marriage, and no mere chance, that brought me here to-day."Madame de Mussidan liked the doctor and his pleasant and wittyconversation very much, and was always charmed to see him; but it wasintolerable that he should venture to interfere in her daughter'smarriage. "Really, sir, you confer a great honor upon the Count andmyself," answered she haughtily.

Her severe manner, however, did not cause the doctor to lose histemper. He had come to say certain things in a certain manner. He hadlearned his part, and nothing that the Countess could say wouldprevent his playing it.

"I assure you, madame," returned he, "that when I accepted the missionwith which I am charged, I only did so from my feelings of respect toyou and yours.""You are really very kind," answered the Countess superciliously.

"And I am sure, madame, that after you have heard what I have to say,you will have even more reason to agree with me." His manner as hesaid this was so peculiar, that the Countess started as though she hadreceived a galvanic shock. "For more than twenty-five years," pursuedthe doctor, "I have been the constant depositary of strange familysecrets, and some of them have been very terrible ones. I have oftenfound myself in a very delicate position, but never in such anembarrassing one as I am now.""You alarm me," said the Countess, dropping her impatient manner.

"If, madame, what I have come to relate to you are the mere ravings ofa lunatic, I will offer my most sincere apologies; but if, on thecontrary, his statements are true--and he has irrefragable proofs inhis possession,--then, madame----""What then, doctor?""Then, madame, I can only say, make every use of me, for I willwillingly place my life at your disposal."The Countess uttered a laugh as artificial as the tears of long-expectant heirs. "Really," said she, "your solemn air and tones almostkill me with laughter.""She laughs too heartily, and at the wrong time. Mascarin is right,"thought the doctor. "I trust, madame," continued he, "that I too maylaugh at my own imaginary fears; but whatever may be the result,permit me to remind you that a little time back you said that a doctorwas a father confessor; for, like a priest, the physician only hearssecrets in order to forget them. He is also more fitted to console andadvise, for, as his profession brings him into contact with thefrailties and passions of the world, he can comprehend and excuse.""And you must not forget, doctor, that like the priest also, hepreaches very long sermons."As she uttered this sarcasm, there was a jesting look upon herfeatures, but it elicited no smile from Hortebise, who, as heproceeded, grew more grave.

"I may be foolish," he said; "but I had better be that than reopensome old wound.""Do not be afraid, doctor; speak out.""Then, I will begin by asking if you have any remembrance of a youngman in your own sphere of society, who, at the time of your marriage,was well known in every Parisian /salon/. I speak of the Marquis deCroisenois."The Countess leaned back in her chair, and contracted her brow, andpursed up her lips, as though vainly endeavoring to remember the name.

"The Marquis de Croisenois?" repeated she. "It seems as if----no--waita moment. No; I cannot say that I can call any such person to mind."The doctor felt that he must give the spur to this rebellious memory.

"Yes, Croisenois," he repeated. "His Christian name was George, and hehad a brother Henry, whom you certainly must know, for this winter Isaw him at the Duchess de Laumeuse's, dancing with your daughter.""You are right; I remember the name now."Her manner was indifferent and careless as she said this.

"Then perhaps you also recollect that some twenty-three years ago,George de Croisenois vanished suddenly. This disappearance caused aterrible commotion at the time, and was one of the chief topics ofsociety.""Ah! indeed?" mused the Countess.

"He was last seen at the Café de Paris, where he dined with somefriends. About nine he got up to leave. One of his friends proposed togo with him, but he begged him not to do so, saying, 'Perhaps I shallsee you later on at the opera, but do not count on me.' The generalimpression was that he was going to some love tryst.""His friends thought that, I suppose.""Yes, for he was attired with more care than usual, though he wasalways one of the best dressed men in Paris. He went out alone, andwas never seen again.""Never again," repeated the Countess, a slight shade passing acrossher brow.

"Never again," echoed the unmoved doctor. "At first his friends merelythought his absence strange; but at the end of a week they grewanxious.""You go very much into details.""I heard them all at the time, madame, and they were only brought backto my memory this morning. All are to be found in the records of aminute search that the authorities caused to be made into the affair.

The friends of De Croisenois had commenced the search; but when theyfound their efforts useless, they called in the aid of the police. Thefirst idea was suicide: George might have gone into some lonely spotand blown out his brains. There was no reason for this; he had amplemeans, and always appeared contented and happy. Then it was believedthat a murder had been committed, and fresh inquiries were instituted,but nothing could be discovered--nothing."The Countess affected to stifle a yawn, and repeated like an echo,"Nothing.""Three months later, when the police had given up the matter indespair, one of George de Croisenois' friends received a letter fromhim."'He was not dead then, after all?"Dr. Hortebise made a mental note of the tone and manner of theCountess, to consider over at his leisure.

"Who can say?" returned he. "The envelope bore the Cairo post-mark. Init George declared that, bored with Parisian life, he was going tostart on an exploring expedition to Central Africa, and that no oneneed be anxious about him. People thought this letter highlysuspicious. A man does not start upon such an expedition as thiswithout money; and it was conclusively proved that on the day of DeCroisenois' disappearance he had not more than a thousand francs abouthim, half of which was in Spanish doubloons, won at whist beforedinner. The letter was therefore regarded as a trick to turn thepolice off the scent; but the best experts asserted that thehandwriting was George's own. Two detectives were at once despatchedto Cairo, but neither there nor anywhere on the road were any tracesof the missing man discovered."As the doctor spoke, he kept his eyes riveted on the Countess, but herface was impassable.

"Is that all?" asked she.

Dr. Hortebise paused a few moments before he replied, and thenanswered slowly,--"A man came to me yesterday, and asserts that you can tell me what hasbecome of George de Croisenois."A man could not have displayed the nerve evinced by this frail andtender woman, for however callous he may be, some feature will betraythe torture he is enduring; but a woman can often turn a smiling faceupon the person who is racking her very soul. At the mere name ofMontlouis the Count had staggered, as though crushed down by a blowfrom a sledge hammer; but at this accusation of Hortebise the Countessburst into a peal of laughter, apparently perfectly frank and natural,which utterly prevented her from replying.

"My dear doctor," said she at length, as soon as she could manage tospeak, "your tale is highly sensational and amusing, but I reallythink that you ought to consult a /clairvoyant/, and not a matter-of-fact person like me, about the fate of George de Croisenois."But the doctor, who was ready with his retort, and, not at alldisconcerted by the cachinations of the Countess, heaved a deep sigh,as though a great load had been removed from his heart, and, with anair of extreme delight, exclaimed, "Thank Heaven! then I wasdeceived."He uttered these words with an affectation of such sincerity that theCountess fell into the trap.

"Come," said she, with a winning smile, "tell me who it is that says Iknow so much.""Pooh! pooh!" returned Hortebise. "What good would that do? He hasmade a fool of me, and caused me to risk losing your good opinion. Isnot that enough? To-morrow, when he comes to my house, my servantswill refuse to admit him; but if I were to do as my inclinations leadme, I should hand him over to the police.""That would never do," returned the Countess, "for that would change amere nothing into a matter of importance. Tell me the name of yourmysterious informer. Do I know him?""It is impossible that you could do so, madame, for he is far belowyou in the social grade. You would learn nothing from his name. He isa man I once helped, and is called Daddy Tantaine.""A mere nickname, of course.""He is miserably poor, a cynic, philosopher, but as sharp as a needle;and this last fact causes me great uneasiness, for at first I thoughtthat he had been sent to me by some one far above him in position,but--""But, doctor," interposed the Countess, "you spoke to me of proofs, ofthreats, of certain mysterious persons.""I simply repeated Daddy Tantaine's words. The old idiot said to me,'Madame de Mussidan knows all about the fate of the Marquis, and thisis clearly proved by letters that she has received from him, as wellas from the Duke de Champdoce.' "This time the arrow went home. She grew deadly pale, and started toher feet with her eyes dilated with horror.

"My letters!" exclaimed she hoarsely.

Hortebise appeared utterly overwhelmed by this display ofconsternation, of which he was the innocent cause.

"Your letters, madame," replied he with evident hesitation, "thisdouble-dyed scoundrel declares he has in his possession."With a cry like that of a wounded lioness, the Countess, taking nonotice of the doctor's presence, rushed from the room. Her rapidfootfall could be heard on the stairs, and the rustle of her silkenskirts against the banisters. As soon as he was left alone, the doctorrose from his seat with a cynical smile upon his face.

"You may search," mused he, "but you will find that the birds haveflown." He walked up to one of the windows, and drummed on the glasswith his fingers. "People say," remarked he, "that Mascarin nevermakes a mistake. One cannot help admiring his diabolical sagacity andunfailing logic. From the most trivial event he forges a long chain ofevidence, as the botanist is able, as he picks up a withered leaf, todescribe in detail the tree it came from. A pity, almost, that he didnot turn his talents to some nobler end; but no; he is now upstairsputting the Count on the rack, while I am inflicting tortures on theCountess. What a shameful business we are carrying on! There aremoments when I think that I have paid dearly for my life of luxury,for I know well," he added, half consciously fingering his locket,"that some day we shall meet some one stronger than ourselves, andthen the inevitable will ensue."The reappearance of the Countess broke the chain of his thoughts. Herhair was disturbed, her eyes had a wild look in them, and everythingabout her betrayed the state of agitation she was in.

"Robbed! robbed!" cried she, as she entered the room. Her excitementwas so extreme that she spoke aloud, forgetting that the door wasopen, and that the lackey in the ante-room could hear all she said.

Luckily Hortebise did not lose his presence of mind, and, with theease of a leading actor repairing the error of a subordinate, heclosed the door.

"What have you lost?" asked he.

"My letters; they are all gone."She staggered on to a couch, and in broken accents went on. "And yetthese letters were in an iron casket closed by a secret spring; thatcasket was in a drawer, the key of which never leaves me.""Good heavens!" exclaimed Hortebise in affected tones, "then Tantainespoke the truth.""He did," answered the Countess hoarsely. "Yes," she continued, "I amthe bondslave to people whose names I do not even know, who cancontrol my every movement and action."She hid her face in her hands as though her pride sought to concealher despair.

"Are these letters, then, so terribly compromising?" asked the doctor.

"I am utterly lost," cried she. "In my younger days I had noexperience; I only thought of vengeance, and lately the weapons Iforged myself have been turned against me. I dug a pitfall for myadversaries and have fallen into it myself."Hortebise did not attempt to stay the torrent of her words, for theCountess was in one of those moods of utter despair when the innerfeelings of the soul are made manifest, as during a violent tempestthe weeds of ocean are hurled up to the surface of the troubledwaters.

"I would sooner be lying in my grave a thousand times," wailed she,"than see these letters in my husband's hands. Poor Octave! have I notcaused him sufficient annoyance already without this crowning sorrow?

Well, Dr. Hortebise, I am menaced with the production of theseletters, and they will be handed to my husband unless I agree tocertain terms. What are they? Of course money is required; tell me towhat amount."The doctor shook his head.

"Not money?" cried the Countess; "what, then, do they require? Speak,and do not torture me more."Sometimes Hortebise confessed to Mascarin that, putting his interestson one side, he pitied his victims; but he showed no sign of thisfeeling, and went on,--"The value of what they require, madame, is best estimated byyourself.""Tell me what it is; I can bear anything now.""These compromising letters will be placed in your hands upon the dayon which your daughter marries Henry de Croisenois, the brother ofGeorge."Madame de Mussidan's astonishment was so great that she stood asthough petrified into a statue.

"I am commissioned to inform you, madame, that every delay necessaryfor altering any arrangements that may exist will be accorded you;but, remember, if your daughter marries any one else than Henry deCroisenois, the letters will be at once placed in your husband'shands."As he spoke the doctor watched her narrowly. The Countess crossed theroom, faint and dizzy, and rested her head on the mantelpiece.

"And that is all?" asked she. "What you ask me to do is utterlyimpossible: and perhaps it is for the best, for I shall have no longagony of suspense to endure. Go, doctor, and tell the villain whoholds my letters that he can take them to the Count at once."The Countess spoke in such a decided tone that Hortebise was a littlepuzzled.

"Can it be true," she continued, "that scoundrels exist in our countrywho are viler than the most cowardly murderers,--men who trade in theshameful secrets that they have learned, and batten upon the moneythey earn by their odious trade? I heard of such creatures before, butdeclined to believe it; for I said to myself that such an idea onlyexisted in the unhealthy imaginations of novel writers. It seems,however that I was in error; but do not let these villains rejoice toosoon; they will reap but a scanty harvest. There is one asylum leftfor me where they cannot molest me.""Ah, madame!" exclaimed the doctor in imploring accents; but she paidno attention to his remonstrances, and went on with increasingviolence,--"Do the miserable wretches think that I fear death? For years I haveprayed for it as a final mercy from the heaven I have so deeplyoffended. I long for the quiet of the sepulchre. You are surprised athearing one like me speak in this way,--one who has all her life beenadmired and flattered,--I, Diana de Laurebourg, Countess de Mussidan.

Even in the hours of my greatest triumphs my soul shuddered at thethought of the grim spectre hidden away in the past; and I wished thatdeath would come and relieve my sufferings. My eccentricities haveoften surprised my friends, who asked if sometimes I were not a littlemad. Mad? Yes, I am mad! They do not know that I seek oblivion inexcitement, and that I dare not be alone. But I have learned by thistime that I must stifle the voice of conscience."She spoke like a woman utterly bereft of hope, who had resolved on thefinal sacrifice. Her clear voice rang through the room, and Hortebiseturned pale as he heard the footsteps of the servants pacing to andfro outside the door, as they made preparations for dinner.

"All my life has been one continual struggle," resumed she,--"astruggle which has cost me sore; but now all is over, and to-night,for the first time for many years, Diana de Mussidan will sleep a calmand untroubled sleep."The excitement of the Countess had risen to so high a pitch that thedoctor asked himself how he could allay a tempest which he had notforeseen; for her loud tones would certainly alarm the servants, whowould hasten to acquaint the Count, who was himself stretched upon therack; then the entire plot would be laid bare, and all would be lost.

Madame de Mussidan was about to rush from the room, when the doctor,perceiving that he must act decisively, seized her by both wrists,and, almost by force, caused her to resume her seat.

"In Heaven's name, madame," he whispered, "for your daughter's sake,listen to me. Do not throw up all; am not I here ready to do yourbidding, whatever it may be? Rely upon me,--rely upon the knowledge ofa man of the world, and of one who still possesses some portion ofwhat is called a heart. Cannot we form an alliance to ward off thisattack?"The doctor continued in this strain, endeavoring to reassure theCountess as much as he had previously endeavored to terrify her, andsoon had the satisfaction of seeing his efforts crowned with success;for Madame de Mussidan listened to his flow of language, hardlycomprehending its import, but feeling calmer as he went on; and in aquarter of an hour he had persuaded her to look the situation boldlyin the face. Then Hortebise breathed more freely, and, wiping theperspiration from his brow, felt that he had gained the victory.

"It is a nefarious plot," said the Countess.

"So it is, madame; but the facts remain. Only tell me one thing, haveyou any special objection to M. de Croisenois paying his addresses toyour daughter?""Certainly not.""He comes from a good family, is well educated, handsome, popular, andonly thirty-four. If you remember, George was his senior by fifteenyears. Why, then, is not the marriage a suitable one? Certainly, hehas led rather a fast life; but what young man is immaculate? They saythat he is deeply in debt; but then your daughter has enough for both.

Besides, his brother left him a considerable fortune, not far short oftwo millions, I believe; and to this, of course Henry will eventuallysucceed."Madame de Mussidan was too overwhelmed by what she had already gonethrough to offer any further exposition of her feelings on thesubject.

"All this is very well," answered she; "but the Count has decided thatSabine is to become the wife of M. de Breulh-Faverlay, and I have novoice in the matter.""But if you exert your influence?"The Countess shook her head. "Once on a time," said she sadly, "Ireigned supreme over Octave's heart; I was the leading spirit of hisexistence. Then he loved me; but I was insensible to the depths of hisaffection, and wore out a love that would have lasted as long as lifeitself. Yes, in my folly I slew it, and now----" She paused for amoment as if to collect her ideas, and then added more slowly: "andnow our lives are separate ones. I do not complain; it is all my ownfault; he is just and generous.""But surely you can make the effort?""But suppose Sabine loves M. de Breulh-Faverlay?""But, madame, a mother can always influence her daughter."The Countess seized the doctor's hand, and grasped it so tightly thathe could hardly bear the pain.

"I must," said she in a hoarse whisper, "divulge to you the wholeextent of my unhappiness. I am estranged from my husband, and mydaughter dislikes and despises me. Some people think that life can bedivided into two portions, one consecrated to pleasure and excitement,and the other to domestic peace and happiness; but the idea is a falseone. As youth has been, so will be age, either a reward or anexpiation."Dr. Hortebise did not care to follow this train of argument--for theCount might enter at any moment, or a servant might come in toannounce dinner--and only sought to soothe the excited feelings ofMadame de Mussidan, and to prove to her that she was frightened byshadows, and that in reality she was not estranged from her husband,nor did her daughter dislike her; and finally a ray of hopeilluminated the saddened heart of the unfortunate lady.

"Ah, doctor!" said she, "it is only misfortune that teaches us to knowour true friends."The Countess, like her husband, had now laid down her arms; she hadmade a longer fight of it, but in both cases the result had been thesame. She promised that she would commence operations the next day,and do her utmost to break off the present engagement.

Hortebise then took his leave, quite worn out with the severe conflicthe had waged during his two hours' interview with the Countess. Inspite of the extreme cold, the air outside seemed to refresh himconsiderably, and he inhaled it with the happy feeling that he hadperformed his duty in a manner worthy of all praise. He walked up theRue de Faubourg Saint Honore, and again entered the /café/ where heand his worthy confederate had agreed to meet. Mascarin was there, anuntasted cutlet before him, and his face hidden by a newspaper whichhis anxiety would not permit him to peruse. His suspense was terrible.

Had Hortebise failed? had he encountered one of those unforeseenobstacles which, like a minute grain of sand, utterly hinders theworking of a piece of delicate machinery?

"Well, what news?" said he eagerly, as soon as he caught sight of thedoctor.

"Success, perfect success!" said Hortebise gayly. "But," added he, ashe sank exhausted upon a seat, "the battle has been a hard one."
Chapter 7 IN THE STUDIO
　　7Staggering like a drunken man, Paul Violaine descended the stairs whenhis interview with Mascarin had been concluded. The sudden andunexpected good fortune which had fallen so opportunely at his feethad for the moment absolutely stunned him. He was now removed from aposition which had caused him to gaze with longing upon the stillwaters of the Seine, to one of comparative affluence. "Mascarin," saidhe to himself, "has offered me an appointment bringing in twelvethousand francs per annum, and proposed to give me the first month'ssalary in advance."Certainly it was enough to bewilder any man, and Paul was utterlydazed. He went over all the events that had occurred during the day--the sudden appearance of old Tantaine, with his loan of five hundredfrancs, and the strange man who knew the whole history of his life,and who, without making any conditions, had offered him a valuablesituation. Paul was in no particular hurry to get back to the Hotel dePerou, for he said to himself that Rose could wait. A feeling ofrestlessness had seized upon him. He wanted to squander money, and tohave the sympathy of some companions,--but where should he go, for hehad no friends? Searching the records of his memory, he rememberedthat, when poverty had first overtaken him, he had borrowed twentyfrancs from a young fellow of his own age, named Andre. Some goldcoins still jingled in his pocket, and he could have a thousand francsfor the asking. Would it not add to his importance if he were to goand pay this debt? Unluckily his creditor lived a long distance off inthe Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne. He, however, hailed a passing cab, andwas driven to Andre's address. This young man was only a casualacquaintance, whom Paul had picked up one day in a small wine-shop towhich he used to take Rose when he first arrived in Paris. Andre, withwhose other name Paul was unacquainted, was an artist, and, inaddition, was an ornamental sculptor, and executed those wonderfuldecorations on the outside of houses in which builders delight. Thetrade is not a pleasant one, for it necessitates working at dizzyheights, on scaffolds that vibrate with every footstep, and exposesyou to the heat of summer and the frosts of winter. The business,however, is well paid, and Andre got a good price for his stonefigures and wreaths. But all the money he earned went in the study ofthe painter's art, which was the secret desire of his soul. He hadtaken a studio, and twice his pictures had been exhibited at the/Salon/, and orders began to come in. Many of his brother artistspredicted a glorious future for him. When the cab stopped, Paul threwthe fare to the driver, and asked the clean-looking portress, who waspolishing the brasswork on the door, if M. Andre was at home.

"He is, sir," replied the old woman, adding, with much volubility,"and you are likely to find him in, for he has so much work; but he issuch a good and quiet young man, and so regular in his habits! I don'tbelieve he owes a penny in the world; and as for drink, why he is aperfect Anchorite. Then he has very few acquaintances,--one younglady, whose face for a month past I have tried to see, but failed,because she wears a veil, comes to see him, accompanied by her maid.""Good heavens, woman!" cried Paul impatiently, "will you tell me whereto find M. Andre?""Fourth floor, first door to the right," answered the portress, angryat being interrupted; and as Paul ran up the stairs, she muttered, "Ayoung chap with no manners, taking the words out of a body's mouthlike that! Next time he comes, I'll serve him out somehow."Paul found the door, with a card with the word "Andre" marked upon itnailed up, and rapped on the panel. He heard the sound of a piece offurniture being moved, and the jingle of rings being passed along arod; then a clear, youthful voice answered, "Come in!"Paul entered, and found himself in a large, airy room, lighted by askylight, and exquisitely clean and orderly. Sketches and drawingswere suspended on the walls; there was a handsome carpet from Tunis,and a comfortable lounge; a mirror in a carved frame, which would havegladdened the heart of a connoisseur, stood upon the mantelpiece. Aneasel with a picture upon it, covered with a green baize curtain,stood in one corner. The young painter was in the centre of hisstudio, brush and palette in hand. He was a dark, handsome young man,well built and proportioned, with close-cut hair, and a curling beardflowing down over his chest. His face was full of expression, and theenergy and vigor imprinted upon it formed a marked contrast to theappearance of Mascarin's /protégé/. Paul noticed that he did not wearthe usual painter's blouse, but was carefully dressed in theprevailing fashion. As soon as he recognized Paul, Andre came forwardwith extended hand. "Ah," said he, "I am pleased to see you, for Ioften wondered what had become of you."Paul was offended at this familiar greeting. "I have had many worriesand disappointments," said he.

"And Rose," said Andre, "how is she--as pretty as ever, I suppose?""Yes, yes," answered Paul negligently; "but you must forgive me forhaving vanished so suddenly. I have come to repay your loan, with manythanks.""Pshaw!" returned the painter, "I never thought of the matter again;pray, do not inconvenience yourself."Again Paul felt annoyed, for he fancied that under the cloak ofassumed generosity the painter meant to humiliate him; and theopportunity of airing his newly-found grandeur occurred to him.

"It was a convenience to me, certainly," said he, "but I am all rightnow, having a salary of twelve thousand francs."He thought that the artist would be dazzled, and that the mention ofthis sum would draw from him some exclamations of surprise and envy.

Andre, however, made no reply, and Paul was obliged to wind up withthe lame conclusion, "And at my age that is not so bad.""I should call it superb. Should I be indiscreet in asking what youare doing?"The question was a most natural one, but Paul could not reply to it,as he was entirely ignorant as to what his employment was to be, andhe felt as angry as if the painter had wantonly insulted him.

"I work for it," said he, drawing himself up with such a strangeexpression of voice and feature that Andre could not fail to noticeit.

"I work too," remarked he; "I am never idle.""But I have to work very hard," returned Paul, "for I have not, likeyou, a friend or protector to interest himself in me."Paul, who had not a particle of gratitude in his disposition, hadentirely forgotten Mascarin.

The artist was much amused by this speech. "And where do you thinkthat a foundling, as I am, would find a protector?"Paul opened his eyes. "What," said he, "are you one of those?""I am; I make no secret of it, hoping that there is no occasion for meto feel shame, though there may be for grief. All my friends knowthis; and I am surprised that you are not aware that I am simply afoundling from the Hopital de Vendome. Up to twelve years of age I wasperfectly happy, and the master praised me for the knack I had ofacquiring knowledge. I used to work in the garden by day, and in theevening I wasted reams of paper; for I had made up my mind to be anartist. But nothing goes easily in this world, and one day the ladysuperintendent conceived the idea of apprenticing me to a tanner."Paul, who had taken a seat on the divan in order to listen, herecommenced making a cigarette; but Andre stopped him. "Excuse me; butwill you oblige me by not smoking?"Paul tossed the cigarette aside, though he was a little surprised, asthe painter was an inveterate smoker. "All right," said he, "butcontinue your story.""I will; it is a long one. I hated the tanner's business from the verybeginning. Almost the first day an awkward workman scalded me soseverely that the traces still remain." As he spoke he rolled up hisshirt sleeve, and exhibited a scar that covered nearly all one side ofhis arm. "Horrified at such a commencement, I entreated the ladysuperintendent, a hideous old woman in spectacles, to apprentice me tosome other trade, but she sternly refused. She had made up her mindthat I should be a tanner.""That was very nasty of her," remarked Paul.

"It was, indeed; but from that day I made up my mind, and I determinedto run away as soon as I could get a little money together. Itherefore stuck steadily to the business, and by the end of the year,by means of the strictest economy, I found myself master of thirtyfrancs. This, I thought, would do, and, with a bundle containing achange of linen, I started on foot for Paris. I was only thirteen, butI had been gifted by Providence with plenty of that strong will calledby many obstinacy. I had made up my mind to be a painter.""And you kept your vow?""But with the greatest difficulty. Ah! I can close my eyes and see theplace where I slept that first night I came to Paris. I was soexhausted that I did not awake for twelve hours. I ordered a goodbreakfast; and finding funds at a very low ebb, I started in search ofwork."Paul smiled. He, too, remembered /his/ first day in Paris. He wastwenty-two years of age, and had forty francs in his pocket.

"I wanted to make money--for I felt I needed it--to enable me topursue my studies. A stout man was seated near me at breakfast, and tohim I addressed myself.

" 'Look here,' said I, 'I am thirteen, and much stronger than I look.

I can read and write. Tell me how I can earn a living.'

"He looked steadily at me, and in a rough voice answered, 'Go to themarket to-morrow morning, and try if one of the master masons, who areon the lookout for hands, will employ you.' ""And you went?""I did; and was eagerly watching the head masons, when I perceived mystout friend coming toward me.

" 'I like the looks of you, my lad,' he said; 'I am an ornamentalsculptor. Do you care to learn my trade?'

"When I heard this proposal, it seemed as if Paradise was openingbefore me, and I agreed with enthusiasm.""And how about your painting?""That came later on. I worked hard at it in all my hours of leisure. Iattended the evening schools, and worked steadily at my art and otherbranches of education. It was a very long time before I ventured toindulge in a glass of beer. 'No, no, Andre,' I would say to myself,'beer costs six sous; lay the money by.' Finally, when I was earningfrom eighty to a hundred francs a week, I was able to give more timeto the brush."The recital of this life of toil and self-denial, so different fromhis own selfish and idle career, was inexpressibly mortifying to Paul;but he felt that he was called upon to say something.

"When one has talents like yours," said he, "success follows as amatter of course."He rose to his feet, and affected to examine the sketches on thewalls, though his attention was attracted to the covered picture onthe easel. He remembered what the garrulous old portress had saidabout the veiled lady who sometimes visited the painter, and thatthere had been some delay in admitting him when he first knocked. Thenhe considered, for whom had the painter dressed himself with suchcare? and why had he requested him not to smoke? From all these factsPaul came to the conclusion that Andre was expecting the lady's visit,and that the veiled picture was her portrait. He therefore determinedto see it; and with this end in view, he walked round the studio,admiring all the paintings on the walls, maneuvering in such a manneras to imperceptibly draw nearer to the easel.

"And this," said he, suddenly extending his hand toward the cover,"is, I presume, the gem of your studio?"But Andre was by no means dull, and had divined Paul's intention, andgrasped the young man's outstretched hand just as it touched thecurtain.

"If I veil this picture," said he, "it is because I do not wish it tobe seen.""Excuse me," answered Paul, trying to pass over the matter as a jest,though in reality he was boiling over with rage at the manner and toneof the painter, and considered his caution utterly ridiculous.

"At any rate," said he to himself, "I will lengthen out my visit, andhave a glimpse of the original instead of her picture;" and, with thisamiable resolution, he sat down by the artist's table, and commencedan apparently interminable story, resolved not to attend to any hintshis friend might throw out, who was glancing at the clock with theutmost anxiety, comparing it every now and then with his watch.

As Paul talked on, he saw close to him on the table the photograph ofa young lady, and, taking advantage of the artist's preoccupation,looked at it.

"Pretty, very pretty!" remarked he.

At these words the painter flushed crimson, and snatching away thephotograph with some little degree of violence, thrust it between theleaves of a book.

Andre was so evidently in a patina, that Paul rose to his feet, andfor a second or two the men looked into each other's eyes as twoadversaries do when about to engage in a mortal duel. They knew butlittle of each other, and the same chance which had brought themtogether might separate them again at any moment, but each felt thatthe other exercised some influence over his life.

Andre was the first to recover himself.

"You must excuse me; but I was wrong to leave so precious an articleabout."Paul bowed with the air of a man who accepts an apology which heconsiders his due; and Andre went on,--"I very rarely receive any one except my friends; but to-day I havebroken through my rule."Paul interrupted him with a magniloquent wave of the hand.

"Believe me, sir," said he, in a voice which he endeavoured to rendercutting and sarcastic, "had it not been for the imperative duty Ibefore alluded to, I should not have intruded."And with these words he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

"The deuce take the impudent fool!" muttered Andre. "I was stronglytempted to pitch him out of the window."Paul was in a furious rage for having visited the studio with thekindly desire of humiliating the painter. He could not but feel thatthe tables had been turned upon himself.

"He shall not have it all his own way," muttered he; "for I will seethe lady," and not reflecting on the meanness of his conduct, hecrossed the street, and took up a position from which he could obtaina good view of the house where Andre resided. It was snowing; but Pauldisregarded the inclemency of the weather in his eagerness to act thespy.

He had waited for fully half an hour, when a cab drove up. Two womenalighted from it. The one was eminently aristocratic in appearance,while the other looked like a respectable servant. Paul drew closer;and, in spite of a thick veil, recognized the features he had seen inthe photograph.

"Ah!" said he, "after all, Rose is more to my taste, and I will getback to her. We will pay up Loupins, and get out of his horrible den."
Chapter 8 MADEMOISELLE DE MUSSIDAN
　　8Paul had not been the only watcher; for at the sound of the carriagewheels the ancient portress took up her position in the doorway, withher eyes fixed on the face of the young lady. When the two women hadascended the stairs, a sudden inspiration seized her, and she went outand spoke to the cabman.

"Nasty night," remarked she; "I don't envy you in such weather asthis.""You may well say that," replied the driver; "my feet are like lumpsof ice.""Have you come far?""Rather; I picked them up in the Champs Elysees, near the Avenue deMatignon.""That is a distance.""Yes; and only five sous for drink money. Hang your respectablewomen!""Oh! they are respectable, are they?""I'll answer for that. The other lot are far more open-handed. I knowboth of them."And with these words and a knowing wink, he touched up his horse anddrove away; and the portress, only half satisfied, went back to herlodge.

"Why that is the quarter where all the swells live," murmured she.

"I'll tip the maid next time, and she'll let out everything."After Paul's departure, Andre could not remain quiet; for it appearedto him as if each second was a century. He had thrown open the door ofhis studio, and ran to the head of the stairs at every sound.

At last their footsteps really sounded on the steps. The sweetestmusic in the world is the rustle of the beloved one's dress. Leaningover the banisters, he gazed fondly down. Soon she appeared, and in ashort time had gained the open door of the studio.

"You see, Andre," said she, extending her hand, "you see that I amtrue to my time."Pale, and trembling with emotion, Andre pressed the little hand to hislips.

"Ah! Mademoiselle Sabine, how kind you are! Thanks, a thousandthanks."Yes, it was indeed Sabine, the scion of the lordly house of Mussidan,who had come to visit the poor foundling of the Hotel de Vendome inhis studio, and who thus risked all that was most precious to her inthe world, her honor and her reputation. Yes, regardless of theconventionalities among which she had been reared, dared to cross thatsocial abyss which separates the Avenue de Matignon from the Rue de laTour d'Auvergne. Cold reason finds no excuse for such a step, but theheart can easily solve this seeming riddle. Sabine and Andre had beenlovers for more than two years. Their first acquaintance had commencedat the Chateau de Mussidan. At the end of the summer of 1865, Andre,whose constant application to work had told upon his health,determined to take a change, when his master, Jean Lanier, called him,and said,--"If you wish for a change, and at the same time to earn three or fourhundred francs, now is your time. An architect has written to me,asking me for a skilled stone carver, to do some work in the countryat a magnificent mansion in the midst of the most superb scenery.

Would you care about undertaking this?"The proposal was a most acceptable one to Andre, and in a week's timehe was on his way to his work with a prospect of living for a month inpure country air. Upon his arrival at the Chateau, he made a thoroughexamination of the work with which he had been entrusted. He saw thathe could finish it with perfect ease, for it was only to restore thecarved work on a balcony, which would not take more than a fortnight.

He did not, however, press on the work, for the beautiful sceneryenchanted him.

He made many exquisite sketches, and his health began to return tohim. But there was another reason why he was in no haste to completehis task, one which he hardly ventured even to confess to himself: hehad caught a glimpse of a young girl in the park of the Chateau whohad caused a new feeling to spring up in his heart. It was Sabine deMussidan. The Count, as the season came on, had gone to Germany, theCountess had flitted away to Luzon, and the daughter was sent to thedull old country mansion in charge of her old aunt. It was the old,old story; two young hearts loving with all the truth and energy oftheir natures. They had exchanged a few words on their first meeting,and on the next Sabine went on to the balcony and watched the rapidplay of Andre's chisel with childish delight. For a long time theyconversed, and Sabine was surprised at the education and refinement ofthe young workman. Utterly fresh, and without experience, Sabine couldnot understand her new sensations. Andre held, one night, a longconverse with himself, and was at last obliged to confess that heloved her fondly. He ran the extent of his folly and madness, andrecognized the barrier of birth and wealth that stood between them,and was overwhelmed with consternation.

The Chateau of Mussidan stands in a very lonely spot, and one of theroads leading to it passes through a dense forest, and therefore ithad been arranged that Andre was to take his meals in the house. Aftera time Sabine began to feel that this isolation was a needlesshumiliation.

"Why can't M. Andre take his meals with us?" asked she of her aunt.

"He is certainly more gentlemanlike than many of those who visit us,and I think that his conversation would entertain you."The old lady was easily persuaded to adopt this suggestion, though atfirst it seemed an odd kind of thing to admit a mere working man toher table; but she was so bored with the loneliness of the place thatshe hailed with delight anything that would break its monotony. Andreat once accepted the proposal, and the old lady would hardly believeher eyes when her guest entered the room with the dress and manners ofa highbred gentleman. "It is hardly to be believed," said she, as shewas preparing to go to bed, "that a mere carver of stone should be solike a gentleman. It seems to me that all distinctions of social rankhave vanished. It is time for me to die, or we are rapidly approachinga state of anarchy."In spite of her prejudices, however, Andre contrived to win the oldlady's heart, and won a complete victory by painting her portrait infull gala costume. From that moment he was treated as one of thefamily, and, having no fear of a rebuff, was witty and sprightly inhis manner. Once he told the old lady the true story of his life.

Sabine was deeply interested, and marvelled at his energy andendurance, which had won for him a place on the ladder that leads tofuture eminence. She saw in him the realization of all her girlishdreams, and finally confessed to herself that she loved him. Both herfather and mother had their own pleasures and pursuits, and Sabine wasas much alone in the world as Andre.

The days now fled rapidly by. Buried in this secluded country house,they were as free as the breeze that played through the trees of theforest, for the old lady rarely disturbed them. After the morningmeal, she would beg Andre to read the newspaper to her, and fell intoa doze before he had been five minutes at the task. Then the youngpeople would slip quietly away, as merry as truants from school. Theywandered beneath the shade of the giant oaks, or climbed the rocksthat stood by the river bank. Sometimes, seated in a dilapidated boat,they would drift down the stream with its flower-bedecked banks. Thewater was often almost covered with rushes and water lilies. Twomonths of enchantment thus fled past, two months of the intoxicationsof love, though the mention of the tender passion never rose to theirlips from their hearts, where it was deeply imbedded. Andre had castall reflections regarding the perils of the future to the winds, andonly thanked heaven for the happiness that he was experiencing.

"Am I not too happy?" he would say to himself. "I fear this cannotlast." And he was right. Anxious to justify his remaining at Mussidanafter his task was completed, Andre determined to add to what he hadalready done a masterpiece of modern art, by carving a garland offruit and flowers over the old balcony, and every morning he rose withthe sun to proceed with his task.

One morning the valet came to him, saying that the old lady wasdesirous of seeing him, and begged him to lose no time, as thebusiness was urgent. A presentiment of evil came like a chilly blastupon the young man's heart. He felt that his brief dream of happinesswas at an end, and he followed the valet as a criminal follows hisexecutioner to the scaffold.

As he opened the door in which Sabine's aunt was awaiting him, the oldman whispered,--"Have a care, sir, have a care. Madame is in a terrible state; I havenot seen her like this since her husband died."The old lady was in a terrible state of excitement, and in spite ofrheumatic pains was walking up and down the room, gesticulatingwildly, and striking her crutch-handled stick on the floor.

"And so," cried she in that haughty tone adopted by women ofaristocratic lineage when addressing a supposed inferior, "you have, Ihear, had the impudence to make love to my niece?"Andre's pale face grew crimson as he stammered out,--"Madame--""Gracious powers, fellow!" cried the angry woman, "do you dare to denythis when your very face betrays you? Do you know that you are aninsolent rogue even to venture to look on Sabine de Mussidan? How dareyou! Perhaps you thought that if you compromised her, we should beforced to submit to this ignoble alliance.""On my honor, madame, I assure you--""On your honor! To hear you speak, one would suppose that you were agentleman. If my poor husband were alive, he would break every bone inyour body; but I am satisfied with ordering you out of the house. Pickup your tools, and be off at once."Andre stood as though petrified into stone. He took no notice of herimperious manner, but only realized the fact that he should never seeSabine again, and, turning deadly pale, staggered to a chair. The oldlady was so surprised at the manner in which Andre received hercommunication, that for a time she too was bewildered, and could notutter a word.

"I am unfortunately of a violent temper," said she, speaking in moregentle accents, "and perhaps I have spoken too severely, for I am muchto blame in this matter, as the priest of Berron said when he came toinform me of what was going on. I am so old that I forgot what happenswhen young people are thrown together, and I was the only one who didnot know what was going on when you were affording subject of gossipfor the whole countryside; my niece--"But here Andre started to his feet with a threatening look upon hisface.

"I could strangle them all," cried he.

"That is right," returned the old lady, secretly pleased at his vigorand energy, "but you cannot silence every idle tongue. Fortunately,matters have not gone too far. Go away, and forget my niece."She might as well have told the young man to go away and die.

"Madame!" cried he in accents of despair, "pray listen to me. I amyoung, and full of hope and courage."The old lady was so touched by his evident sorrow, that the tearsrolled down her wrinkled cheeks.

"What is the good of saying this to me?" asked she. "Sabine is not mydaughter. All that I can do is never to say a word to her father andmother. Great heavens, if Mussidan should ever learn what hasoccurred! There, do go away. You have upset me so that I do notbelieve I shall eat a mouthful for the next two days."Andre staggered out of the room. It seemed to him as if the flooringheaved and rolled beneath his feet. He could see nothing, but he feltsome one take him by the hand. It was Sabine, pallid and cold as amarble statue.

"I have heard everything, Andre," murmured she.

"Yes," stammered he. "All is over, and I am dismissed.""Where are you going to?""Heaven only knows, and when once I leave this place I care not.""Do not be desperate," urged Sabine, laying her hand upon his arm.

His fixed glance terrified her as he muttered,--"I cannot help it; I am driven to despair."Never had Sabine appeared so lovely; her eyes gleamed with somegenerous impulse, and her face glowed.

"Suppose," said she, "I could give you a ray of future hope, whatwould you do then?""What would I /not/ do then? All that a man could. I would fight myway through all opposition. Give me the hardest task, and I willfulfil it. If money is wanted, I will gain it; if a name, I will winit.""There is one thing that you have forgotten, and that is patience.""And that, Mademoiselle, I possess also. Do you not understand thatwith one word of hope from you I can live on?"Sabine raised her head heavenwards. "Work!" she exclaimed. "Work andhope, for I swear that I will never wed other than you."Here the voice of the old lady interrupted the lovers.

"Still lingering here!" she cried, in a voice like a trumpet call.

Andre fled away with hope in his heart, and felt that he had nowsomething to live for. No one knew exactly what happened after hisdeparture. No doubt Sabine brought round her aunt to her way ofthinking, for at her death, which happened two months afterward, sheleft the whole of her immense fortune directly to her niece, givingher the income while she remained single, and the capital on hermarriage, whether with or without the consent of her parents. Madamede Mussidan declared that the old lady had gone crazy, but both Andreand Sabine knew what she had intended, and sincerely mourned for theexcellent woman, whose last act had been to smooth away thedifficulties from their path. Andre worked harder than ever, andSabine encouraged him by fresh promises. Sabine was even more free inParis than at Mussidan, and her attached maid, Modeste, would havecommitted almost any crime to promote the happiness of her belovedmistress. The lovers now corresponded regularly, and Sabine,accompanied by Modeste, frequently visited the artist's studio, andnever was a saint treated with greater respect and adoration than wasSabine by Andre.
Chapter 9 ROSE'S PROMOTION.
　　9As soon as Andre had released her hand, Sabine took off her hat, and,handing it to Modeste, remarked,--"How am I looking to-day, Andre?"The young painter hastened to reassure her on this point, and shecontinued in joyous tones,--"No, I do not want compliments; I want to know if I look the rightthing for sitting for my portrait."Sabine was very beautiful, but hers was a different style of beautyfrom that of Rose, whose ripe, sensuous charms were fitted tocaptivate the admiration of the voluptuary, while Sabine was of themost refined and ethereal character. Rose fettered the body withearthly trammels, while Sabine drew the soul heavenward. Her beautywas not of the kind that dazzles, for the air of proud reserve whichshe threw over it, in some slight measure obscured its brilliancy.

She might have passed unnoticed, like the work of a great master'sbrush hanging neglected over the altar of a village church; but whenthe eye had once fathomed that hidden beauty, it never ceased to gazeon it with admiration. She had a broad forehead, covered with a wealthof chestnut hair, soft, lustrous eyes, and an exquisitely chiselledmouth.

"Alas!" said Andre, "when I gaze upon you, I have to confess howimpossible it is to do you justice. Before you came I had fancied thatthe portrait was completed, but now I see that I have only made afailure."As he spoke, he drew aside the curtain, and the young girl's portraitwas revealed. It was by no means a work of extraordinary merit. Theartist was only twenty-four years of age, and had been compelled tointerrupt his studies to toil for his daily bread, but it was full oforiginality and genius. Sabine gazed at it for a few moments insilence, and then murmured the words,--"It is lovely!"But Andre was too discouraged to notice her praise.

"It is like," remarked he, "but a photograph also has that merit. Ihave only got your features, but not your expression; it is an utterfailure. Shall I try again?"Sabine stopped him with a gesture of denial.

"You shall not try again," said she decidedly.

"And why not?" asked he in astonishment.

"Because this visit will be my last, Andre.""The last?" stammered the painter. "In what way have I so offendedyou, that you should inflict so terrible a punishment on me?""I do not wish to punish you. You asked for my portrait, and I yieldedto your request; but let us talk reasonably. Do you not know that I amrisking my reputation by coming here day after day?"Andre made no reply, for this unexpected blow had almost stunned him.

"Besides," continued Mademoiselle de Mussidan, "what is to be donewith the portrait? It must be hidden away, as if it were something wewere ashamed of. Remember, on your success hangs our marriage.""I do not forget that.""Hasten then to gain all honor and distinction, for the world mustagree with me in saying that my choice has been a wise one.""I will do so.""I fully believe you, dear Andre, and remember what I said to you ayear ago. Achieve a name, then go to my father and ask for my hand. Ifhe refuses, if my supplications do not move him, I will quit his roofforever.""You are right," answered Andre. "I should indeed by a fool if Isacrificed a future happy life for a few hours of present enjoyment,and I will implicitly--""And now," said Sabine, "that we have agreed on this point, let usdiscuss our mutual interests, of which it seems that we have been alittle negligent up till now."Andre at once began to tell her of all that had befallen him sincethey had last met, his defeats and successes.

"I am in an awkward plight," said he. "Yesterday, that well knowncollector, Prince Crescenzi, came to my studio. One of my picturestook his fancy, and he ordered another from me, for which he would paysix thousand francs.""That was quite a stroke of luck.""Just so, but unfortunately he wants it directly. Then Jean Lamou, whohas more in his hand than he can manage, has offered me the decorationof a palatial edifice that he is building for a great speculator, M.

Gandelu. I am to engage all the workmen, and shall receive some sevenor eight hundred francs a month.""But how does this trouble you?""I will tell you. I have twice seen M. Gandelu, and he wants me tobegin work at once; but I cannot accept both, and must choose betweenthem."Sabine reflected.

"I should execute the Prince's commission," said she.

"So should I, only----"The girl easily found the cause of his hesitation.

"Will you never forget that I am wealthy?" replied she.

"The one would bring in the most money," he returned, "and the othermost credit.""Then accept the offer of M. Gandelu."The old cuckoo-clock in the corner struck five.

"Before we part, dear Andre," resumed she, "I must tell you of a freshtrouble which threatens us; there is a project for marrying me to M.

de Breulh-Faverlay.""What, that very wealthy gentleman?""Just so.""Well, if I oppose my father's wishes, an explanation must ensue, andthis just now I do not desire. I therefore intend to speak openly toM. de Breulh-Faverlay, who is an honorable, straightforward man; andwhen I tell him the real state of the case, he will withdraw hispretensions.""But," replied Andre, "should he do so, another will come forward.""That is very possible, and in his turn the successor will bedismissed.""Ah!" murmured the unhappy man, "how terrible will be your life,--ascene of daily strife with your father and mother."After a tender farewell, Sabine and Modeste left. Andre had wished tobe permitted to go out and procure a vehicle, but this the young girlnegatived, and took her leave, saying.--"I shall see M. de Breulh-Faverlay to-morrow."For a moment after he was left alone Andre felt very sad, but a happythought flashed across his brain.

"Sabine," said he, "went away on foot, and I may follow her withoutinjury to her reputation."In another moment he was in the street, and caught a glimpse of Sabineand her maid under a lamp at the next corner. He crossed to the otherside of the way and followed them cautiously.

"Perhaps," murmured he, "the time is not far distant when I shall havethe right to be with her in her walks, and feel her arm pressedagainst mine."By this time Sabine and her companion had reached the Rue Blanche, andhailing a cab, were rapidly driven away. Andre gazed after it, and assoon as it was out of sight, decided to return to his work. As hepassed a brilliantly lighted shop, a fresh young voice saluted him.

"M. Andre, M. Andre."He looked up in extreme surprise, and saw a young woman, dressed inthe most extravagant style, standing by the door of a brougham, whichglittered with fresh paint and varnish. In vain he tried to think whoshe could be, but at length his memory served him.

"Mademoiselle Rose," said he, "or I am much mistaken."A shrill, squeaky voice replied, "Madame Zora Chantemille, if youplease."Andre turned sharply round and found himself face to face with a youngman who had completed an order he was giving to the coachman.

"Ah, is that you?" said he.

"Yes, Chantemille is the name of the estate that I intend to settle onmadame."The painter examined the personage who had just addressed him withmuch curiosity. He was dressed in the height or rather the burlesqueof fashion, wore an eyeglass, and an enormous locket on his chain. Theface which surmounted all this grandeur was almost that of a monkey,and Toto Chupin had not exaggerated its ugliness when he likened it tothat animal.

"Pooh," cried Rose, "what matters a name? All you have to do is to askthis gentleman, who is an old friend of mine, to dinner." And withoutwaiting for a reply, she took Andre by the hand and led him into abrilliantly lighted hall. "You must dine with us," she exclaimed; "Iwill take no denial. Come, let me introduce you, M. Andre, M. Gastonde Gandelu. There, that is all settled."The man bowed.

"Andre, Andre," repeated Gandelu; "why, the name is familiar to me,--and so is the face. Have I not met you at my father's house? Come in;we intend to have a jovial evening.""I really cannot," pleaded Andre. "I have an engagement.""Throw it over then; we intend to keep you, now that we have got you."Andre hesitated for a moment, but he felt dispirited, and that herequired rousing. "After all," thought he, "why should I refuse? Ifthis young man's friends are like himself, the evening will be anamusing one.""Come up," cried Rose, placing her foot upon the stairs. Andre wasabout to follow her, but was held back by Gandelu, whose face wasradiant with delight.

"Was there ever such a girl?" whispered he; "but there, don't jump atconclusions. I have only had her in hand for a short time, but I am areal dab at starting a woman grandly, and it would be hard to find myequal in Paris, you may bet.""That can be seen at a glance," answered Andre, concealing a smile.

"Well, look here, I began at once. Zora is a quaint name, is it not?

It was my invention. She isn't a right down swell to-day, but I haveordered six dresses for her from Van Klopen; such swell gets up! Youknow Van Klopen, don't you, the best man-milliner in Paris. Suchtaste! such ideas! you never saw the like."Rose had by this time reached her drawing-room. "Andre," said she,impatiently, "are you never coming up?""Quick, quick," said Gandelu, "let us go at once; if she gets into atemper she is sure to have a nervous attack, so let us hurry up."Rose did all she could to dazzle Andre, and as a commencementexhibited to him her domestics, a cook and a maid; then he was shownevery article of furniture, and not one was spared him. He was forcedto admire the drawing-room suite covered with old gold silk, trimmedblue, and to test the thickness of the curtains. Bearing aloft a largecandelabra, and covering himself with wax, Gandelu led the way,telling them the price of everything like an energetic tradesman.

"That clock," said he, "cost me a hundred louis, and dirt cheap at theprice. How funny that you should have known my father! Has he not awonderful intellect? That flower stand was three hundred francs,absolutely given away. Take care of the governor, he is as sharp as aneedle. He wanted me to have a profession, but no, thank you. Yes,that occasional table was a bargain at twenty louis. Six months ago Ithought that the old man would have dropped off, but now the doctorssay--" He stopped suddenly, for a loud noise was heard in thevestibule. "Here come the fellows I invited," cried he, and placingthe candelabra on the table, he hurried from the room.

Andre was delighted at so grand an opportunity of studying the /genus/masher. Rose felt flattered by the admiration her fine rooms evidentlycaused.

"You see," cried she, "I have left Paul; he bothered me awfully, andended by half starving me.""Why, you are joking; he came here to-day, and said he was earningtwelve thousand francs a year.""Twelve thousand humbugs. A fellow that will take five hundred francsfrom an old scarecrow he never met before is--"Rose broke off abruptly, for at that moment young Gandelu brought inhis friends, and introduced them; they were all of the same type astheir host, and Andre was about to study them more intently, when awhite-waistcoated waiter threw open the door, exclaiming pompously,"Madame, the dinner is on the table."
Chapter 10 "YOU ARE A THIEF."
　　10When Mascarin was asked what was the best way to achieve certainresults, his invariable reply was, "Keep moving, keep moving." He hadone great advantage over other men, he put in practice the doctrineshe preached, and at seven o'clock the morning after his interview withthe Count de Mussidan he was hard at work in his room. A thick foghung over the city, even penetrating into the office, which had begunto fill with clients. This crowd had but little interest for the headof the establishment, as it consisted chiefly of waiters from smalleating houses, and cooks who knew little or nothing of what was goingon in the houses where they were in service. Finding this to be thecase, Mascarin handed them all over to Beaumarchef, and onlyoccasionally nodded to the serviteur of some great family, who chancedto stroll in.

He was busily engaged in arranging those pieces of cardboard which hadso much puzzled Paul in his first visit, and was so much occupied withhis task, that all he could do was to mutter broken exclamations:

"What a stupendous undertaking! but I have to work single-handed, andhold in my hands all these threads, which for twenty years, with thepatience of a spider, I have been weaving into a web. No one, seeingme here, would believe this. People who pass me by in the street say,'That is Mascarin, who keeps a servants' registry office;' that is theway in which they look upon me. Let them laugh if they like; theylittle know the mighty power I wield in secret. No one suspects me,no, not one. I may seem too sanguine, it is true," he continued, stillglancing over his papers, "or the net may break and some of the fishesslip out. That idiot, Mussidan, asked me if I was acquainted with thePenal code. I should think I was, for no one has studied them moredeeply than I have, and there is a clause in volume 3, chapter 2,which is always before me. Penal servitude for a term of years; and ifI am convicted under Article 306, then it means a life sentence." Heshuddered, but soon a smile of triumph shone over his face as heresumed, "Ah, but to send a man like Mascarin for change of air toToulon, he must be caught, and that is not such an easy task. The dayhe scents danger he disappears, and leaves no trace behind him. I fearthat I cannot look for too much from my companions, Catenac andHortebise; I have up to now kept them back. Croisenois would neverbetray me, and as for Beaumarchef, La Candele, Toto Chupin, and a fewother poor devils, they would be a fine haul for the police. Theycouldn't split, simply because they know nothing." Mascarin chuckled,and then adjusting his spectacles with his favorite gesture, said, "Ishall go on in the course I have commenced, straight as the flight ofan arrow. I ought to make four millions through Croisenois. Paul shallmarry Flavia, that is all arranged, and Flavia will make a grandduchess with her magnificent income."He had by this time arranged his pasteboard squares, then he took asmall notebook, alphabetically arranged, from a drawer, wrote a nameor two in it, and then closing it said with a deadly smile, "There, myfriends, you are all registered, though you little suspect it. You areall rich, and think that you are free, but you are wrong, for there isone man who owns you, soul and body, and that man is BaptisteMascarin; and at his bidding, high as you hold your heads now, youwill crawl to his feet in humble abasement." His musings wereinterrupted by a knock at the door. He struck the bell on his writingtable, and the last sound of it was hardly died away, when Beaumarchefstood on the threshold.

"You desired me, sir," said he, with the utmost deference, "tocomplete my report regarding young M. Gandelu, and it so happens thatthe cook whom he has taken into his service in the new establishmenthe has started is on our list. She has just come in to pay us elevenfrancs that she owed us, and is waiting outside. Is not this lucky?"Mascarin made a little grimace. "You are an idiot, Beaumarchef," saidhe, "to be pleased at so trivial a matter. I have often told you thatthere is no such thing as luck or chance, and that all comes to thosewho work methodically."Beaumarchef listened to his master's wisdom in silent surprise.

"And pray, who is this woman?" asked Mascarin.

"You will know her when you see her, sir. She is registered underclass D, that is, for employment in rather fast establishments.""Go and fetch her," observed Mascarin, and as the man left the room,he muttered, "Experience has taught me that it is madness to neglectthe smallest precaution."In another moment the woman appeared, and Mascarin at once addressedher with that air of friendly courtesy which made him so popular amongsuch women. "Well, my good girl," said he, "and so you have got thesort of place you wanted, eh?""I hope so, sir, but you see I have only been with Madame Zora deChantemille since yesterday.""Ah, Zora de Chantemille, that is a fine name, indeed.""It is only a fancy name, and she had an awful row over it withmaster. She wanted to be called Raphaela, but he stood out for Zora.""Zora is a very pretty name," observed Mascarin solemnly.

"Yes, sir, just what the maid and I told her. She is a splendid woman,and doesn't she just squander the shiners? Thirty thousand francs havegone since yesterday.""I can hardly credit it.""Not cash, you understand, but tick. M. de Gandelu has not a sou ofhis own in the world, so a waiter at Potier's told me, and he knewwhat was what; but the governor is rolling in money. Yesterday theyhad a house-warming--the dinner, with wine, cost over a thousandfrancs."Not seeing how to utilize any of this gossip, Mascarin made a gestureof dismissal, when the woman exclaimed,--"Stop, sir, I have something to tell you.""Well," said Mascarin, throwing himself back in his chair with an airof affected impatience, "let us have it.""We had eight gents to dinner, all howling swells, but my master wasthe biggest masher of the lot. Madame was the only woman at table.

Well, by ten o'clock, they had all had their whack of drink, and thenthey told the porter to keep the courtyard clear. What do you thinkthey did then? Why, they threw plates, glasses, knives, forks, anddishes bang out of the window. That is a regular swell fashion, so thewaiter at Potier's told me, and was introduced into Paris by aRussian."Mascarin closed his eyes and answered languidly, "Go on.""Well, sir, there was one gent who was a blot on the whole affair. Hewas tall, shabbily dressed, and with no manners at all. He seemed allthe time to be sneering at the rest. But didn't Madame make up to himjust. She kept heaping up his plate and filling his glass. When theothers got to cards, he sat down by my mistress, and began to talk.""Could you hear what they said?""I should think so. I was in the bedroom, and they were near thedoor.""Dear me," remarked Mascarin, appearing much shocked, "surely that wasnot right?""I don't care a rap whether it was right or not. I like to hear allabout the people whom I engage with. They were talking about a M.

Paul, who had been Madame's friend before, and whom the gentleman alsoknew. Madame said that this Paul was no great shakes, and that he hadstolen twelve thousand francs."Mascarin pricked up his ears, feeling that his patience was about tomeet its reward.

"Can you tell me the gentleman's name, to whom Madame said all this?"asked he.

"Not I. The others called him 'The painter.' "This explanation did not satisfy Mascarin.

"Look here, my good girl," said he, "try and find out the fellow'sname. I think he is an artist who owes me money.""All right! Rely on me; and now I must be off, for I have breakfast toget ready, but I'll call again to-morrow;" and with a curtsy she leftthe room.

Mascarin struck his hand heavily on the table.

"Hortebise has a wonderful nose for sniffing out danger," said he.

"This Rose and the young fool who is ruining himself for her must bothbe suppressed."Beaumarchef again made a motion of executing a thrust with the rapier.

"Pooh, pooh!" answered his master; "don't be childish. I can do betterthan that. Rose calls herself nineteen, but she is more, she is ofage, while Gandelu is still a minor. If old Gandelu had any pluck, hewould put Article 354 in motion.""Eh, sir?" said Beaumarchef, much mystified.

"Look here. Before twenty-four hours have elapsed I must knoweverything as to the habits and disposition of Gandelu senior. I wantto know on what terms he is with his son.""Good. I will set La Candele to work.""And as the young fellow will doubtless need money, contrive to lethim know of our friend Verminet, the chairman of the Mutual LoanSociety.""But that is M. Tantaine's business."Mascarin paid no heed to this, so occupied was he by his own thoughts.

"This young artist seems to have more brains than the rest of the set,but woe to him if he crosses my path. Go back to the outer office,Beaumarchef, I hear some clients coming in."The man, however, did not obey.

"Pardon me, sir," said he, "but La Candele, who is outside, will seethem. I have my report to make.""Very good. Sit down and go on."Enchanted at this mark of condescension, Beaumarchef went on.

"Yesterday there was nothing of importance, but this morning TotoChupin came.""He had not lost Caroline Schimmel, I trust?""No, sir; he had even got into conversation with her.""That is good. He is a cunning little devil; a pity that he is not atrifle more honest.""He is sure," continued Beaumarchef, "that the woman drinks, for sheis always talking of persons following her about who menace her, andshe is so afraid of being murdered that she never ventures out alone.

She lives with a respectable workingman and his wife, and pays wellfor her board, for she seems to have plenty of money.""That is a nuisance," remarked Mascarin, evidently much annoyed.

"Where does she live?""At Montmartre, beyond the Chateau Rouge.""Good. Tantaine will inquire and see if Toto has made no mistake, anddoes not let the woman slip through his fingers.""He won't do that, for he told me that he was on the right road tofind out who she was, and where she got her money from. But I ought towarn you against the young scamp, for I have found out that he robs usand sells our goods far below their value.""What do you mean?""I have long had my suspicions, and yesterday I wormed it all out froma disreputable looking fellow, who came here to ask for his friendChupin."Men accustomed to danger are over prompt in their decisions. "Verywell," returned Mascarin, "if this is the case, Master Chupin shallhave a taste of prison fare."Beaumarchef withdrew, but almost immediately reappeared.

"Sir," said he, "a servant from M. de Croisenois is here with a note.""Send the man in," said Mascarin.

The domestic was irreproachably dressed, and looked what he was, theservant of a nobleman.

He had something the appearance of an Englishman, with a high collar,reaching almost to his ears. His face was clean shaved, and of a ruddyhue. His coat was evidently the work of a London tailor, and hisappearance was as stiff as though carved out of wood. Indeed, helooked like a very perfect piece of mechanism.

"My master," said he, "desired me to give this note into your ownhands."Under cover of breaking the seal, Mascarin viewed this model servantattentively. He was a stranger to him, for he had never suppliedCroisenois with a domestic.

"It seems, my good fellow," said he, "that your master was up earlierthan usual this morning?"The man frowned a little at this familiar address, and then slowlyreplied,--"When I took service with the Marquis, he agreed to give me fifteenlouis over my wages for the privilege of calling me 'a good fellow,'

but I permit no one to do so gratis. I think that my master is stillasleep," continued the man solemnly. "He wrote the note on his returnfrom the club.""Is there any reply.""Yes, sir.""Good; then wait a little."And Mascarin, opening the note, read the following:

"MY DEAR FRIEND,--"Baccarat has served me an ugly turn, and in addition to all myready cash I have given an I.O.U. for three thousand francs. Tosave my credit I must have this by twelve to-morrow.""His credit," said Mascarin. "His credit! That is a fine joke indeed."The servant stood up stiffly erect, as one seeming to take no notice,and the agent continued reading the letter.

"Am I wrong in looking to you for this trifle? I do not think so.

Indeed, I have an idea that you will send me a hundred and fiftylouis over and above, so that I may not be left without a coin inmy pocket. How goes the great affair? I await your decision on thebrink of a precipice.

"Yours devotedly,"HENRY DE CROISENOIS.""And so," growled Mascarin, "he has flung away five thousand francs,and asks me to find it for him in my coffers. Ah, you fool, if I didnot want the grand name that you have inherited from your ancestors, aname that you daily bespatter and soil, you might whistle for yourfive thousand francs."However, as Croisenois was absolutely necessary to him, Mascarinslowly took from his safe five notes of a thousand francs each, andhanded them to the man.

"Do you want a receipt?" asked the man.

"No; this letter is sufficient, but wait a bit;" and Mascarin, with aneye to the future, drew a twenty franc piece from his pocket, andplacing it on the table, said in his most honeyed accents,--"There, my friend, is something for yourself.""No, sir," returned the man; "I always ask wages enough to prevent thenecessity of accepting presents." And with this dignified reply hebowed with the stiff air of a Quaker, and walked rigidly out of theroom.

The agent was absolutely thunderstruck. In all his thirty years'

experience he had never come across anything like this.

"I can hardly believe my senses," muttered he; "where on earth did theMarquis pick this fellow up? Can it be that he is sharper than Ifancied?"Suddenly a new and terrifying idea flashed across his mind. "Can itbe," said he, "that the fellow is not a real servant, after all? Ihave so many enemies that one day they may strive to crush me, andhowever skilfully I may play my cards, some one may hold a betterhand." This idea alarmed him greatly, for he was in a position inwhich he had nothing to fear; for when a great work is approachingcompletion, the anxiety of the promoter becomes stronger and stronger.

"No, no," he continued; "I am getting too full of suspicions;" andwith these words he endeavored to put aside the vague terrors whichwere creeping into his soul.

Suddenly Beaumarchef, evidently much excited, appeared upon thethreshold.

"What, you here again!" cried Mascarin, angrily; "am I to have nopeace to-day?""Sir, the young man is here.""What young man? Paul Violaine?""Yes, sir.""Why, I told him not to come until twelve; something must have gonewrong." He broke off his speech, for at the half-open door stood Paul.

He was very pale, and his eyes had the expression of some huntedcreature. His attire was in disorder and betokened a night spent inaimless wanderings to and fro.

"Ah, sir!" said he, as he caught sight of Mascarin.

"Leave us, Beaumarchef," said the latter, with an imperious wave ofhis hand; "and now, my dear boy, what is it?"Paul sank into a chair.

"My life is ended," said he; "I am lost, dishonored for ever."Mascarin put on a face of the most utter bewilderment, though he wellknew the cause of Paul's utter prostration; but it was with the air ofa ready sympathizer that he drew his chair nearer to that of Paul, andsaid,--"Come, tell me all about it; what can possibly have happened to affectyou thus?"In deeply tragic tones, Paul replied,--"Rose has deserted me."Mascarin raised his hands to heaven.

"And is this the reason that you say you are dishonored? Do you notsee that the future is full of promise?""I loved Rose," returned Paul, and his voice was so full of pathosthat Mascarin could hardly repress a smile. "But this is not all,"continued the unhappy boy, making a vain effort to restrain his tears;"I am accused of theft.""Impossible!" exclaimed Mascarin.

"Yes, sir; and you who know everything are the only person in theworld who can save me. You were so kind to me yesterday that Iventured to come here before the time appointed, in order to entreatyour help.""But what do you think I can do?""Everything, sir; but let me tell you the whole hideous complication."Mascarin's face assumed an air of the deepest interest, as heanswered, "Go on.""After our interview," began Paul, "I went back to the Hotel de Perou,and on the mantelpiece in my garret found this note from Rose."He held it out as he spoke, but Mascarin made no effort to take it.

"In it," resumed Paul, "Rose tells me she no longer loves me, and begsme not to seek to see her again; and also that, wearied out ofpoverty, she has accepted the offer of unlimited supplies of money, acarriage, and diamonds.""Are you surprised at this?" asked Mascarin, with a sneer.

"How could I anticipate such an infidelity, when only the eveningbefore she swore by all she held most sacred that she loved me only?

Why did she lie to me? Did she write to make the blow fall heavier?

When I ascended the staircase, I was picturing to myself her joy whenI told her of your kind promises to me. For more than an hour Iremained in my garret, overwhelmed with the terrible thought that Ishould never see her again."Mascarin watched Paul attentively, and came to the conclusion that hiswords were too fine for his grief to be sincere.

"But what about the accusation of theft?""I am coming to that," returned the young man. "I then determined toobey your injunctions and leave the Hotel de Perou, with which I wasmore than ever disgusted. I went downstairs to settle with MadameLoupins, when ah! hideous disgrace! As I handed her the two weeks'

rent, she asked me with a contemptuous sneer, where I had stolen themoney from?"Mascarin secretly chuckled over the success of his plans thusannounced by Paul.

"What did you say?" asked he.

"Nothing, sir; I was too horror-stricken; the man Loupins came up, andboth he and his wife scowled at me threateningly. After a short pause,they asserted that they were perfectly sure that Rose and I had robbedM. Tantaine.""But did you not deny this monstrous charge?""I was utterly bewildered, for I saw that every circumstance wasagainst me. The evening before, Rose, in reply to Madame Loupin'simportunities, had told her that she had no money, and did not knowwhere to get any. But, as you perceive, on the very next day Iappeared in a suit of new clothes, and was prepared to pay my debts,while Rose had left the house some hours before. Does not all thisform a chain of strange coincidences? Rose changed the five hundredfranc note that Tantaine had lent me at the shop of a grocer, namedMelusin, and this suspicious fool was the first to raise a cry againstus, and dared to assert that a detective had been ordered to watchus."Mascarin knew all this story better than Paul, but here he interruptedhis young friend.

"I do not understand you," said he, "nor whether your grief arisesfrom indignation or remorse. Has there been a robbery?""How can I tell? I have never seen M. Tantaine from that day. There isa rumor that he has been plundered and important papers taken fromhim, and that he has consequently been arrested.""Why did you not explain the facts?""It would have been of no use. It would clearly prove that Tantainewas no friend of mine, not even an acquaintance, and they would havelaughed me to scorn had I declared that the evening before he cameinto my room and made me a present of five hundred francs.""I think that I can solve the riddle," remarked Mascarin. "I know theold fellow so well."Paul listened with breathless eagerness.

"Tantaine," resumed Mascarin, "is the best and kindest fellow in theworld, but he is not quite right in the upper story. He was a wealthyman once, but his liberality was his ruin. He is as poor as a church-mouse now, but he is as anxious as ever to be charitable.

Unfortunately in the place I procured for him he had a certain amountof petty cash at his disposal, and moved to pity at the sight of yoursufferings, he gave you the money that really belonged to others. Thenhe sent in his accounts, and the deficiency was discovered. He losthis head, and declared that he had been robbed. You lived in the nextroom; you were known to be in abject poverty on the one day and inample funds on the next; hence these suspicions."All was too clear to Paul, and a cold shiver ran through his frame ashe saw himself arrested, tried, and condemned.

"But," stammered he, "M. Tantaine holds my note of hand, which is aproof that I acted honestly.""My poor boy, do you think that if he hoped to save himself at yourexpense he would produce it?""Luckily, sir, you know the real state of the case."Mascarin shook is head.

"Would my story be credited?" asked he. "Justice is not infallible,and I must confess that appearances are against you."Paul was crushed down beneath this weight of argument. "There is noresource for me then but death," murmured he, "for I will not live adishonored man."The conduct of Paul was precisely what Mascarin had expected, and hefelt that the moment had arrived to strike a final blow.

"You must not give way to despair, my boy," said he.

But Paul made no reply; he had lost the power of hearing. Mascarin,however, had no time to lose, and taking him by the arm, shook himroughly. "Rouse yourself. A man in your position must help himself,and bring forward proofs of his innocence.""There is no use in fighting," replied Paul. "Have you not just shownme that it is hopeless to endeavor to prove my innocence?"Mascarin grew impatient at this unnecessary exhibition of cowardice,but he concealed his feelings as best he could.

"No, no," answered he; "I only wished to show you the worst side ofthe affair.""There is only one side.""Not so, for it is only a supposition that Tantaine had made away withmoney entrusted to him, and we are not certain of it. And we onlysurmise that he has been arrested, and thrown the blame on you. Beforegiving up the game, would it not be best to be satisfied on thesepoints?"Paul felt a little reassured.

"I say nothing," continued Mascarin, "of the influence I exercise overTantaine, and which may enable me to compel him to confess the truth."Weak natures like Paul's are raised in a moment from the lowest depthsof depression to the highest pitch of exultation, and he alreadyconsidered that he was saved.

"Shall I ever be able to prove my gratitude to you?" said heimpulsively.

Mascarin's face assumed a paternal expression.

"Perhaps you may," answered he; "and as a commencement you mustentirely forget the past. Daylight dispels the hideous visions of thenight. I offer you a fresh lease of life; will you become a new man?"Paul heaved a deep sigh. "Rose," he murmured; "I cannot forget her."Mascarin frowned. "What," said he, "do you still let your thoughtsdwell on that woman? There are people who cringe to the hand thatstrikes them, and the more they are duped and deceived, the more theylove. If you are made of this kind of stuff, we shall never get on. Goand find your faithless mistress, and beg her to come back and shareyour poverty, and see what she will say."These sarcasms roused Paul. "I will be even with her some day,"muttered he.

"Forget her; that is the easiest thing for you to do."Even now Paul seemed to hesitate. "What," said his patronreproachfully, "have you no pride?""I have, sir.""You have not, or you would never wish to hamper yourself with a womanlike Rose. You should keep your hands free, if you want to fight yourway through the battle of life.""I will follow your advice, sir," said Paul hurriedly.

"Very soon you will thank Rose deeply for having left you. You willclimb high, I can tell you, if you will work as I bid you.""Then," stammered Paul, "this situation at twelve thousand francs ayear----""There never has been such a situation."A ghastly pallor overspread Paul's countenance, as he saw himselfagain reduced to beggary.

"But, sir," he murmured, "will you not permit me to hope--""For twelve thousand francs! Be at ease, you shall have that and muchmore. I am getting old. I have no ties in the world--you shall be myadopted son."A cloud settled on Paul's brow, for the idea that his life was to bepassed in this office was most displeasing to him. Mascarin divinedhis inmost thoughts with perfect ease. "And the young fool does notknow where to go for a crust of bread," thought he. "Ah, if there wereno Flavia, no Champdoce;" then, speaking aloud, he resumed, "don'tfancy, my dear boy, that I wish to condemn you to the treadmill that Iam compelled to pass my life in. I have other views for you, far moreworthy of your merits. I have taken a great liking to you, and I willdo all I can to further your ambitious views. I was thinking a greatdeal of you, and in my head I raised the scaffolding of your futuregreatness. 'He is poor,' said I, 'and at his age, and with his tastes,this is a cruel thing. Why, pray, should I not find a wife for himamong those heiresses who have a million or two to give the man theymarry? When I talk like this, it is because I know of an heiress, andmy friend, Dr. Hortebise, shall introduce her to you. She is nearly,if not quite, as pretty as Rose, and has the advantage of her in beingwell-born, well-educated, and wealthy. She has influential relatives,and if her husband should happen to be a poet, or a composer, shecould assist him in becoming famous."A flush came over Paul's face, This seemed like the realization ofsome of his former dreams.

"With regard to your birth," continued Mascarin, "I have devised awonderful plan. Before '93, you know, every bastard was treated as agentleman, as he might have been the son of some high and mightypersonage. Who can say that your father may not have been of thenoblest blood of France, and that he has not lands and wealth? He mayeven now be looking for you, in order to acknowledge you and make youhis heir. Would you like to be a duke?""Ah, sir," stammered the young man.

Mascarin burst into a fit of laughter. "Up to now," said he, "we areonly in the region of suppositions.""Well, sir, what do you wish me to do?" asked Paul, after a shortpause.

Mascarin put on a serious face. "I want absolute obedience from you,"said he; "a blind and undeviating obedience, one that makes noobjections and asks no questions.""I will obey you, sir; but, oh! do not desert me."Without making any reply, Mascarin rang for Beaumarchef, and as soonas the latter appeared, said, "I am going to Van Klopen's, and shallleave you in charge here." Then, turning to Paul, he added, "I alwaysmean what I say; we will go and breakfast at a neighboring restaurant.

I want to have a talk with you, and afterward--afterward, my boy, Iwill show you the girl I intend to be your wife. I am curious to knowhow you like her looks."
Chapter 11 THE MAN-MILLINER.
　　11Gaston de Gandelu was much surprised at finding that Andre should beignorant of the existence of Van Klopen, the best-known man in Paris.

To assure oneself of this, it was only necessary to glance at hiscirculars, which were ornamented with the representations of medalswon at all sorts of exhibitions in different quarters of the world,together with various decorations received from foreign potentates.

One had been presented to him by the Queen of Spain, while he had adiploma appointing him the supplier to the Court of the Czar. Thegreat Van Klopen was not an Alsatian, as was generally supposed, but astout, handsome Dutchman, who, in the year 1850, had been a tailor inhis small native town, and manufactured in cloth, purchased on credit,the long waistcoats and miraculous coats worn by the wealthy citizensof Rotterdam. Van Klopen, however, was not successful in his business,and was compelled to close his shop and abscond from his creditors. Hetook refuge in Paris, where he seemed likely to die of hunger. One dayover a magnificent establishment in the Rue de Grammont appeared asignboard with the name of Van Klopen, dressmaker, and in thethousands of handbills distributed with the utmost profusion, hecalled himself the "Regenerator of Fashion." This was an idea thatwould have never originated in the brain of the phlegmatic Dutchman,and whence came the funds to carry on the business? On this point hewas discreetly silent. The enterprise was at first far from a success,for during nearly a month Paris almost split its sides laughing at theabsurd pretensions of the self-dubbed "Regenerator of Fashion." VanKlopen bent before the storm he had aroused, and in due time hisadvertisements brought him two customers, who were the first to blowthe trumpet of his fame. One was the Duchess de Suirmeuse, a verygreat lady indeed, and renowned for her eccentricities and extravagantmanner, while the other was an example of another class being no lessthan the celebrated Jennie Fancy, who was at that time under theprotection of the Count de Tremouselle; and for these two Van Klopeninvented such dresses as had never been seen before. From this momenthis success was certain; indeed, it was stupendous, and Parisresounded with his praises. Now he has achieved a world-widereputation, and has nothing to fear from the attacks of his rivals. Hewould not execute orders for every one, saying that he must pick andchoose his customers, and he did so, excising the names of such as hedid not think would add to his reputation. Rank and wealth disputedthe honor of being his customers. The haughtiest dames did not shrinkfrom entrusting to him secrets of form and figure, which they even hidfrom their husbands. They endured without shrinking the touch of hiscoarse hands as he measured them. He was the rage, and his showroomswere a species of neutral ground, where women of all circles ofsociety met and examined each other. The Duchess of --- did not shrinkfrom being in the same room with the celebrated woman for whom theBaron de --- had blown out the few brains he possessed. Perhaps theDuchess thought that by employing the same costumier, she might alsogain some of the venal beauteous attractions. Mademoiselle D---, ofthe Gymnase Theatre, who was well known to earn just one thousandfrancs per annum, took a delight in astonishing the haughty ladies offashion by the reckless extravagance of her orders. Van Klopen, whowas a born diplomatist, distributed his favors between his differentcustomers; consequently he was termed the most charming and angelic ofmen. Many a time had he heard the most aristocratic lips let fall thewords, "I shall die, Van Klopen, if my dress is not ready." On theevenings of the most aristocratic balls a long line of carriagesblocked up the road in front of his establishment, and the finestwomen in Paris crowded the showrooms for a word of approval from him.

He gave credit to approved customers, and also, it was whispered, lentmoney to them. But woe to the woman who permitted herself to beentrapped in the snare of credit that he laid for her; for the womanwho owed him a bill was practically lost, never knowing to what depthsshe might be degraded to obtain the money to settle her account. Itwas not surprising that such sudden prosperity should have turned VanKlopen's head. He was stout and ruddy, impudent, vain, and cynical.

His admirers said that he was witty.

It was to this man's establishment that Mascarin conducted Paul aftera sumptuous breakfast at Philipe's.

It is necessary to give a slight description of Van Klopen'sestablishment. Carpets of the most expensive description covered thestairs to his door on the first floor, at which stood the liveriedmenials resplendent in gold lace and scarlet. As soon as Mascarin madehis appearance, one of these gorgeous creatures hastened to him andsaid, "M. Van Klopen is just now engaged with the Princess Korasoff,but as soon as he hears of your arrival he will manage to get rid ofher. Will you wait for him in his private room?"But Mascarin answered,--"We are in no hurry, and may as well wait in the public room with theother customers. Are there many of them?""There are about a dozen ladies, sir.""Good; I am sure that they will amuse me."And, without wasting any more words, Mascarin opened a door which ledinto a magnificent drawing-room, decorated in very florid style. Thepaper on the walls almost disappeared beneath a variety of watercolorsketches, representing ladies in every possible style of costume. Eachpicture had an explanatory note beneath it, such as "Costume of Mde.

de C--- for a dinner at the Russian Ambassador's," "Ball costume ofthe Marchioness de V--- for a ball at the Hotel de Ville," etc.

Paul, who was a little nervous at finding himself among such splendor,hesitated in the doorway; but Mascarin seized his young friend by thearm, and, as he drew him to a settee, whispered in his ear,--"Keep your eyes about you; the heiress is here."The ladies were at first a little surprised at this invasion of theroom by the male element, but Paul's extreme beauty soon attractedtheir attention. The hum of conversation ceased, and Paul'sembarrassment increased as he found a battery of twelve pairs of eyesdirected full upon him.

Mascarin, however, was quite at his ease, and upon his entrance hadmade a graceful though rather old-fashioned bow to the fair inmates ofthe room. His coolness was partly due to the contempt he felt for thehuman race in general, and also to his colored glasses, which hid theexpression of his countenance. When he saw that Paul still kept hiseyes on the ground, he tapped him gently on the arm.

"Is this the first time you ever saw well-dressed women? Surely youare not afraid of them. Look to the right," continued Mascarin, "andyou will see the heiress."A young girl, not more than eighteen, was seated near one of thewindows. She was not perhaps so beautiful as Mascarin had described,but her face was a very striking one nevertheless. She was slight andgood-looking, with the clear complexion of a brunette. Her featureswere not perhaps very regular, but her glossy black hair was a beautyin itself. She had a pair of dark, melting eyes, and her wide, highforehead showed that she was gifted with great intelligence. There wasan air of restrained voluptuousness about her, and she seemed the veryembodiment of passion.

Paul felt insensibly attracted toward her. Their eyes met, and bothstarted at the same moment. Paul was fascinated in an instant, and thegirl's emotion was so evident that she turned aside her head toconceal it.

The babel had now commenced again, and general attention was beingpaid to a lady who was enthusiastically describing the last newcostume which had made its appearance in the Bois de Boulogue.

"It was simply miraculous," said she; "a real triumph of Van Klopen'sart. The ladies of a certain class are furious, and Henry deCroisenois tells me that Jenny Fancy absolutely shed tears of rage.

Imagine three green skirts of different shades, each draped----"Mascarin, however, only paid attention to Paul and the young girl, anda sarcastic smile curled his lips.

"What do you think of her?" asked he.

"She is adorable!" answered Paul, enthusiastically.

"And immensely wealthy.""I should fall at her feet if she had not a sou."Mascarin gave a little cough, and adjusted his glasses.

"Should you, my lad?" said he to himself; "whether your admiration isfor the girl or her money, you are in my grip."Then he added, aloud,--"Would you not like to know her name?""Tell me, I entreat you.""Flavia."Paul was in the seventh heaven, and now boldly turned his eyes on thegirl, forgetting that owing to the numerous mirrors, she could see hisevery movement.

The door was at this moment opened quietly, and Van Klopen appeared onthe threshold. He was about forty-four, and too stout for his height.

His red, pimply face had an expression upon it of extreme insolence,and his accent was thoroughly Dutch. He was dressed in a ruby velvetdressing-gown, with a cravat with lace ends. A huge cluster-diamondring blazed on his coarse, red hand.

"Who is the next one?" asked he, rudely.

The lady who had been talking so volubly rose to her feet, but thetailor cut her short, for catching sight of Mascarin, he crossed theroom, and greeted him with the utmost cordiality.

"What!" said he; "is it you that I have been keeping waiting? Praypardon me. Pray go into my private room; and this gentleman is withyou? Do me the favor, sir, to come with us."He was about to follow his guests, when one of the ladies startedforward.

"One word with you, sir, for goodness sake!" cried she.

Van Klopen turned sharply upon her.

"What is the matter?" asked he.

"My bill for three thousand francs falls due to-morrow.""Very likely.""But I can't meet it.""That is not my affair.""I have come to beg you will renew it for two months, or say onemonth, on whatever terms you like.""In two months," answered the man brutally, "you will be no more ableto pay than you are to-day. If you can't pay it, it will be noted.""Merciful powers! then my husband will learn all.""Just so; that will be what I want; for he will then have to pay me."The wretched woman grew deadly pale.

"My husband will pay you," said she; "but I shall be lost.""That is not my lookout. I have partners whose interests I have toconsult.""Do not say that, sir! He has paid my debts once, and if he should beangry and take my children from me--Dear M. Van Klopen, be merciful!"She wrung her hands, and the tears coursed down her cheeks; but thetailor was perfectly unmoved.

"When a woman has a family of children, one ought to have in aneedlewoman by the hour."She did not desist from her efforts to soften him, and, seizing hishand, strove to carry it to her lips.

"Ah! I shall never dare to go home," wailed she; "never have thecourage to tell my husband.""If you are afraid of your own husband, go to some one else's," saidhe roughly; and tearing himself from her, he followed Mascarin andPaul.

"Did you hear that?" asked he, as soon as he had closed the door ofhis room with an angry slam. "These things occasionally occur, and arenot particularly pleasant."Paul looked on in disgust. If he had possessed three thousand francs,he would have given them to this unhappy woman, whose sobs he couldstill hear in the passage.

"It is most painful," remarked he.

"My dear sir," said the tailor, "you attach too much importance tothese hysterical outbursts. If you were in my place, you would soonhave to put their right value on them. As I said before, I have tolook after my own and my partners' interests. These dear creaturescare for nothing but dress; father, husband, and children are asnothing in comparison. You cannot imagine what a woman will do inorder to get a new dress, in which to outshine her rival. They onlytalk of their families when they are called on to pay up."Paul still continued to plead for some money for the poor lady, andthe discussion was getting so warm that Mascarin felt bound tointerfere.

"Perhaps," said he, "you have been a little hard.""Pooh," returned the tailor; "I know my customer; and to-morrow myaccount will be settled, and I know very well where the money willcome from. Then she will give me another order, and we shall have thewhole comedy over again. I know what I am about." And taking Mascarininto the window, he made some confidential communication, at whichthey both laughed heartily.

Paul, not wishing to appear to listen, examined the consulting-room,as Van Klopen termed it. He saw a great number of large scissors, yardmeasures, and patterns of material, and heaps of fashion plates.

By this time the two men had finished their conversation.

"I had," said Mascarin, as they returned to the fireplace, "I hadmeant to glance through the books; but you have so many customerswaiting, that I had better defer doing so.""Is that all that hinders you?" returned Van Klopen, carelessly. "Waita moment."He left the room, and in another moment his voice was heard.

"I am sorry, ladies, very sorry, on my word; but I am busy with mysilk mercer. I shall not be very long.""We will wait," returned the ladies in chorus.

"That is the way," remarked Van Klopen, as he returned to theconsulting-room. "Be civil to women, and they turn their backs on you;try and keep them off, and they run after you. If I was to put up 'noadmittance' over my door, the street would be blocked up with women.

Business has never been better," continued the tailor, producing alarge ledger. "Within the last ten days we have had in ordersamounting to eighty-seven thousand francs.""Good!" answered Mascarin; "but let us have a look at the columnheaded 'Doubtful.' ""Here you are," returned the arbiter of fashion, as he turned over theleaves. "Mademoiselle Virginie Cluhe has ordered five theatricalcostumes, two dinner, and three morning dresses.""That is a heavy order.""I wanted for that reason to consult you. She doesn't owe us much--perhaps a thousand francs or so.""That is too much, for I hear that her friend has come to grief. Donot decline the order, but avoid taking fresh ones."Van Klopen made a few mysterious signs in the margin of his ledger.

"On the 6th of this month the Countess de Mussidan gave us an order--aperfectly plain dress for her daughter. Her account is a very heavyone, and the Count has warned us that he will not pay it.""Never mind that. Go on with the order, put press for payment.""On the 7th a new customer came--Mademoiselle Flavia, the daughter ofMartin Rigal, the banker."When Paul heard this name, he could not repress a start, of which,however, Mascarin affected to take no notice.

"My good friend," said he, turning to Van Klopen, "I confide thisyoung lady to you; give her your whole stock if she asks for it."By the look of surprise which appeared upon the tailor's face, Paulcould see that Mascarin was not prodigal of such recommendations.

"You shall be obeyed," said Van Klopen, with a bow.

"On the 8th a young gentleman of the name of Gaston de Gandelu wasintroduced by Lupeaux, the jeweller. His father is, I hear, verywealthy, and he will come into money on attaining his majority, whichis near at hand. He brought with him a lady," continued the tailor,"and said her name was Zora de Chantemille, a tremendously prettygirl.""That young man is always in my way," said Mascarin. "I would givesomething to get him out of Paris."Van Klopen reflected for a moment. "I don't think that would bedifficult," remarked he; "that young fellow is capable of any act offolly for that fair girl.""I think so too.""Then the matter is easy. I will open an account with him; then, aftera little, I will affect doubts as to his solvency, and ask for a bill;and we shall then place our young friend in the hands of the MutualLoan Society, and M. Verminet will easily persuade him to write hisname across the bottom of a piece of stamped paper. He will bring itto me; I will accept it, and then we shall have him hard and fast.""I should have proposed another course.""I see no other way, however," He suddenly stopped, for a loud noisewas heard in the ante-room, and the sound of voices in loudcontention.

"I should like to know," said Van Klopen, rising to his feet, "who theimpudent scoundrel is, who comes here kicking up a row. I expect thatit is some fool of a husband.""Go and see what it is," suggested Mascarin.

"Not I! My servants are paid to spare me such annoyances."Presently the noise ceased.

"And now," resumed Mascarin, "let us return to our own affairs. Underthe circumstances, your proposal appears to be a good one. How aboutwriting in another name? A little forgery would make our handsstronger." He rose, and taking the tailor into the window recess,again whispered to him.

During this conversation Paul's cheek had grown paler and paler, for,occupied as he was, he could not fail to comprehend something of whatwas going on. During the breakfast Mascarin had partially disclosedmany strange secrets, and since then he had been even moreenlightened. It was but too evident to him that his protector wasengaged in some dark and insidious plot, and Paul felt that he wasstanding over a mine which might explode at any moment. He now beganto fancy that there was some mysterious link between the womanSchimmel, who was so carefully watched, and the Marquis de Croisenois,so haughty, and yet on such intimate terms with the proprietor of theregistry office. Then there was the Countess de Mussidan, Flavia, therich heiress, and Gaston de Gandelu, who was to be led into a crimethe result of which would be penal servitude,--all jumbled and mixedup together in one strange phantasmagoria. Was he, Paul, to be a meretool in such hands? Toward what a precipice was he being impelled!

Mascarin and Van Klopen were not friends, as he had at first supposed,but confederates in villainy. Too late did he begin to see collusionbetween Mascarin and Tantaine, which had resulted in his being accusedof theft during his absence. But the web had been woven too securely,and should he struggle to break through it, he might find himselfexposed to even more terrible dangers. He felt horrified at hisposition, but with this there was mingled no horror of the criminalityof his associates, for the skilful hand of Mascarin had unwound andmastered all the bad materials of his nature. He was dazzled at theglorious future held out before him, and said to himself that a manlike Mascarin, unfettered by law, either human or Divine, would bemost likely to achieve his ends. "I should be in no danger," mused heto himself, "if I yield myself up to the impetuous stream which isalready carrying me along, for Mascarin is practised swimmer enough tokeep both my head and his own above water."Little did Paul think that every fleeting expression in hiscountenance was caught up and treasured by the wily Mascarin; and itwas intentionally that he had permitted Paul to listen to thiscompromising conversation. He had decided that very morning, that ifPaul was to be a useful tool, he must be at once set face to face withthe grim realities of the position.

"Now," said he, "for the really serious reason for my visit. How do westand now with regard to the Viscountess Bois Arden?"Van Klopen gave his shoulders a shrug as he answered, "She is allright. I have just sent her several most expensive costumes.""How much does she owe you?""Say twenty-five thousand francs. She has owed us more than thatbefore.""Really" remarked Mascarin, "that woman has been grossly libelled; sheis vain, frivolous, and fond of admiration, but nothing more. For awhole fortnight I have been prying into her life, but I can't hit uponanything in it to give us a pull over her. The debt may help us,however. Does her husband know that she has an account with us?""Of course he does not; he is most liberal to her, and if heinquired-- ""Then we are all right; we will send in the bill to him.""But, my good sir," urged Van Klopen, "it was only last week that shepaid us a heavy sum on account.""The more reason to press her, for she must be hard up."Van Klopen would have argued further, but an imperious sign fromMascarin reduced him to silence.

"Listen to me," said Mascarin, "and please do not interrupt me. Areyou known to the domestics at the house of the Viscountess?""Not at all.""Well, then, at three o'clock sharp, the day after to-morrow, call onher. Her footman will say that Madame has a visitor with her.""I will say I will wait.""Not at all. You must almost force your way in, and you will find theViscountess talking to the Marquis de Croisenois. You know him, Isuppose?""By sight--nothing more.""That is sufficient. Take no notice of him; but at once present yourbill, and violently insist upon immediate payment.""What can you be thinking of? She will have me kicked out of doors.""Quite likely; but you must threaten to take the bill to her husband.

She will command you to leave the house, but you will sit downdoggedly and declare that you will not move until you get the money.""But that is most unbusinesslike behavior.""I quite agree with you; but the Marquis de Croisenois will interfere;he will throw a pocketbook in your face, exclaiming, 'There is yourmoney, you impudent scoundrel!' ""Then I am to slink away?""Yes, but before doing so, you will give a receipt in this form--'Received from the Marquis de Croisenois, the sum of so many francs,in settlement of the account of the Viscountess Bois Arden.' ""If I could only understand the game," muttered the puzzled VanKlopen.

"There is no necessity for that now; only act up to yourinstructions.""I will obey, but remember that we shall not only lose her custom, butthat of all her acquaintance."Again the same angry sounds were heard in the corridor.

"It is scandalous," cried a voice. "I have been waiting an hour; mysword and armor. What, ho, lackeys; hither, I say. Van Klopen isengaged, is he? Hie to him and say I must see him at once."The two accomplices exchanged looks, as though they recognized theshrill, squeaky voice.

"That is our man," whispered Mascarin, as the door was violently flungopen, and Gaston de Gandelu burst in. He was dressed even moreextravagantly than usual, and his face was inflamed with rage.

"Here am I," cried he; "and an awful rage I am in. Why, I have beenwaiting twenty minutes. I don't care a curse for your rules andregulations."The tailor was furious at this intrusion; but as Mascarin was present,and he felt that he must respect his orders, he by a great effortcontrolled himself.

"Had I known, sir," said he sulkily, "that you were here----"These few words mollified the gorgeous youth, who at once broke in.

"I accept your apologies," cried he; "the lackeys remove our arms, thejoust is over. My horses have been standing all this time, and mayhave taken cold. Of course you have seen my horses. Splendid animals,are they not? Zora is in the other room. Quick, fetch her here."With these words he rushed into the passage and shouted out, "Zora,Mademoiselle de Chantemille, my dear one, come hither."The renowned tailor was exquisitely uncomfortable at so terrible ascene in his establishment. He cast an appealing glance at Mascarin,but the face of the agent seemed carved in marble. As to Paul, he wasquite prepared to accept this young gentleman as a perfect type of theglass of fashion and the mould of form, and could not forbear pityinghim in his heart. He went across the room to Mascarin.

"Is there no way," whispered he, "of saving this poor young fellow?"Mascarin smiled one of those livid smiles which chilled the hearts ofthose who knew him thoroughly.

"In fifteen minutes," said he, "I will put the same question to you,leaving you to reply to it. Hush, this is the first real test that youhave been subjected to; if you are not strong enough to go through it,then we had better say farewell. Be firm, for a thunderbolt is aboutto fall!"The manner in which these apparently trivial words were spokenstartled Paul, who, by a strong effort, recovered his self-possession;but, prepared as he was, it was with the utmost difficulty that hestifled the expression of rage and surprise that rose to his lips atthe sight of the woman who entered the room. The Madame deChantemille, the Zora of the youthful Gandelu, was there, attired inwhat to his eyes seemed a most dazzling costume. Rose seemed a littletimid as Gandelu almost dragged her into the room.

"How silly you are!" said he. "What is there to be frightened at? Heis only in a rage with his flunkies for having kept us waiting."Zora sank negligently into an easy chair, and the gorgeously attiredyouth addressed the all-powerful Van Klopen.

"Well, have you invented a costume that will be worthy of Madame'scharms?"For a few moments Van Klopen appeared to be buried in profoundmeditation.

"Ah," said he, raising his hand with a grandiloquent gesture, "I haveit; I can see it all in my mind's eye.""What a man!" murmured Gaston in deep admiration.

"Listen," resumed the tailor, his eye flashing with the fire ofgenius. "First, a walking costume with a polonaise and a cape /a lapensionnaire/; bodice, sleeves, and underskirt of a brilliantchestnut----"He might have continued in this strain for a long time, and Zora wouldnot have heard a word, for she had caught sight of Paul, and in spiteof all her audacity, she nearly fainted. She was so ill at ease, thatyoung Gandelu at last perceived it; but not knowing the effect thatthe appearance of Paul would necessarily cause, and being also ratherdull of comprehension he could not understand the reason for it.

"Hold hard, Van Klopen, hold hard! the joy has been too much for her,and I will lay you ten to one that she is going into hysterics."Mascarin saw that Paul's temper might blaze forth at any moment, andso hastened to put an end to a scene which was as absurd as it wasdangerous.

"Well, Van Klopen, I will say farewell," said he. "Good morning,madame; good morning, sir;" and taking Paul by the arm, he led himaway by a private exit which did not necessitate their passing throughthe great reception-room.

It was time for him to do so, and not until they were in the streetdid the wily Mascarin breathe freely.

"Well, what do you say, now?" asked he.

Paul's vanity had been so deeply wounded, and the effort that he hadmade to restrain himself so powerful, that he could only reply by agasp.

"He felt it more than I thought he would," said Mascarin to himself.

"The fresh air will revive him."Paul's legs bent under him, and he staggered so that Mascarin led himinto a little /café/ hard by, and ordered a glass of cognac, and in ashort time Paul was himself once again.

"You are better now," observed Mascarin; and then, believing it wouldbe best to finish his work, he added, "A quarter of an hour ago Ipromised that I would ask you to settle what our intentions were to beregarding M. de Gandelu.""That is enough," broke in Paul, violently.

Mascarin put on his most benevolent smile.

"You see," remarked he, "how circumstances change ideas. Now you aregetting quite reasonable.""Yes, I am reasonable enough now; that is, that I mean to be wealthy.

You have no need to urge me on any more. I am willing to do whateveryou desire, for I will never again endure degradation like that I havegone through to-day.""You have let temper get the better of you," returned Mascarin, with ashrug of his shoulders.

"My anger may pass over, but my determination will remain as strong asever.""Do not decide without thinking the matter well over," answered theagent. "To-day you are your own master; but if you give yourself up tome, you must resign your dearly loved liberty.""I am prepared for all."Victory had inclined to the side of Mascarin, and he wasproportionally jubilant.

"Good," said he. "Then Dr. Hortebise shall introduce you to MartinRigal, the father of Mademoiselle Flavia, and one week after yourmarriage I will give you a duke's coronet to put on the panels of yourcarriage."
Chapter 12 A STARTLING REVELATION.
　　12When Sabine de Mussidan told her lover that she would appeal to thegenerosity of M. de Breulh-Faverlay, she had not calculated on thenecessity she would have for endurance, but had rather listened to thedictates of her heart; and this fact came the more strongly beforeher, when in the solitude of her own chamber, she inquired of herselfhow she was to carry out her promise. It seemed to her very terribleto have to lay bare the secrets of her soul to any one, but the moreso to M. de Breulh-Faverlay, who had asked for her hand in marriage.

She uttered no word on her way home, where she arrived just in time totake her place at the dinner table, and never was a more dismalcompany assembled for the evening meal. Her own miseries occupiedSabine, and her father and mother were suffering from their interviewswith Mascarin and Dr. Hortebise. What did the liveried servants, whowaited at table with such an affectation of interest, care for thesorrows of their master or mistress? They were well lodged and wellfed, and nothing save their wages did they care for. By nine o'clockSabine was in her own room trying to grow accustomed to the thoughtsof an interview with M. de Breulh-Faverlay. She hardly closed her eyesall night, and felt worn out and dispirited by musing; but she neverthought of evading the promise she had made to Andre, or of putting itoff for a time. She had vowed to lose no time, and her lover waseagerly awaiting a letter from her, telling him of the result. In theperplexity in which she found herself, she could not confide in eitherfather or mother, for she felt that a cloud hung over both theirlives, though she knew not what it was. When she left the conventwhere she had been educated, and returned home, she felt that she wasin the way, and that the day of her marriage would be one ofliberation to her parents from their cares and responsibilities. Allthis prayed terribly upon her mind, and might have driven a less pure-minded girl to desperate measures. It seemed to her that it would beless painful to fly from her father's house than to have thisinterview with M. de Breulh-Faverlay. Luckily for her, frail as shelooked, she possessed an indomitable will, and this carried herthrough most of her difficulties.

For Andre's sake, as well as her own, she did not wish to violate anyof the unwritten canons of society, but she longed for the hour tocome when she could acknowledge her love openly to the world. At onemoment she thought of writing a letter, but dismissed the thought asthe height of folly. As the time passed Sabine began to reproachherself for her cowardice. All at once she heard the clang of theopening of the main gates. Peeping from her window, she saw a carriagedrive up, and, to her inexpressible delight, M. de Breulh-Faverlayalighted from it.

"Heaven has head my prayer, and sent him to me," murmured she.

"What do you intend to do, Mademoiselle?" asked the devoted Modeste;"will you speak to him now?""Yes, I will. My mother is still in her dressing-room, and no one willventure to disturb my father in the library. If I meet M. de Breulh-Faverlay in the hall and take him into the drawing-room, I shall havetime for a quarter of an hour's talk, and that will be sufficient."Calling up all her courage, she left her room on her errand. Had Andreseen the man selected by the Count de Mussidan for his daughter'shusband, he might well have been proud of her preference for him. M.

de Breulh-Faverlay was one of the best known men in Paris, and fortunehad showered all her blessings on his head. He was not forty, of anextremely aristocratic appearance, highly educated, and witty; and, inaddition, one of the largest landholders in the country. He had alwaysrefused to enter public life. "For," he would say to those who spoketo him on the matter, "I have enough to spend my money on withoutmaking myself ridiculous." He was a perfect type of what a Frenchgentleman should be--courteous, of unblemished reputation, and full ofchivalrous devotion and generosity. He was, it is said, a greatfavorite with the fair sex; but, if report spoke truly, his discretionwas as great as his success. He had not always been wealthy, and therewas a mysterious romance in his life. When he was only twenty, he hadsailed for South America, where he remained twelve years, and returnedno richer than he was before; but shortly afterward his aged uncle,the Marquis de Faverlay, died bequeathing his immense fortune to hisnephew on the condition that he should add the name of Faverlay tothat of De Breulh. De Breulh was passionately fond of horses; but hewas really a lover of them, and not a mere turfite, and this was allthat the world knew of the man who held in his hands the fates ofSabine de Mussidan and Andre. As soon as he caught sight of Sabine hemade a profound inclination.

The girl came straight up to him.

"Sir," said she, in a voice broken by conflicting emotions, "may Irequest the pleasure of a short private conversation with you?""Mademoiselle," answered De Breulh, concealing his surprise beneathanother bow, "I am at your disposal."One of the footmen, at a word from Sabine, threw open the door of thedrawing-room in which the Countess had thrown down her arms in herduel with Dr. Hortebise. Sabine did not ask her visitor to be seated,but leaning her elbow on the marble mantel-piece, she said, after asilence equally trying to both,--"This strange conduct on my part, sir, will show you, more than anyexplanation, my sincerity, and the perfect confidence with which youhave inspired me."She paused, but De Breulh made no reply, for he was perfectlymystified.

"You are," she continued, "my parents' intimate friend, and must haveseen the discomforts of our domestic hearth, and that though both myfather and mother are living, I am as desolate as the veriest orphan."Fearing that M. de Breulh might not understand her reason for speakingthus, she threw a shade of haughtiness into her manner as sheresumed,--"My reason, sir, for seeing you to-day is to ask,--nay, to entreatyou, to release me from my engagement to you, and to take the wholeresponsibility of the rupture on yourself."Man of the world as he was, M. de Breulh could not conceal hissurprise, in which a certain amount of wounded self-love was mingled.

"Mademoiselle!" commenced he--Sabine interrupted him.

"I am asking a great favor, and your granting it will spare me manyhours of grief and sadness, and," she added, as a faint smileflickered across her pallid features, "I am aware that I am asking buta trifling sacrifice on your part. You know scarcely anything of me,and therefore you can only feel indifference toward me.""You are mistaken," replied the young man gravely; "and you do notjudge me rightly. I am not a mere boy, and always consider a stepbefore I take it; and if I asked for your hand, it was because I hadlearned to appreciate the greatness both of your heart and intellect;and I believe that if you would condescend to accept me, we could bevery happy together."The girl seemed about to speak, but De Breulh continued,--"It seems, however, that I have in some way displeased you,--I do notknow how; but, believe me, it will be a source of sorrow to me for therest of my life."De Breulh's sincerity was so evident, that Mademoiselle de Mussidanwas deeply affected.

"You have not displeased me in any way," answered she softly, "and arefar too good for me. To have become your wife would have made me aproud and happy woman."Here she stopped, almost choked by her tears, but M. de Breulh wishedto fathom this mystery.

"Why then this resolve?" asked he.

"Because," replied Sabine faintly, as she hid her face,--"because Ihave given all my love to another."The young man uttered an exclamation so full of angry surprise, thatSabine turned upon him at once.

"Yes, sir," answered she, "to another; one utterly unknown to myparents, yet one who is inexpressibly dear to me. This ought not toirritate you, for I gave him my love long before I met you. Besides,you have every advantage over him. He is at the foot, while you are atthe summit, of the social ladder. You are of aristocratic lineage,--heis one of the people. You have a noble name,--he does not even knowhis own. Your wealth is enormous,--while he works hard for his dailybread. He has all the fire of genius, but the cruel cares of life dragand fetter him to the earth. He carries on a workman's trade to supplyfunds to study his beloved art."Incautiously, Sabine had chosen the very means to wound this noblegentleman most cruelly, for her whole beauty blazed out as, inflamedby her passion, she spoke so eloquently of Andre and drew such aparallel between the two young men.

"Now, sir," said she, "do you comprehend me? I know the terriblesocial abyss which divides me from the man I love, and the future mayhold in store some terrible punishment for my fidelity to him, but noone shall ever hear a word of complaint from my lips, for----" shehesitated, and then uttered these simple words--"for I love him."M. de Breulh listened with an outwardly impassible face, but thevenomed tooth of jealousy was gnawing at his heart. He had not toldSabine the entire truth, for he had studied her for a long time, andhis love had grown firm and strong. Without an unkind thought the girlhad shattered the edifice which he had built up with such care andpain. He would have given his name, rank, and title to have been inthis unknown lover's place, who, though he worked for his bread, andhad no grand ancestral name, was yet so fondly loved. Many a man inhis position would have shrugged his shoulders and coldly sneered atthe words, "I love him," but he did not, for his nature wassufficiently noble to sympathize with hers. He admired her courage andfrankness, which disdaining all subterfuges, went straight andunhesitatingly to the point she desired to reach. She might beimprudent and reckless, but in his eyes these seemed hardly to befaults, for it is seldom that convent-bred young ladies err in thisway.

"But this man," said he, after a long pause,--"how do you manage everto see him?

"I meet him out walking," replied she, "and I sometimes go to hisstudio.""To his studio?""Yes, I have sat to him several times for my portrait; but I havenever done anything that I need blush to own. You know all now, sir,"continued Sabine; "and it has been very hard for a young girl like meto say all this to you. It is a thing that ought to be confided to mymother."Only those who have heard a woman that they are ardently attached tosay, "I do not love you," can picture M. de Breulh's frame of mind.

Had any one else than Sabine made this communication he would not havewithdrawn, but would have contested the prize with his more fortunaterival. But now that Mademoiselle de Mussidan had, as it were, thrownherself upon his mercy, he could not bring himself to take advantageof her confidence.

"It shall be as you desire," said he, with a faint tinge of bitternessin his tone. "To-night I will write to your father, and withdraw mydemand for your hand. It is the first time that I have ever gone backfrom my word; and I am sure that your father will be highlyindignant."Sabine's strength and firmness had now entirely deserted her. "Fromthe depth of my soul, sir," said she, "I thank you; for by this act ofgenerosity I shall avoid a contest that I dreaded.""Unfortunately," broke in De Breulh, "you do not see how useless toyou will be the sacrifice that you exact from me. Listen! you have notappeared much in society; and when you did, it was in the character ofmy betrothed; as soon as I withdraw hosts of aspirants for your handwill spring up."Sabine heaved a deep sigh, for Andre had foreseen the same result.

"Then," continued De Breulh, "your situation will become even a moretrying one; for if your noble qualities are not enough to exciteadmiration in the bosoms of the other sex, your immense wealth willarouse the cupidity of the fortune-hunters."When De Breulh referred to fortune-hunters, was this a side blow atAndre? With this thought rushing through her brain, she gazed upon himeagerly, but read no meaning in his eyes.

"Yes," answered she dreamily, "it is true that I am very wealthy.""And what will be your reply to the next suitor, and to the one afterthat?" asked De Breulh.

"I know not; but I shall find some loophole of escape when the timecomes; for if I act in obedience to the dictates of my heart andconscience, I cannot do wrong, for Heaven will come to my aid."The phrase sounded like a dismissal; but De Breulh, man of the worldas he was, did not accept it.

"May I permit myself to offer you a word of advice?""Do so, sir.""Very well, then; why not permit matters to remain as they now are? Solong as our rupture is not public property, so long will you be leftin peace. It would be the simplest thing in the world to postpone alldecisive steps for a twelvemonth, and I would withdraw as soon as younotified me that it was time."Sabine put every confidence in this proposal, believing thateverything was in good faith. "But," said she, "such a subterfugewould be unworthy of us all."M. de Breulh did not urge this point; a feeling of deep sympathy hadsucceeded to his wounded pride; and, with all the chivalrous instinctof his race, he determined to do his best to assist these lovers.

"Might I be permitted," asked he, "now that you have placed so muchconfidence in me, to make the acquaintance of the man whom you havehonored with your love?"Sabine colored deeply. "I have no reason to conceal anything from you:

his name is Andre, he is a painter, and lives in the Rue de la Tourd'Auvergne."De Breulh made a mental note of the name, and continued,--"Do not think that I ask this question from mere idle curiosity; myonly desire is to aid you. I should be glad to be a something in yourlife. I have influential friends and connections----"Sabine was deeply wounded. Did this man propose patronizing Andre, andthus place his position and wealth in contrast with that of theobscure painter? In his eagerness de Breulh had made a false move.

"I thank you," answered she coldly; "but Andre is very proud, and anyoffer of assistance would wound him deeply. Forgive my scruples, whichare perhaps exaggerated and absurd. All he has of his own are hisself-respect and his natural pride."As she spoke, Sabine rang the bell, to show her visitor that theconversation was at an end.

"Have you informed my mother of M. de Breulh-Faverlay's arrival?"asked she, as the footman appeared at the door.

"I have not, mademoiselle; for both the Count and Countess gave thestrictest order that they were not to be disturbed on any pretextwhatsoever.""Why did you not tell me that before?" demanded M. de Breulh; and,without waiting for any explanation, he bowed gravely to Sabine, andquitted the room, after apologizing for his involuntary intrusion, andby his manner permitted all the domestics to see that he was much putout.

"Ah!" sighed Sabine, "that man is worthy of some good and true woman'saffection."As she was about to leave the room, she head some one insisting uponseeing the Count de Mussidan. Not being desirous of meeting strangers,she remained where she was. The servant persisted in saying that hismaster could receive no one.

"What do I care for your orders?" cried the visitor; "your masterwould never refuse to see his friend the Baron de Clinchain;" and,thrusting the lackey on one side, he entered the drawing-room; and hisagitation was so great that he hardly noticed the presence of theyoung girl.

M. de Clinchain was a thoroughly commonplace looking personage inface, figure, and dress, neither tall nor short, handsome nor ill-looking. The only noticeable point in his attire was that he wore acoral hand on his watch chain; for the Baron was a firm believer inthe evil eye. When a young man, he was most methodical in his habits;and, as he grew older, this became an absolute mania with him. When hewas twenty, he recorded in his diary the pulsations of his heart, adat forty he added remarks regarding his digestion and general health.

"What a fearful blow!" murmured he; "and to fall at such a moment whenI had indulged in a more hearty dinner than usual. I shall feel it forthe next six months, even if it does not kill me outright."Just then M. de Mussidan entered the room, and the excited man ran upto him, exclaiming,--"For Heaven's sake, Octave, save us both, by cancelling yourdaughter's engagement with M. de--"The Count laid his hand upon his friend's lips.

"Are you mad?" said he; "my daughter is here."In obedience to a warning gesture, Sabine left the room; but she hadheard enough to fill her heart with agitation and terror. Whatengagement was to be cancelled, and how could such a rupture affecther father or his friend? That there was some mystery, was proved bythe question with which the Count had prevented his friend from sayingany more. She was sure that it was the name of M. de Breulh-Faverlaywith which the Baron was about to close his sentence, and felt thatthe destiny of her life was to be decided in the conversation about totake place between her father and his visitor. It was deep anxietythat she felt, not mere curiosity; and while these thoughts passedthrough her brain, she remembered that she could hear all from thecard-room, the doorway of which was only separated from the drawing-room by a curtain. With a soft, gliding step she gained her hiding-place and listened intently. The Baron was still pouring out hislamentations.

"What a fearful day this has been!" groaned the unhappy man. "I atemuch too heavy a breakfast, I have been terribly excited, and camehere a great deal too fast. A fit of passion caused by a servant'sinsolence, joy at seeing you, then a sudden interruption to what I wasgoing to say, are a great deal more than sufficient to cause a seriousillness at my age."But the Count, who was usually most considerate of his friend'sfoibles, was not in a humor to listen to him.

"Come, let us talk sense," said he sharply; "tell me what hasoccurred.""Occurred!" groaned De Clinchain; "oh, nothing, except that the wholetruth is known regarding what took place in the little wood so manyyears back. I had an anonymous letter this morning, threatening mewith all sorts of terrible consequences if I do not hinder you frommarrying your daughter to De Breulh. The rogues say that they canprove everything.""Have you the letter with you?"De Clinchain drew the missive from his pocket. It was to the full asthreatening as he had said; but M. de Mussidan knew all its contentsbeforehand.

"Have you examined your diary, and are the three leaves reallymissing?""They are.""How were they stolen? Are you sure of your servants?""Certainly; my valet has been sixteen years in my service. You knowLorin? The volumes of my diary are always locked up in the escritoire,the key of which never leaves me. And none of the other servants everenter my room.""Some one must have done so, however."Clinchain struck his forehead, as though an idea had suddenly flashedacross his brain.

"I can partly guess," said he. "Some time ago Lorin went for aholiday, and got drunk with some fellows he picked up in the train.

Drink brought on fighting, and he was so knocked about that he waslaid up for some weeks. He had a severe knife wound in the shoulderand was much bruised.""Who took his place?""A young fellow that my groom got at a servants' registry office."M. de Mussidan felt that he was on the right track, for he rememberedthat the man who had called on him had had the audacity to leave acard, on which was marked:

"B. MASCARIN, Servants' Registry Office,"Rue Montorgueil.""Do you know where this place is?" asked he.

"Certainly; in the Rue du Dauphin nearly opposite to my house."The Count swore a deep oath. "The rogues are very wily; but, my dearfellow if you are ready, we will defy the storm together."De Clinchain felt a cold tremor pass through his whole frame at thisproposal.

"Not I," said he; "do not try and persuade me. If you have come tothis decision, let me know at once, and I will go home and finish itall with a pistol bullet."He was just the sort of nervous, timorous man to do exactly as hesaid, and would sooner have killed himself than endure all kinds ofannoyance, which might impair his digestion.

"Very well," answered his friend, with sullen resignation, "then Iwill give in."De Clinchain heaved a deep sigh of relief, for he, not knowing whathad passed before, had expected to have had a much more difficulttask in persuading his friend.

"You are acting like a reasonable man for once in your life," said he.

"You think so, because I give ear to your timorous advice. A thousandcurses on that idiotic habit of yours of putting on paper not onlyyour own secrets, but those of others."But at this remark Clinchain mounted his hobby.

"Do not talk like that," said he. "Had you not committed the act, itwould not have appeared in my diary."Chilled to the very bone, and quivering like an aspen leaf, Sabine hadlistened to every word. The reality was even more dreadful than shehad dreamed of. There was a hidden sorrow, a crime in her father'spast life.

Again the Count spoke. "There is no use in recrimination. We cannotwipe out the past, and must, therefore, submit. I promise you, on myhonor, that this day I will write to De Breulh, and tell him thismarriage must be given up."These words threw the balm of peace and safety into De Clinchain'ssoul, but the excess of joy was too much for him, and murmuring, "Toomuch breakfast, and the shock of too violent an emotion," he sankback, fainting, on a couch.

The Count de Mussidan was terrified, he pulled the bell furiously, andthe domestics rushed in, followed by the Countess. Restoratives wereapplied, and in ten minutes the Baron opened one eye, and raisedhimself on his elbow.

"I am better now," said he, with a faint smile. "It is weakness anddizziness. I know what I ought to take--two spoonfuls of /eau descarmes/ in a glass of sugar and water, with perfect repose of bothmind and body. Fortunately, my carriage is here. Pray, be prudent,Mussidan." And, leaning upon the arm of one of the lackeys, hestaggered feebly out, leaving the Count and Countess alone, and Sabinestill listening from her post of espial in the card-room.
Chapter 13 HUSBAND AND WIFE.
　　13Ever since Mascarin's visit, the Count de Mussidan had been in adeplorable state of mind. Forgetting the injury to his foot, he passedthe night pacing up and down the library, cudgelling his brains forsome means of breaking the meshes of the net in which he wasentangled. He knew the necessity for immediate action, for he feltsure that this demand would only be the forerunner of numerous othersof a similar character. He thought over and dismissed many schemes.

Sometimes he had almost decided to go to the police authorities andmake a clean breast; then the idea of placing the affair in the handsof a private detective occurred to him; but the more he deliberated,the more he realized the strength of the cord that bound him, and thescandal which exposure would cause. This long course of thought had insome measure softened the bitterness of his wrath, and he was able toreceive his old friend M. de Clinchain with some degree of calmness.

He was not at all surprised at the receipt of the anonymous letter,--indeed, he had expected that a blow would be struck in that direction.

Still immersed in thought, M. de Mussidan hardly took heed of hiswife's presence, and he still paced the room, uttering a string ofbroken phrases. This excited the attention of the Countess, for herown threatened position caused her to be on the alert.

"What is annoying you, Octave?" asked she. "Surely, not M. deClinchain's attack of indigestion?"For many years the Count had been accustomed to that taunting andsarcastic voice, but this feeble joke at such a moment was more thanhe could endure.

"Don't address me in that manner," said he angrily.

"What is the matter--are you not well?""Madame!""Will you have the kindness to tell me what has taken place?"The color suffused the Count's face, and his rage burst forth the morefuriously from his having had to suppress it so long; and coming to ahalt before the chair in which the Countess was lounging, his eyesblazing with hate and anger, he exclaimed,--"All I wish to tell you is, that De Breulh-Faverlay shall not marryour daughter."Madame de Mussidan was secretly delighted at this reply, for it showedher that half the task required of her by Dr. Hortebise had beenaccomplished without her interference; but in order to act cautiously,she began at once to object, for a woman's way is always at first tooppose what she most desires.

"You are laughing at me, Count!" said she. "Where can we hope to findso good a match again?""You need not be afraid," returned the Count, with a sneer; "you shallhave another son-in-law."These words sent a pang through the heart of the Countess. Was it anallusion to the past? or had the phrase dropped from her husband'slips accidentally? or had he any suspicion of the influence that hadbeen brought to bear upon her? She, however, had plenty of courage,and would rather meet misfortune fact to face than await its coming indread.

"Of what other son-in-law are you speaking?" asked she negligently.

"Has any other suitor presented himself? May I ask his name? Do youintend to settle my child's future without consulting me?""I do, madame."A contemptuous smile crossed the face of the Countess, which goadedthe Count to fury.

"Am I not the master here?" exclaimed he in accents of intense rage.

"Am I not driven to the exercise of my power by the menaces of a packof villains who have wormed out the hidden secrets which haveovershadowed my life from my youth upward? They can, if they desire,drag my name through the mire of infamy."Madame de Mussidan bounded to her feet, asking herself whether herhusband's intellect had not given way.

"You commit a crime!" gasped she.

"I, madame, I myself! Does that surprise you? Have you never had anysuspicion? Perhaps you have not forgotten a fatal accident which tookplace out shooting, and darkened the earlier years of our marriedlife? Well, the thing was not an accident, but a deliberate murdercommitted by me. Yes, I murdered him, and this fact is known, and canbe proved."The Countess grew deadly pale, and extended her hand, as though toguard herself from some coming danger.

"You are horrified, are you?" continued the Count, with a sneer.

"Perhaps I inspire you with horror; but do not fear; the blood is nolonger on my hands, but it is here, and is choking me." And as hespoke he pressed his fingers upon his heart. "For twenty-three years Ihave endured this hideous recollection and even now when I wake in thenight I am bathed in cold sweat, for I fancy I can hear the last gaspsof the unhappy man.""This is horrible, too horrible!" murmured Madame de Mussidan faintly.

"Ah, but you do not know why I killed him,--it was because the deadman had dared to tell me that the wife I adored with all the passionof my soul was unfaithful to me."Words of eager denial rose to the lips of the Countess; but herhusband went on coldly, "And it was all true, for I heard all lateron.

"Poor Montlouis! /he/ was really loved. There was a little shop-girl,who toiled hard for daily bread, but she was a thousand times morehonorable than the haughty woman of noble race that I had justmarried.""Have mercy, Octave.""Yes, and she fell a victim to her love for Montlouis. Had he lived,he would have made her his wife. After his death, she could no longerconceal her fault. In small towns the people are without mercy; andwhen she left the hospital with her baby at her breast, the womenpelted her with mud. But for me," continued the Count, "she would havedied of hunger. Poor girl! I did not allow her much, but with it shemanaged to give her son a decent education. He has now grown up, andwhatever happens, his future is safe."Had M. de Mussidan and his wife been less deeply engaged in thishideous recital, they would have herd the stifled sobs that came fromthe adjoining room.

The Count felt a certain kind of savage pleasure in venting the rage,that had for years been suppressed, upon the shrinking woman beforehim. "Would it not be a cruel injustice, madame, to draw a comparisonbetween you and this unhappy girl? Have you always been deaf to thewhisperings of conscience? and have you never thought of the futurepunishment which most certainly awaits you? for you have failed in theduties of daughter, wife, and mother."Generally the Countess cared little for her husband's reproaches, welldeserved as they might be, but to-day she quailed before him.

"With your entrance into my life," continued the Count, "came shameand misfortune. When people saw you so gay and careless under the oak-trees of your ancestral home, who could have suspected that your heartcontained a dark secret? When my only wish was to win you for my wife,how did I know that you were weaving a hideous conspiracy against me?

Even when so young, you were a monster of dissimulation and hypocrisy.

Guilt never overshadowed your brow, nor did falsehood dim thefrankness of your eyes. On the day of our marriage I mentallyreproached myself for any unworthiness. Wretched fool that I was, Iwas happy beyond all power of expression, when you, madame, completedthe measure of your guilt by adding infidelity to it.""It is false," murmured the Countess. "You have been deceived."M. de Mussidan laughed a grim and terrible laugh.

"Not so," answered he; "I have every proof. This seems strange to you,does it? You have always looked upon me as one of those foolishhusbands that may be duped without suspicion on their parts. Youthought that you had placed a veil over my eyes, but I could seethrough it when you little suspected that I could do so. Why did I nottell you this before? Because I had not ceased to love you, and thisfatal love was stronger than all honor, pride, and even self-respect."He poured out this tirade with inconceivable rapidity, and theCountess listened to it in awe-struck silence. "I kept silence,"continued the Count, "because I knew that on the day I uttered thetruth you would be entirely lost to me. I might have killed you; I hadevery right to do so, but I could not live apart from you. You willnever know how near the shadow of death has been to you. When I havekissed you, I have fancied that your lips were soiled with the kissesof others, and I could hardly keep my hands from clutching your ivoryneck until life was extinct, and failed utterly to decide whether Iloved you or hated you the most.""Have mercy, Octave! have mercy!" pleaded the unhappy woman.

"You are surprised, I can see," answered he, with a dark smile; "yet Icould give you further food for wonder if I pleased, but I have saidenough now."A tremor passed over the frame of the Countess. Was her husbandacquainted with the existence of the letters? All hinged upon this. Hecould not have read them, or he would have spoken in very differentterms, had he known the mystery contained in them.

"Let me speak," began she.

"Not a word," replied her husband.

"On my honor--""All is ended; but I must not forget to tell you of one of my youthfulfollies. You may laugh at it, but that signifies nothing. I actuallybelieved that I could gain your affection. I said to myself that oneday you would be moved by my deep passion for you. I was a fool. As iflove or affection could ever penetrate the icy barriers that guardedyour heart.""You have no pity," wailed she.

He gazed upon her with eyes in which the pent-up anger of twenty yearsblazed and consumed slowly. "And you, what are you? I drained to thebottom the poisoned cup held out to a deceived husband by anunfaithful wife. Each day widened the breach between us, until at lastwe sank into this miserable existence which is wearing out my life. Ikept no watch on you; I was not made for a jailer. What I wanted wasyour soul and heart. To imprison the body was easy, but your soulwould still have been free to wander in imagination to the meeting-place where your lover expected you. I know not how I had the courageto remain by your side. It was not to save an honor that had alreadygone, but merely to keep up appearances; for as long as we werenominally together the tongue of scandal was forced to remain silent."Again the unhappy woman attempted to protest her innocence, and againthe Count paid no heed to her. "I wished too," resumed he, "to savesome portion of our property, for your insatiable extravaganceswallowed up all like a bottomless abyss. At last your trades-people,believing me to be ruined, refused you credit, and this saved me. Ihad my daughter to think of, and have gathered together a rich dowryfor her, and yet----" he hesitated, and ceased speaking for a moment.

"And yet," repeated Madame de Mussidan.

"I have never kissed her," he burst forth with a fresh and terribleexplosion of wrath, "without feeling a hideous doubt as to whether shewas really my child."This was more than the Countess could endure.

"Enough," she cried, "enough! I have been guilty, Octave; but not soguilty as you imagine.""Why do you venture to defend yourself?""Because it is my duty to guard Sabine.""You should have thought of this earlier," answered the Count with asneer. "You should have moulded her mind--have taught her what wasnoble and good, and have perused the unsullied pages of the book ofher young heart."In the deepest agitation the Countess answered,--"Ah, Octave, why did you not speak of this sooner, if you knew all;but I will now tell you everything."By an inconceivable error of judgment the Count corrected her speech.

"Spare us both," said he. "If I have broken through the silence that Ihave maintained for many a year, it is because I knew that no word youcould utter would touch my heart."Feeling that all hope had fled, Madame de Mussidan fell backward uponthe couch, while Sabine, unable to listen to any more terriblerevelations, had crept into her own chamber. The Count was about toleave the drawing-room, when a servant entered, bearing a letter on asilver salver. De Mussidan tore it open; it was from M. de Breulh-Faverlay, asking to be released from his engagement to Sabine deMussidan. This last stroke was almost too much for the Count's nerves,for in this act he saw the hand of the man who had come to him withsuch deadly threats, and terror filled his soul as he thought of thefar-stretching arm of him whose bondslave he found himself to be; butbefore he could collect his thoughts, his daughter's maid went intothe room crying with all her might, "Help, help; my poor mistress isdying!"
Chapter 14 FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
　　14Van Klopen, the man-milliner, knew Paris and its people thoroughlylike all tradesmen who are in the habit of giving large credit. Heknew all about the business of his customers, and never forgot an itemof information when he received one. Thus, when Mascarin spoke to himabout the father of the lovely Flavia, whose charms had set thesusceptible heart of Paul Violaine in a blaze, the arbiter of fashionhad replied,--"Martin Rigal; yes, I know him; he is a banker." And a banker, indeed,Martin Rigal was, dwelling in a magnificent house in the RueMontmartre. The bank was on the ground floor, while his private roomswere in the story above. Though he did not do business in a very largeway, yet he was a most respectable man, and his connection was chieflywith the smaller trades-people, who seem to live a strange kind ofhand-to-mouth existence, and who might be happy were it not for theconstant reappearance of that grim phantom--bills to be met. Nearlyall these persons were in the banker's hands entirely. Martin Rigalused his power despotically and permitted no arguments, and speedilyquelled rebellion on the part of any new customer who ventured toobject to his arbitrary rules. In the morning the banker was never tobe seen, being engaged in his private office, and not a clerk wouldventure to knock at his door. Even had one done so, no reply wouldhave been returned; for the experiment had been tried, and it wasbelieved that nothing short of an alarm of fire would have brought himout.

The banker was a big man, quite bald, his face was clean shaved, andhis little gray eyes twinkled incessantly. His manner was charminglycourteous, and he said the most cruel things in the most honiedaccents, and invariably escorted to the door the man whom he wouldsell up the next day. In his dress he affected a fashionable style,much used by the modern school of Shylocks. When not in business, hewas a pleasant, and, as some say, a witty companion. He was not lookedon as an ascetic, and did not despise those little pleasures whichenable us to sustain life's tortuous journey. He liked a good dinner,and had always a smile ready for a young and attractive face. He was awidower, and all his love was concentrated on his daughter. He did notkeep a very extravagant establishment, but the report in theneighborhood was that Mademoiselle Flavia, the daughter of the eminentbanker, would one day come into millions. The banker always did hisbusiness on foot, for the sake of his health, as he said; but Flaviahad a sweet little Victoria, drawn by two thoroughbred horses, todrive in the Bois de Boulogne, under the protection of an old woman,half companion and half servant, who was driven half mad by hercharge's caprices. As yet her father has never denied her anything. Heworked harder than all his clerks put together, for, after havingspent the morning in his counting house over his papers, he receivedall business clients.

On the day after Flavia and Paul Violaine had met at Van Klopen's, M.

Martin Rigal was, at about half-past five, closeted with one of hisfemale clients. She was young, very pretty, and dressed with simpleelegance, but the expression of her face was profoundly melancholy.

Her eyes were overflowing with tears, which she made vain efforts torestrain.

"If you refuse to renew our bill, sir, we are ruined," said she. "Icould meet it in January. I have sold all my trinkets, and we areexisting on credit.""Poor little thing!" interrupted the banker.

Her hopes grew under these words of pity.

"And yet," continued she, "business has never been so brisk. Newcustomers are constantly coming in, and though our profits are small,the returns are rapid."As Martin Rigal heard her exposition of the state of affairs, henodded gravely.

"That is all very well," said he at last, "but this does not make thesecurity you offer me of any more value. I have more confidence inyou.""But remember, sir, that we have thirty thousand francs' worth ofstock.""That is not what I was alluding to," and the banker accompanied thesewords with so meaning a look, that the poor woman blushed scarlet andalmost lost her nerve. "Your stock," said he, "is of no more value inmy eyes than the bill you offer me. Suppose, for instance, you were tobecome bankrupt, the landlord might come down upon everything, for hehas great power."He broke off abruptly, for Flavia's maid, as a privileged person,entered the room without knocking.

"Sir," said she, "my mistress wishes to see you at once."The banker got up directly. "I am coming," said he; then, taking thehand of his client, he led her to the door, repeating: "Do not worryyourself; all the difficulties shall be got through. Come again, andwe will talk them over;" and before she could thank him he was halfway to his daughter's apartment. Flavia had summoned her father toshow him a new costume which had just been sent home by Van Klopen,and which pleased her greatly. Flavia's costume was a masterpiece offashionable bad taste, which makes women look all alike and destroysall appearance of individuality. It was a mass of frills, furbelows,fringes, and flutings of rare hue and form, making a series ofwonderful contrasts. Standing in the middle of the room, with everyavailable candle alight, for the day was fading away, she was sodainty and pretty that even the /bizarre/ dress of Van Klopen's wasunable to spoil her appearance. As she turned round, she caught sightof her father in a mirror, panting with the haste he had made inrunning upstairs.

"What a time you have been!" said she pettishly.

"I was with a client," returned he apologetically.

"You ought to have got rid of him at once. But never mind that; lookat me and tell me plainly what you think of me."She had no need to put the question, for the most intense admirationbeamed in his face.

"Exquisite, delicious, heavenly!" answered he.

Flavia, accustomed as she was to her father's compliments, was highlydelighted. "Then you think that he will like me?" asked she.

She alluded to Paul Violaine, and the banker heaved a deep sigh as hereplied,--"Is it possible that any human being exists that you cannot please?""Ah!" mused she, "if it were any one but he, I should have no doubtsor misgivings."Martin Rigal took a seat near the fire, and, drawing his daughter tohim, pressed a fond kiss upon her brow, while she with the grace andactivity of a cat, nestled upon his knee. "Suppose, after all, that heshould not like me," murmured she; "I should die of grief."The banker turned away his face to hide the gloom that overspread it.

"Do you love him, then, even now?" asked he.

She paused for a moment, and he added, "More than you do me?"Flavia pressed her father's hand between both her palms and answeredwith a musical laugh, "How silly you are, papa! Why, of course I loveyou. Are you not my father? I love you too because you are kind and doall I wish, and because you are always telling me that you love me.

Because you are like the cupids in the fairy stories--dear old peoplewho give their children all their heart's desire; I love you for mycarriage, my horses, and my lovely dresses; for my purse filled withgold, for my beautiful jewelry, and for all the lovely presents youmake me."Every word she spoke betrayed the utter selfishness of her soul, andyet her father listened with a fixed smile of delight on his face.

"And why do you love him?" asked he.

"Because--because," stammered the girl, "first, because he is himself;and then,--well, I can't say, but I /do/ love him."Her accents betrayed such depth of passion that the father uttered agroan of anguish.

Flavia caught the expression of his features, and burst into a fit oflaughter.

"I really believe that you are jealous," said she, as if she werespeaking to a spoiled child. "That is very naughty of you; you oughtto be ashamed of yourself. I tell you that the first time I set eyesupon him at Van Klopen's, I felt a thrill of love pierce through myheart, such love as I never felt for a human being before. Since then,I have known no rest. I cannot sleep, and instead of blood, liquidfire seems to come through my veins."Martin Rigal raised his eyes to the ceiling in mute surprise at thisoutburst of feeling.

"You do not understand me," went on Flavia. "You are the best offathers, but, after all, you are but a man. Had I a mother, she wouldcomprehend me better.""What could your mother have done for you more than I? Have Ineglected anything for your happiness?" asked the banker, with a sigh.

"Perhaps nothing; for there are times when I hardly understand my ownfeelings."In gloomy silence the banker listened to the narrative of hisdaughter's state of mind; then he said,--"All shall be as you desire, and the man you love shall be yourhusband."The girl was almost beside herself with joy, and, throwing her armsaround his neck, pressed kiss upon kiss on his cheeks and forehead.

"Darling," said she, "I love you for this more than for anything thatyou have given me in my life."The banker sighed again; and Flavia, shaking her pretty little fist athim, exclaimed, "What is the meaning of that sigh, sir? Do you by anychance regret your promise? But never mind that. How do you mean tobring him here without causing any suspicion?"A benevolent smile passed over her father's face, as he answered,--"That, my pet, is my secret.""Very well, keep it; I do not care what means you use, as long as Isee him soon, very soon,--to-night perhaps, in an hour, or even in afew minutes. You say Dr. Hortebise will bring him here; he will sit atour table. I can look at him without trouble, I shall hear hisvoice--""Silly little puss!" broke in the banker; "or, rather, I should say,unhappy child.""Silly, perhaps; but why should you say unhappy?""You love him too fondly, and he will take advantage of your feelingfor him.""Never; I do not believe it," answered the girl.

"I hope to heaven, darling, that my fears may never be realized. Buthe is not the sort of husband that I intended for you; he is acomposer.""And is that anything against him!" exclaimed Flavia in angry tones;"one would think from your sneers that this was a crime. Not only ishe a composer, but he is a genius. I can read that in his face. He maybe poor, but I am rich enough for both, and he will owe all to me; somuch the better, for then he will not be compelled to give lessons forhis livelihood, and he will have leisure to compose an opera morebeautiful than any that Gounod has ever written, and I shall share allhis glory. Why, perhaps, he may even sing his own songs to me alone."Her father noticed her state of feverish excitement and gazed upon hersadly. Flavia's mother had been removed from this world at the earlyage of twenty-four by that insidious malady, consumption, which defiesmodern medical science, and in a brief space changes a beautiful girlinto a livid corpse, and the father viewed her excited manner, flushedcheeks, and sparkling eyes with tears and dismay.

"By heavens!" cried he, bursting into a sudden fit of passion; "ifever he ill treats you, he is a dead man."The girl was startled at the sudden ferocity of his manner.

"What have I done to make you angry?" asked she; "and why do you havesuch evil thoughts of him?""I tremble for you, in whom my whole soul is wrapped up," answered thebanker. "This man has robbed me of my child's heart, and you will behappier with him than you are with your poor old father. I tremblebecause of your inexperience and his weakness, which may prove asource of trouble to you.""If he is weak, all the better; my will can guide him.""You are wrong," replied her father, "as many other women have beenbefore you. You believe that weak and vacillating dispositions areeasily controlled, but I tell you that this is an error. Onlydetermined characters can be influenced, and it is on substantialfoundations that we find support."Flavia made no reply, and her father drew her closer to him.

"Listen to me, my child," said he. "You will never have a betterfriend than I am. You know that I would shed every drop of blood in myveins for you. He is coming, so search your heart to discover if thisis not some mere passing fancy.""Father!" cried she.

"Remember that your happiness is in your own hands now, so be carefuland conceal your feelings, and do not let him discover how deep yourlove is for him. Men's minds are so formed that while they blame awoman for duplicity, they complain far more if she acts openly andallows her feelings to be seen----"He paused, for the door-bell rang. Flavia's heart gave a bound ofintense joy.

"He has come!" gasped she, and, with a strong effort to retain hercomposure, she added, "I will obey you, my dear father; I will notcome here again until I have entirely regained my composure. Do notfear, and I will show you that your daughter can act a part as well asany other woman."She fled from the room as the door opened, but it was not Paul whomade his appearance, but some other guests--a stout manufacturer andhis wife, the latter gorgeously dressed, but with scarcely a word tosay for herself. For this evening the banker had issued invitations totwenty of his friends, and among this number Paul would scarcely benoticed. He in due time made his appearance with Dr. Hortebise, whohad volunteered to introduce him into good society. Paul felt ill atease; he had just come from the hands of a fashionable tailor, who,thanks to Mascarin's influence, had in forty-eight hours prepared anevening suit of such superior cut that the young man hardly knewhimself in it. Paul had suffered a good deal from conflicting emotionsafter the visit to Van Klopen's, and more than once regretted theadhesion that he had given to Mascarin's scheme; but a visit the nextday from Hortebise, and the knowledge that the fashionable physicianwas one of the confederates, had reconciled him to the position he hadpromised to assume.

He was moreover struck with Flavia's charms, and dazzled with theaccounts of her vast prospective fortune. To him, Hortebise, gay,rich, and careless, seemed the incarnation of happiness, andcontributed greatly to stifle the voice of Paul's conscience. Hewould, however, perhaps have hesitated had he known what the locketcontained that dangled so ostentatiously from the doctor's chain.

Before they reached the banker's door, driven in the doctor's elegantbrougham, a similar one to which Paul mentally declared he would have,as soon as circumstances would permit, the young man's mentor spoke.

"Let me say a few words to you. You have before you a chance which isseldom afforded to any young man, whatever his rank and socialstanding. Mind that you profit by it.""You may be sure I will," said Paul, with a smile of self-complacency.

"Good, dear boy; but let me fortify your courage with a little of myexperience. Do you know what an heiress really is?""Well, really----""Permit me to continue. An heiress and more so if she is an onlychild, is generally a very disagreeable person, headstrong,capricious, and puffed up with her own importance. She is utterlyspoiled by the flattery to which she has been accustomed from herearliest years, and thinks that all the world is made to bend beforeher.""Ah!" answered Paul, a little discomfited. "I hope it is notMademoiselle Flavia's portrait that you have been sketching?""Not exactly," answered the doctor, with a laugh. "But I must warn youthat even she has certain whims and fancies. For instance, I am quitesure that she would give a suitor every encouragement, and thenrepulse him without rhyme or reason."Paul, who up to this time had only seen the bright side of affairs,was a good deal disconcerted.

"Buy why should you introduce me to her then?""In order that you may win her. Have you not everything to insuresuccess? She will most likely receive you with the utmost cordiality;but beware of being too sanguine. Even if she makes desperate love toyou, I say, take care; it may be only a trap; for, between ourselves,a girl who has a million stitched to her petticoats is to be excusedif she endeavors to find out whether the suitor is after her or hermoney."Just then the brougham stopped, and Dr. Hortebise and his young friendentered the house in the Rue Montmartre, where they were cordiallygreeted by the banker.

Paul glanced round, but there were no signs of Flavia, nor did shemake her appearance until five minutes before the dinner hour, whenthe guests flocked round her. She had subdued all her emotions, andnot a quiver of the eyelids disclosed the excitement under which shewas laboring. Her eye rested on Paul, and he bowed ceremoniously. Thebanker was delighted, for he had not believed much in her self-command. But Flavia had taken his advice to heart, and when seated attable abstained from casting a glance in Paul's direction. When dinnerwas over and many of the guests had sat down to whist; Flavia venturedto approach Paul, and in a low voice, which shook a little in spite ofher efforts, said,--"Will you not play me one of your own compositions, M. Violaine?"Paul was but a medium performer, but Flavia seemed in the seventhheaven, while her father and Dr. Hortebise, who had taken their seatsnot far away, watched the young couple with much anxiety.

"How she adores him!" whispered the banker. "And yet I cannot judge ofthe effect that she has produced upon him.""Surely Mascarin will worm it all out of him to-morrow," returned thedoctor. "To-morrow the poor fellow will have his hands full, for thereis to be a general meeting, when we shall hear all about Catenac'sideas, and I shall be glad to know what Croisenois's conduct will bewhen he knows what he is wanted for."It was growing late, and the guests began to drop off. Dr. Hortebisesignalled to Paul, and they left the house together. According to thepromise to her father, Flavia had acted her part so well, that Pauldid not know whether he had made an impression or not.
Chapter 15 MASTER CHUPIN.
　　15Beaumarchef, when Mascarin called a general meeting of his associates,was in the habit of assuming his very best attire; for as he was oftencalled into the inner office to answer questions, he was muchimpressed with the importance of the occasion. This time, however, thesubordinate, although he had received due notice of the meeting, wasstill in his every-day dress. This discomposed him a good deal, thoughhe kept muttering to himself that he meant no disrespect by it. Earlyin the morning he had been compelled to make up the accounts of twocooks, who, having obtained situations, were leaving the servants'

lodging-house. When this matter was completed, he had hoped for halfan hour's leisure. As he was crossing the courtyard, however, he fellin with Toto Chupin bringing in his daily report, which Beaumarchefthought would be what it usually was--a mere matter of form. He was,however, much mistaken; for though outwardly Toto was the same, yethis ideas had taken an entirely new direction; and when Beaumarchefurged him to look sharp, the request was received with a great deal ofsullenness.

"I ain't lost no time," said he, "and have fished up a thing or twofresh; but before saying a word--"He stopped, and seemed a little confused.

"Well, go on.""I want a fresh arrangement."Beaumarchef was staggered.

"Arrangement!" he echoed.

"Of course you can lump it if yer don't like it," said the boy. "Doyou think as how I'm going to work like a horse, and not get a wink ofsleep, just for a 'thank ye, Chupin?' No fear. I'm worth a sight morenor that."Beaumarchef flew into a rage.

"Then you are not worth a pinch of salt," said he.

"All right, my cove.""And you are an ungrateful young villain to talk like this after allthe kindness your master has shown you."Chupin gave a sarcastic laugh.

"Goodness!" cried he. "To hear you go on, one would think that theboss had ruined himself for my sake.""He took you out of the streets, and has given you a room ever since.""A room, do you say? I call it a dog kennel.""You have your breakfast and dinner every day regularly.""I know that, and half a bottle of wine at each meal, which has somuch water in it that it cannot even stain the tablecloth.""You are an ungrateful young hound," exclaimed Beaumarchef, "andforget that, in addition to this, he has set you up in business as ahot chestnut seller.""Good old business! I am allowed to stand all day under the gateway,roasted on one side, and frozen on the other, and gain, perhaps twentysous.""You know that in summer he has promised to set you up in the friedpotato line.""Thank ye for nothing; I don't like the smell of grease.""What is it you want, then?""Nothing. I feels that I ought to be a gentleman at large."Beaumarchef cast a furious glance at the shameless youth, and told himthat he would report everything to his master. The boy, however, didnot seem to care a pin.

"I intends to see Master Mascarin myself presently," remarked Chupin.

"You are an idiot.""Why so? Do you think I didn't live better before I had anything to dowith this blooming old cove? I never worked then. I used to sing infront of the pubs, and easily made my three francs a day. My pal and Isoon check 'em though, and then off we went to the theatre. Sometimeswe'd make tracks for Ivry, and take our doss in a deserted factory,into which the crushers never put their noses. In the winter we usedto go to the glass houses and sleep in the warm ashes. All these weregood times, while now--""Well, what have you to grumble at now? Don't I hand you a five-francpiece every day that you are at work?""But that ain't good enough. Come, don't get shirty; all I asks is arise of salary. Only say either Yes or No; and if you say No, why, Isends in my resignation."Beaumarchef would have given a five-franc piece out of his own pocketfor Mascarin to have heard the boy's impertinence.

"You are a young rascal!" said he, "and keep the worst of company.

There is no use in denying it, for a hang-dog fellow, calling himselfPolyte, has been here asking after you.""My company ain't any business of yours.""Well, I give you warning, you will come to grief.""How?" returned Toto Chupin sulkily. "How can I come to grief? If oldMascarin interferes, I'll shut up his mouth pretty sharp. I wish youand your master wouldn't poke their noses into my affairs. I'm sick ofyou both. Don't you think I'm up to you? When you make me follow someone for a week at a time, it isn't to do 'em a kindness, I reckon. Ifthings turn out badly, I've only to go before a beak and speak up; Ishould get off easily enough then; and if I do so, you will be sorryfor not having given me more than my five francs a day."Beaumarchef was an old soldier and a bold man, but he was easilyupset, for the lad's insolence made him believe that he was utteringwords that had been put in his mouth by some wily adviser; and notknowing how to act, the ex-soldier thought it best to adopt a moreconciliating demeanor.

"How much do you want?" asked he.

"Well, seven francs to start with.""The deuce you do! Seven francs a day is a sum. Well, I'll give it youmyself to-day and will speak about you to the master.""You won't get me to loosen my tongue for that amount to-day; you maybet your boots on that," answered the lad insolently. "I wants onehundred francs down on the nail.""One hundred francs," echoed Beaumarchef, scandalized at such ademand.

"Yes, my cove, that and no less.""And what will you give in return? No, no, my lad; your demand is apreposterous one; besides, you wouldn't know how to spend such a sum.""Don't you flurry yourself about that; but of one thing you may besure, I sha'n't spend my wages as you do--in wax for your mustache."Beaumarchef could not endure an insult to his mustache, and Chupin wasabout to receive the kick he had so richly earned, when Daddy Tantainesuddenly made his appearance, looking exactly as he did when hevisited Paul in his garret.

"Tut, tut; never quarrel with the door open."Beaumarchef thanked Providence for sending this sudden reinforcementto his aid, and began in a tone of indignation,--"Toto Chupin--""Stop! I have heard every word," broke in Tantaine.

On hearing this, Toto felt that he had better make himself scarce; forthough he hardly knew Mascarin, and utterly despised Beaumarchef, hetrembled before the oily Tantaine, for in him he recognized a beingwho would stand no nonsense. He therefore began in an apologetictone,--"Just let me speak, sir; I only wanted--""Money, of course, and very natural too. Come, Beaumarchef, hand thisworthy lad the hundred francs that he has so politely asked for."Beaumarchef was utterly stupefied, and was about to make someobjection when he was struck by a signal which Toto did not perceive,and, drawing out his pocketbook, extracted a note which he offered tothe lad. Toto glanced at the note, then at the faces of the two men,but was evidently afraid to take the money.

"Take the money," said Tantaine. "If your information is not worth themoney, I will have it back from you; come into the office, where weshall not be disturbed."Tantaine took a chair, and glancing at Toto, who stood before himtwirling his cap leisurely, said,--"I heard you."The lad had by this time recovered his customary audacity.

"Five days ago," he began, "I was put on to Caroline Schimmel; I havefound out all about her by this time. She is as regular as clockworkin her duties at least. She wakes at ten and takes her absinthe. Thenshe goes to a little restaurant she knows, and has her breakfast and agame at cards with any one that will play with her. At six in theevening she goes to the Grand Turk, a restaurant and dancing-shop inthe Rue des Poisonnieres. Ain't it a swell ken just! You can eat;drink, dance, or sing, just as you like; but you must have decent togson, or they won't let you in.""Wouldn't they let you through then?"Toto pointed significantly to his rags as he replied,--"This rig out wouldn't pass muster, but I have a scheme in hand."Tantaine took down the address of the dancing-saloon, and then,addressing Toto with the utmost severity,--"Do you think," said he, "that this report is worth a hundred francs?"Toto made a quaint grimace.

"Do you think," asked he, "that Caroline can lead the life she doeswithout money? No fear. Well, I have found out where the coin comesfrom."The dim light in the office enabled Tantaine to hide the pleasure hefelt on hearing these words.

"Ah," answered he carelessly, as if it was a matter of but littlemoment, "and so you have found out all that, have you?

"Yes, and a heap besides. Just you listen. After her breakfast, mysweet Carry began to play cards with some chaps who had been grubbingat the next table. 'Regular right down card sharpers and macemen,'

said I to myself, as I watched the way in which they faked thepasteboards. 'They'll get everything out of you, old gal.' I was inthe right, for in less than an hour she had to go up to the counterand leave one of her rings as security for the breakfast. He said heknew her, and would give her credit. 'You are a trump,' said she.

'I'll just trot off to my own crib and get the money.' ""Did she go home?""Not she; she went to a real swell house in a bang up part of Paris,the Rue de Varennes. She knocked at the door, and in she went, while Ilounged about outside.""Do you know who lives there?""Of course I do. The grocer round the corner told me that it wasinhabited by the Duke--what was his blessed name? Oh, the Duke----""Was it the Duke de Champdoce?""That is the right one, a chap they say as has his cellars chock fullof gold and silver.""You are rather slow, my lad," said Tantaine, with his assumed air ofindifference. "Get on a bit, do."Toto was much put out; for he had expected that his intelligence wouldhave created an immense sensation.

"Give a cove time to breathe in. Well, in half an hour out comes myCarry as lively as a flea. She got into a passing cab and away shewent. Fortunately I can run a bit, and reached the Palais Royal intime to see Caroline change two notes of two hundred francs each atthe money-changers.""How did you find out that?""By looking at 'em. The paper was yellow."Tantaine smiled kindly. "You know a banknote then?""Yes, but I have precious few chances of handling them. Once I wentinto a money-changer's shop and asked them just to let me feel one,and they said, 'Get out sharp.' ""Is that all?" demanded Tantaine.

"No; I have kept the best bit for a finish. I want to tell you thatthere are others on the lookout after Caroline."Toto had no reason this time to grumble at the effect he had produced,for the old man gave such a jump that his hat fell off.

"What are you saying?" said he.

"Simply that for the last three days a big chap with a harp on hisback has been keeping her in view. I twigged him at once, and he toosaw her go into the swell crib that you say belongs to that Duke."Tantaine pondered a little.

"A street musician," muttered he. "I must find out all about this.

Now, Toto, listen to me; chuck Caroline over, and stick to the fellowwith the harp; be off with you, for you have earned your money well."As Chupin went off, the old man shook his head.

"Too sharp by a good bit," said he; "he won't have a long lease oflife."Beaumarchef was about to ask Tantaine to remain in the office while hewent off to put on his best clothes, but the old man stopped thisrequest by saying,--"As M. Mascarin does not like to be disturbed, I will just go inwithout knocking. When the other gentlemen arrive, show them in; forlook you here, my good friend, the pear is so ripe that if it is notplucked, it will fall to the ground."
Chapter 16 A TURN OF THE SCREW.
　　16Dr. Hortebise was the first to arrive. It was a terrible thing for himto get up so early; but for Mascarin's sake he consented even to thisinconvenience. When he passed through the office, the room was full ofclients; but this did not prevent the doctor from noticing thenegligence of Beaumarchef's costume.

"Aha!" remarked the doctor, "on the drunk again, I am afraid.""M. Mascarin is within," answered the badgered clerk, endeavoring toput on an air of dignity; "and M. Tantaine is with him."A brilliant idea flashed across the doctor's mind, but it was with anair of gravity that he said,--"I shall be charmed to meet that most worthy old gentleman."When, however, he entered the inner sanctum, he found Mascarin alone,occupied in sorting the eternal pieces of pasteboard.

"Well, what news?" asked he.

"There is none that I know of.""What, have you not seen Paul?""No.""Will he be here?""Certainly."Mascarin was often laconic, but he seldom gave such short answers asthis.

"What is the matter?" asked the doctor. "Your greeting is quitefunereal. Are you not well?""I am merely preoccupied, and that is excusable on the eve of thebattle we are about to fight," returned Mascarin.

He only, however, told a portion of the truth; for there was more inthe background, which he did not wish to confide to his friend. TotoChupin's revolt had disquieted him. Let there be but a single flaw inthe axletree, and one day it will snap in twain; and Mascarin wantedto eliminate this flaw.

"Pooh!" remarked the doctor, playing with his locket, "we shallsucceed. What have we to fear, after all,--opposition on Paul's part?""Paul may resent a little," answered Mascarin disdainfully; "but Ihave decided that he shall be present at our meeting of to-day. Itwill be a stormy one, so be prepared. We might give him his medicinein minims, but I prefer the whole dose at once.""The deuce you do! Suppose he should be frightened, and make off withour secret.""He won't make off," replied Mascarin in a tone which froze hislistener's blood. "He can't escape from us any more than thecockchafer can from the string that a child has fastened to it. Do younot understand weak natures like his? He is the glove, I the stronghand beneath it."The doctor did not argue this point, but merely murmured,--"Let us hope that it is so.""Should we have any opposition, resumed Mascarin, "it will come fromCatenac. I may be able to force him into co-operation with us, but hisheart will not be in the enterprise.""Do you propose to bring Catenac into this affair?" asked Hortebise ingreat surprise.

"Assuredly.""Why have you changed your plan?""Simply because I have recognized the fact that, if we dispensed withhis services, we should be entirely at the mercy of a shrewd man ofbusiness, because----"He broke off, listened for a moment, and then said,--"Hush! I can hear his footstep."A dry cough was heard outside, and in another moment Catenac enteredthe room.

Nature, or profound dissimulation, had gifted Catenac with an exteriorwhich made every one, when first introduced to him, exclaim, "This isan honest and trustworthy man." Catenac always looked his clientsboldly in the face. His voice was pleasant, and had a certain ring ofjoviality in it, and his manner was one of those easy ones whichalways insure popularity. He was looked upon as a shrewd lawyer; butyet he did not shine in court. He must therefore, to make those thirtythousand francs a year which he was credited with doing, have somespecial line of business. He assayed rather risky matters, which mightbring both parties into the clutches of the criminal law, or, at anyrate, leave them with a taint upon both their names. A sensationallawsuit is begun, and the public eagerly await the result; suddenlythe whole thing collapses, for Catenac has acted as mediator. He haseven settled the disputes of murderers quarreling over their booty.

But he has even gone farther than this. More than once he has said ofhimself, "I have passed through the vilest masses of corruption." Inhis office in the Rue Jacob he has heard whispered conferences whichwere enough to bring down the roof above his head. Of course this wasthe most lucrative business that passed into Catenac's hands. Theclient conceals nothing from his attorney, and he belongs to him asabsolutely as the sick man belongs to his physician or the penitent tohis confessor.

"Well, my dear Baptiste," said he, "here I am; you summoned me, and Iam obedient to the call.""Sit down," replied Mascarin gravely.

"Thanks, my friend, many thanks, a thousand thanks; but I am muchhurried; indeed I have not a moment to spare. I have matters on myhands of life and death.""But for all that," remarked Hortebise, "you can sit down for amoment. Baptiste has something to say to you which is as important asany of your matters can be."With a frank and genial smile Catenac obeyed; but in his heart wereanger and an abject feeling of alarm.

"What is it that is so important?" asked he.

Mascarin had risen and locked the door. When he had resumed his seathe said,--"The facts are very simple. Hortebise and I have decided to put ourgreat plan into execution, which we have as yet only discussedgenerally with you. We have the Marquis de Croisenois with us.""My dear sir," broke in the lawyer.

"Wait a little; we must have your assistance, and----"Catenac rose from his seat. "That is enough," said he. "You have madea very great mistake if it is on this matter that you have sent forme; I told you this before."He was turning away, and looking for his hat, proposed to beat aretreat; but Dr. Hortebise stood between him and the door, gazing uponhim with no friendly expression of countenance. Catenac was not a manto be easily alarmed, but the doctor's appearance was so threatening,and the smile upon Mascarin's lips was of so deadly a character, thathe stood still, positively frightened into immobility.

"What do you mean?" stammered he; "what is it you say now?""First," replied the doctor, speaking slowly and distinctly,--"first,we wish that you should listen to us when we speak to you.""I am listening.""Then sit down again, and hear what Baptiste has to say."The command Catenac had over his countenance was so great that it wasimpossible to see to what conclusion he had arrived from the words andmanner of his confederates.

"Then let Baptiste explain himself," said he.

"Before entering into matters completely," said he coolly, "I firstwant to ask our dear friend and associate if he is prepared to actwith us?""Why should there be any doubt on that point?" asked the lawyer. "Doall my repeated assurances count as nothing?""We do not want promises now; what we do want is good faith and realco-operation.""Can it be that you--""I ought to inform you," continued Mascarin, unheeding theinterruption, "that we have every prospect of success; and, if wecarry the matter through, we shall certainly have a million apiece."Hortebise had not the calm patience of his confederate, andexclaimed,--"You understand it well enough. Say Yes or No."Catenac was in the agonies of indecision, and for fully a minute madeno reply.

"/No/, then!" he broke out in a manner which betrayed his intenseagitation. "After due consideration, and having carefully weighed thechances for and against, I answer you decidedly, No."Mascarin and Hortebise evidently expected this reply, and exchangedglances.

"Permit me to explain," said Catenac, "what you consider as a cowardlywithdrawal upon my part--""Call it treachery.""I will not quibble about words. I wish to be perfectlystraightforward with you.""I am glad to hear it," sneered the doctor, "though that is not yourusual form.""And yet I do not think that I have ever concealed my real opinionfrom you. It is fully ten years ago since I spoke to you of thenecessity of breaking up this association. Can you recall what I said?

I said only our extreme need and griping poverty justified our acts.

They are now inexcusable.""You talked very freely of your scruples," observed Mascarin.

"You remember my words then?""Yes, and I remember too that those inner scruples never hindered youfrom drawing your share of the profits.""That is to say," burst in the doctor, "you repudiated the work, butshared the booty. You wished to play the game without stakinganything."Catenac was in no way disconcerted at this trenchant argument.

"Quite true," said he, "I always received my share; but I have donequite as much as you in putting the agency in its present prosperouscondition. Does it not work smoothly like a perfect piece ofmechanism? Have we not succeeded in nearly all our schemes? The incomecomes in monthly with extreme regularity, and I, according to myrights, have received one-third. If you desire to throw up thisperilous means of livelihood, say so, and I will not oppose it.""You are really too good," sneered the doctor, with a look of menacein his glance.

"Nor," continued Catenac, "will I oppose you if you prefer to letmatters stand as they are; but if you start on fresh enterprises, andembark on the tempestuous sea of danger, then I put down my foot andvery boldly 'halt.' I will not take another step with you. I can seeby the looks of both of you that you think me a fool and a coward.

Heaven grant that the future may not show you only too plainly that Ihave been in the right. Think over this. For twenty years fortune hasfavored us, but, believe me, it is never wise to tempt her too far,for it is well known that at some time or other she always turns.""Your imagery is really charming," remarked Hortebise sarcastically.

"Good, I have nothing else to say but to repeat my warning: /reflect/.

Grand as your hopes and expectations may be, they are as nothing tothe perils that you will encounter."This cold flood of eloquence was more than the doctor could bear.

"It is all very well for you," exclaimed he, "to reason like this, foryou are a rich man.""I have enough to live on, I allow; for in addition to the incomederived from my profession, I have saved two hundred thousand francs;and if you can be induced to renounce your projects, I will dividethis sum with you. You have only to think."Mascarin, who had taken no part in the dispute, now judged it time tointerfere.

"And so," said he, turning to Catenac, "you have only two hundredthousand francs?""That or thereabouts.""And you offer to divide this sum with us. Really we ought to bedeeply grateful to you, but----"Mascarin paused for a moment; then settling his spectacles morefirmly, he went on,--"But even if you were to give us what you propose, you would stillhave eleven hundred francs remaining!"Catenac burst into a pleasant laugh. "You are jesting," said he.

"I can prove the correctness of my assertion;" and as he spoke,Mascarin unlocked a drawer, and taking a small notebook from it,turned over the pages, and leaving it open at a certain place, handedit to the lawyer.

"There," said he, "that is made up to December last, and showsprecisely how you stand financially. Twice, then, you have increasedyour funds. These deposits you will find in an addenda at the end ofthe book."Catenac started to his feet; all his calmness had now disappeared.

"Yes," he said, "I have just the sum you name; and I, for that veryreason, refuse to have anything further to do with your schemes. Ihave an income of sixty thousand francs; that is to say, sixtythousand good reasons for receiving no further risks. You envy me mygood fortune, but did we not all start penniless? I have taken care ofmy money, while you have squandered yours. Hortebise has lost hispatients, while I have increased the number of my clients; and now youwant me to tread the dangerous road again. Not I; go your way, andleave me to go home."Again he took up his hat, but a wave of the hand from Mascarindetained him.

"Suppose," said he coldly, "that I told you that your assistance wasnecessary to me.""I should say so much the worse for you.""But suppose I insist?""And how can you insist? We are both in the same boat, and sink orswim together.""Are you certain of that?""So certain that I repeat from this day I wash my hands of you.""I am afraid you are in error.""How so?""Because for twelve months past; I have given food and shelter to agirl of the name of Clarisse. Do you by any chance know her?"At the mention of this name, the lawyer started, as a man starts who,walking peacefully along, suddenly sees a deadly serpent coiled acrosshis path.

"Clarisse," stammered he, "how did you know of her? who told you?"But the sarcastic sneer upon the lips of his two confederates woundedhis pride so deeply, that in an instant he recovered his self-possession.

"I am getting foolish," said he, "to ask these men how they learned mysecret. Do they not always work by infamous and underhand means?""You see I know all," remarked Mascarin, "for I foresaw the day wouldcome when you would wish to sever our connection, and even give us upto justice, if you could do so with safety to yourself. I thereforetook my precautions. One thing, however, I was not prepared for, andthat was, that a man of your intelligence should have played so paltrya game, and even twelve months back thought of betraying us. It isalmost incredible. Do you ever read the /Gazette des Tribunaux/? I sawin its pages yesterday a story nearly similar to your own. Shall Itell it to you? A lawyer who concealed his vices beneath a mantle ofjoviality and candor, brought up from the country a pretty, innocentgirl to act as servant in his house. This lawyer occupied his leisuretime in leading the poor child astray, and the moment at last camewhen the consequences of her weakness were too apparent. The lawyerwas half beside himself at the approaching scandal. What would theneighbors say? Well, to cut the story short, the infant wassuppressed,--you understand, suppressed, and the mother turned intothe street.""Baptiste, have mercy!""It was a most imprudent act, for such things always leak out somehow.

You have a gardener at your house at Champigny, and suppose the ideaseized upon this worthy man to dig up the ground round the wall at theend of the garden.""That is enough," said Catenac, piteously. "I give in."Mascarin adjusted his spectacles, as he always did in importantmoments.

"You give in, do you? Not a bit. Even now you are endeavoring to finda means of parrying my home thrusts.""But I declare to you----""Do not be alarmed; dig as deeply as he might, your gardener woulddiscover nothing."The lawyer uttered a stifled exclamation of rage as he perceived thepit into which he had fallen.

"He would find nothing," resumed Mascarin, "and yet the story is alltrue. Last January, on a bitterly cold night, you dug a hole, and init deposited the body of a new-born infant wrapped in a shawl. Andwhat shawl? Why the very one that you purchased at the /Bon Marche/,when you were making yourself agreeable to Clarisse. The shopman whosold it to you has identified it, and is ready to give evidence whencalled upon. You may look for that shawl, Catenac, but you will notfind it.""Have you got that shawl?" asked Catenac hoarsely.

"Am I a fool?" asked Mascarin contemptuously. "Tantaine has it; but/I/ know where the body is, and will keep the information to myself.

Do not be alarmed; act fairly, and you are safe; but make onetreacherous move, and you will read in the next day's papers aparagraph something to this effect: 'Yesterday some workmen, engagedin excavations near so-and-so, discovered the body of a new-borninfant. Every effort is being made to discover the author of thecrime.' You know me, and that I work promptly. To the shawl I haveadded a handkerchief and a few other articles belonging to Clarisse,which will render it an easy matter to fix the guilt on you."Catenac was absolutely stunned, and had lost all power of defendinghimself. The few incoherent words that he uttered showed his state ofutter despair.

"You have killed me," gasped he, "just as the prize, that I have beenlooking for for twenty yeas, was in my grasp.""Work does a man no harm," remarked the doctor sententiously.

There was, however, little time to lose; the Marquis de Croisenois andPaul might be expected to arrive at any moment, and Mascarin hastenedto restore a certain amount of calmness to his prostrate antagonist.

"You make as much noise as if we were going to hand you over to theexecutioner on the spot. Do you think that we are such a pair of foolsas to risk all these hazards without some almost certain chance ofsuccess? Hortebise was as much startled as yourself when I first spoketo him of this affair, but I explained everything fully to him, andnow he is quite enthusiastic in the matter. Of course you can layaside all fear, and, as a man of the world, will bear no maliceagainst those who have simply played a better game than yourself.""Go on," said Catenac, forcing a smile, "I am listening."Mascarin made a short pause.

"What we want of you," answered he, "will not compromise you in theslightest degree. I wish you to draw up a document, the particulars ofwhich I will give you presently, and you will outwardly have noconnection with the matter.""Very good.""But there is more yet. The Duke of Champdoce has placed a difficulttask in your hands. You are engaged in a secret on his behalf.""You know that also?""I know everything that may be made subservient to our ends. I alsoknow that instead of coming direct to me you went to the very man thatwe have every reason to dread, that fellow Perpignan, who is nearly assharp as we are.""Go on," returned Catenac impatiently. "What do you expect from me onthis point?""Not much; you must only come to me first, and report any discoveryyou may have made, and never give any information to the Duke withoutfirst consulting us.""I agree."The contending parties seemed to have arrived at an amicabletermination, and Dr. Hortebise smiled complacently.

"Now," said he, "shall we not confess, after all, that there was nouse in making such a fuss?""I allow that I was in the wrong," answered Catenac meekly; and,extending his hands to his two associates with an oily smile, he said:

"Let us forget and forgive."Was he to be trusted? Mascarin and the doctor exchanged glances ofsuspicion. A moment afterward a knock came to the door, and Paulentered, making a timid bow to his two patrons.

"My dear boy," said Mascarin, "let me present you to one of my oldestand best friends." Then, turning to Catenac, he added: "I wish to askyou to help and assist my young friend here. Paul Violaine is a goodfellow, who has neither father nor mother, and whom we are trying tohelp on in his journey through life."The lawyer started as he caught the strange, meaning smile whichaccompanied these words.

"Great heavens!" said he, "why did you not speak sooner?"Catenac at once divined Mascarin's project, and understood theallusion to the Duke de Champdoce.
Chapter 17 SOME SCRAPS OF PAPER.
　　17The Marquis de Croisenois was never punctual. He had received a noteasking him to call on Mascarin at eleven o'clock, and twelve hadstruck some time before he made his appearance. Faultlessly gloved,his glass firmly fixed in his eye, and a light walking cane in hishand, and with that air of half-veiled insolence that is sometimesaffected by certain persons who wish the world to believe that theyare of great importance, the Marquis de Croisenois entered the room.

At the age of twenty-five Henry de Croisenois affected the airs andmanners of a lad of twenty, and so found many who looked upon hisescapades with lenient eyes, ascribing them to the follies of youth.

Under this youthful mask, however he concealed a most astute andcunning intellect, and had more than once got the better of the womenwith whom he had had dealings. His fortune was terribly involved,because he had insisted on living at the same rate as men who had tentimes his income. Forming one of the recklessly extravagant band ofwhich the Duke de Saumeine was the head, Croisenois, too, kept hisracehorses, which was certainly the quickest way to wreck the mostprincely fortune. The Marquis had found out this, and was utterlyinvolved, when Mascarin extended a helping hand to him, to which heclung with all the energy of a drowning man.

Whatever Henry de Croisenois' anxieties may have been on the day inquestion, he did not allow a symptom of them to appear, and on hisentrance negligently drawled, "I have kept you waiting, I fear; butreally my time is not my own. I am quite at your service now, and willwait until these gentlemen have finished their business with you." Andas he concluded, he again placed the cigar which he had removed whilesaying these words, to his lips.

His manner was very insolent, and yet the amiable Mascarin did notseem offended, although he loathed the scent of tobacco.

"We had begun to despair of seeing you, Marquis," answered hepolitely. "I say so, because these gentlemen are here to meet you.

Permit me to introduce to you, Dr. Hortebise, M. Catenac of theParisian bar, and our secretary," pointing as he spoke, to Paul.

As soon as Croisenois had taken his seat, Mascarin went straight tothe point, as a bullet to the target. "I do not intend," began he, "toleave you in doubt for a moment. Beatings about the bush would beabsurd among persons like ourselves."At finding himself thus classed with the other persons present, theMarquis gave a little start, and then drawled out, "You flatter me,really.""I may tell you, Marquis," resumed Mascarin, "that your marriage hasbeen definitely arranged by myself and my associates. All you have todo is to get the young lady's consent; for that of the Count andCountess has already been secured.""There will be no difficulty in that," lisped the Marquis. "I willpromise her the best horsed carriage in the Bois, a box at the opera,unlimited credit at Van Klopen's, and perfect freedom. There will beno difficulty, I assure you. Of course, however, I must be presentedby some one who holds a good position in society.""Would the Viscountess de Bois Arden suit you?""No one better; she is a relation of the Count de Mussidan.""Good; then when you wish, Madame de Bois Arden will introduce you asa suitor for the young lady's hand, and praise you up to the skies."The Marquis looked very jubilant at hearing this. "All right," criedhe; "then that decides the matter."Paul wondered whether he was awake or dreaming. He too had beenpromised a rich wife, and here was another man who was being providedfor in the same manner. "These people," muttered he, "seem to keep amatrimonial agency as well as a servants' registry office!""All that is left, then," said the Marquis, "is to arrange the--shallI call it the commission?""I was about to come to that," returned Mascarin.

"Well, I will give you a fourth of the dowry, and on the day of mymarriage will hand you a cheque for that amount."Paul now imagined that he saw how matters worked. "If I marry Flavia,"thought he, "I shall have to share her dowry with these highlyrespectable gentlemen."The offer made by the Marquis did not, however, seem to pleaseMascarin. "That is not what we want," said he.

"No,--well, must I give you more? Say how much."Mascarin shook his head.

"Well then, I will give you a third; it is not worth while to give youmore.""No, no; I would not take half, nor even the whole of the dowry. Youmay keep that as well as what you owe us.""Well, but tell me what you /do/ want.""I will do so," answered Mascarin, adjusting his spectacles carefully;"but before doing so, I feel that I must give you a short account ofthe rise and progress of this association."At this statement Hortebise and Catenac sprang to their feet insurprise and terror. "Are you mad?" said they at length, with onevoice.

Mascarin shrugged his shoulders.

"Not yet," answered he gently, "and I beg that you will permit me togo on.""But surely we have some voice in the matter," faltered Catenac.

"That is enough," exclaimed Mascarin angrily, "Am not I the head ofthis association? Do you think," he continued in tones of deepsarcasm, "that we cannot speak openly before the Marquis?"Hortebise and the lawyer resignedly resumed their seats. Croisenoisthought that a word from him might reassure them.

"Among honest men--" began he.

"We are not honest men," interrupted Mascarin. "Sir," added he in asevere tone, "nor are you either."This plain speaking brought a bright flush to the face of the Marquis,who had half a mind to be angry, but policy restrained him, and heaffected to look on the matter as a joke. "Your joke is a littlepersonal," said he.

But Mascarin took no heed of his remark. "Listen to me," said he, "forwe have no time to waste, and do you," he added, turning to Paul, "paythe greatest attention."A moment of perfect silence ensued, broken only by the hum of voicesin the outer office.

"Marquis," said Mascarin, whose whole face blazed with a gleam ofconscious power, "twenty-five years ago I and my associates were youngand in a very different position. We were honest then, and all theillusions of youth were in full force; we had faith and hope. We allthen tenanted a wretched garret in the Rue de la Harpe, and loved eachother like brothers.""That was long, long ago," murmured Hortebise.

"Yes," rejoined Mascarin; "and yet the effluxion of times does nothinder me from seeing things as they then were, and my heart aches asI compare the hopes of those days with the realities of the present.

Then, Marquis, we were poor, miserably poor, and yet we all had vaguehopes of future greatness."Croisenois endeavored to conceal a sneer; the story was not a veryinteresting one.

"As I said before, each one of us anticipated a brilliant career.

Catenac had gained a prize by his 'Treatise on the Transfer of RealEstate,' and Hortebise had written a pamphlet regarding which thegreat Orfila had testified approval. Nor was I without my successes.

Hortebise had unluckily quarrelled with his family. Catenac'srelatives were poor, and I, well, I had no family. I stood alone. Wewere literally starving, and I was the only one earning money. Iprepared pupils for the military colleges, but as I only earnedtwenty-five sous a day by cramming a dull boy's brain with algebra andgeometry, that was not enough to feed us all. Well, to cut a longstory short, the day came when we had not a coin among us. I forgot totell you that I was devotedly attached to a young girl who was dyingof consumption, and who had neither food nor fuel. What could I do? Iknew not. Half mad, I rushed from the house, asking myself if I hadbetter plead for charity or take the money I required by force fromthe first passer-by. I wandered along the quays, half inclined toconfide my sorrow to the Seine, when suddenly I remembered it was aholiday at the Polytechnic School, and that if I went to the /CaféSemblon/ or the Palais Royal, I should most likely meet with some ofmy old pupils, who could perhaps lend me a few sous. Five francsperhaps, Marquis,--that is a very small sum, but in that day it meantthe life of my dear Marie and of my two friends. Have you ever beenhungry, M. de Croisenois?"De Croisenois started; he had never suffered from hunger, but howcould he tell what the future might bring? for his resources were sonearly exhausted, that even to-morrow he might be compelled to discardhis fictitious splendor and sink into the abyss of poverty.

"When I reached the /Café Semblon/," continued Mascarin, "I could notsee a single pupil, and the waiter to whom I addressed my inquirieslooked at me with the utmost contempt, for my clothes were in tatters;but at length he condescended to inform me that the young gentlemenhad been and gone, but that they would return. I said that I wouldwait for them. The man asked me if I would take anything, and when Ireplied in the negative, contemptuously pointed to a chair in adistant corner, where I patiently took my seat. I had sat for sometime, when suddenly a young man entered the /café/, whose face, were Ito live for a century, I shall never forget. He was perfectly livid,his features rigid, and his eyes wild and full of anguish. He wasevidently in intense agony of mind or body. Evidently, however, it wasnot poverty that was oppressing him, for as he cast himself upon asofa, all the waiters rushed forward to receive his orders. In a voicethat was almost unintelligible, he asked for a bottle of brandy, andpen, ink, and paper. In some mysterious manner, the sight of thissuffering brought balm to my aching heart. The order of the young manwas soon executed, and pouring out a tumbler of brandy, he took a deepdraught. The effect was instantaneous, he turned crimson, and for amoment almost fell back insensible. I kept my eyes on him, for a voicewithin me kept crying out that there was some mysterious linkconnecting this man and myself, and that his life was in some mannerinterwoven with mine, and that the influence he would exercise over mewould be for evil. So strongly did this idea become rooted, that Ishould have left the /café/, had not my curiosity been so great. Inthe meantime the stranger had recovered himself, and seizing a pen,scrawled a few lines on a sheet of paper. Evidently he was notsatisfied with his composition, for after reading it over, he lit amatch and burnt the paper. He drank more brandy, and wrote a secondletter, which, too, proved a failure, for he tore it to fragments,which he thrust into his waistcoat pocket. Again he commenced, usinggreater care. It was plain that he had forgotten where he was, for hegesticulated, uttered a broken sentence or two and evidently believedthat he was in his own house. His last letter seemed to satisfy him,and he recopied it with care. He closed and directed it; then, tearingthe original into pieces, he flung it under the table; then callingthe waiter, he said, 'Here are twenty francs; take this letter to theaddress on the envelope. Bring the answer to my house; here is mycard.' The man ran out of the room, and the nobleman, only waiting topay his bill, followed almost immediately. The morsels of white paperbeneath the table had a strange fascination for me; I longed to gatherthem up, to put them together, and to learn the secret of the strangedrama that had been acted before me. But, as I have told you, then Iwas honest and virtuous, and the meanness of such an act revolted allmy instincts; and I should have overcome this temptation, had it notbeen for one of those trifling incidents which too often form theturning-point of a life. A draught from a suddenly opened door caughtone of these morsels of paper, and wafted it to my feet. I stooped andpicked it up, and read on it the ominous words, 'blow out my brains!'

I had not been mistaken, then, and was face to face with some comingtragedy. Having once yielded, I made no further efforts at self-control. The waiters were running about; no one paid any attention tome; and creeping to the place that the unknown had occupied, Iobtained possession of two more scraps of paper. Upon one I read,'shame and horror!' upon the other, 'one hundred thousand francs byto-night.' The meaning of these few words were as clear as daylight tome; but for all that, I managed to collect every atom of the tornpaper, and piecing them together, read this:--" 'CHARLES,-- 'I must have one hundred thousand francs to-night,and you are the only one to whom I can apply. The shame and horrorof my position are too much for me. Can you send it me in twohours? As you act, so I regulate my conduct. I am either saved, orI blow out my brains.'

"You are probably surprised, Marquis, at the accuracy of my memory,and even now I can see this scrawl as distinctly as if it were beforeme. At the end of this scrawl was a signature, one of the best knowncommercial names, which, in common with other financial houses, wasstruggling against a panic on the Bourse. My discovery disturbed mevery much. I forgot all my miseries, and thought only of his. Were notour positions entirely similar? But by degrees a hideous temptationbegan to creep into my heart, and, as the minutes passed by, assumemore vivid color and more tangible reality. Why should I not profit bythis stolen secret? I went to the desk and asked for some wafers and aDirectory. Then, returning, I fastened the torn fragments upon a cleansheet of paper, discovered the address of the writer, and then leftthe /café/. The house was situated in the Rue Chaussee d'Autin. Forfully half an hour I paced up and down before his magnificentdwelling-place. Was he alive? Had the reply of Charles been in theaffirmative? I decided at last to venture, and rang the bell. Aliveried domestic appeared at my summons, and said that his master didnot receive visitors at that hour; besides, he was at dinner. I wasexasperated at the man's insolence, and replied hotly, 'If you want tosave your master from a terrible misfortune, go and tell him that aman has brought him the rough draft of the letter he wrote a littletime back at the /Café Semblon/.' The man obeyed me without a word, nodoubt impressed by the earnestness of my manner. My message must havecaused intense consternation, for in a moment the footman reappeared,and, in an obsequious manner, said, 'Follow at once, sir; my master iswaiting for you.' He led me into a large room, magnificently furnishedas a library, and in the centre of this room stood the man of the/Café Semblon/. His face was deadly pale, and his eyes blazed withfury. I was so agitated that I could hardly speak.

" 'You have picked up the scraps of paper I threw away?' exclaimed he.

"I nodded, and showed him the fragments fastened on to the sheet ofnote-paper.

" 'How much do you want for that?' asked he. 'I will give you athousand francs.'

"I declare to you, gentlemen, that up to this time I had no intentionof making money by the secret. My intention in going had been simplyto say, 'I bring you this paper, of which some one else might havetaken an undue advantage. I have done you a service; lend me a hundredfrancs.' This is what I meant to say, but his behavior irritated me,and I answered,--" 'No, I want two thousand francs.'

"He opened a drawer, drew out a bundle of banknotes, and threw them inmy face.

" 'Pay yourself, you villain!' said he.

"I can, I fear, never make you understand what I felt at thisundeserved insult. I was not myself, and Heaven knows that I was notresponsible for any crime that I might have committed in the frenzy ofthe moment, and I was nearly doing so. That man will, perhaps, neversee death so near him, save at his last hour. On his writing table layone of those Catalan daggers, which he evidently used as a paper-cutter. I snatched it up, and was about to strike, when therecollection of Marie dying of cold and starvation occurred to me. Idashed the knife to the ground, and rushed from the house in a statebordering on insanity. I went into that house an honest man, and leftit a degraded scoundrel. But I must finish. When I reached the street,the two banknotes which I had taken from the packet seemed to burn melike coals of fire. I hastened to a money-changer, and got coin forthem. I think, from my demeanor, he must have thought that I wasinsane. With my plunder weighing me down, I regained our wretchedgarret in the Rue de la Harpe. Catenac and Hortebise were waiting forme with the utmost anxiety. You remember that day, my friends.

Marquis, my story is especially intended for you. As soon as I enteredthe room, my friends ran up to me, delighted at seeing me return insafety, but I thrust them aside.

" 'Let me alone!' cried I; 'I am no longer fit to take an honest man'shand; but we have money, money!' And I threw the bags upon the table.

One of them burst, and a flood of silver coins rolled to every part ofthe room.

"Marie started from her chair with upraised hands. 'Money!' sherepeated, 'money! we shall have food, and I won't die.'

"My friends, Marquis, were not as they are now, and they started backin horror, fearing that I had committed some crime.

" 'No,' said I, 'I have committed no crime, not one, at least, thatwill bring me within the reach of the strong arm of the law. Thismoney is the price of our honor, but no one will know that fact butourselves.'

"Marquis, there was no sleeping in the garret all that night; but whendaylight peered through the broken windows, it beamed on a tablecovered with empty bottles, and round it were seated three men, who,having cast aside all honorable scruples, had sworn that they wouldarrive at wealth and prosperity by any means, no matter how foul andtreacherous they might be. That is all."
Chapter 18 AN INFAMOUS TRADE.
　　18Mascarin, who was anxious to make as deep an impression as possibleupon Croisenois and Paul, broke off his story abruptly, and paced upand down the room. Had his intention been to startle his audience, hehad most certainly succeeded. Paul was breathless with interest, andCroisenois broke down in attempting to make one of his usual trivialremarks. He was not particularly intelligent, except as regarded hisself-interests, and though, of course, he knew that there must be someconnection between his interests and the recital that Mascarin hadjust made, he could not for the life of him make out what it was.

Mascarin seemed utterly careless of the effect that he had produced.

But the next time that his walk brought him to his desk he stopped,and, adjusting his glasses, said, "I trust, Marquis, that you willforgive this long preliminary address, which would really make a goodsensational novel; but we have now arrived at the really practicalpart of the business." As he said these words, he took up an imposingattitude, with his elbow resting on the mantelpiece.

"On the night of which I have spoken, I and my friends releasedourselves from all the bonds of virtue and honor, and freed ourselvesfrom all the fetters of duty to our fellow-men. The plan emanated frommy brain complete in all its details in the will I made twenty yearsago to my friends. Marquis, as the summer goes on, you know that theripest and reddest cherries are the fullest flavored, just so, in thenoblest and wealthiest of families in Paris there is not one that hasnot some terrible and ghostly secret which is sedulously concealed.

Now, suppose that one man should gain possession of all of them, wouldhe not be sole and absolute master? Would he not be more powerful thana despot on his throne? Would he not be able to sway society in anymanner he might think fit? Well, I said to myself, I will be thatman!"Ever since the Marquis had been in relation with Mascarin, he hadshrewdly suspected that his business was not conducted on really fairprinciples.

"What you mention," said he, "is nothing but an elaborate and extendedsystem of blackmail."Mascarin bowed low, with an ironical smile on his face. "Just so,Marquis, just so; you have hit on the very name. The word is modern,but the operation doubtless dates from the earliest ages. The day uponwhich one man began to trade upon the guilty secret of another was thedate of the institution of this line of business. If antiquity makes athing respectable, then blackmailing is worthy of great respect.""But, sir," said the Marquis, with a flush upon his face, "but, sir--""Pshaw!" broke in Mascarin, "does a mere word frighten you? Who hasnot done some of it in his time? Why, look at yourself. Do you notrecollect this winter that you detected a young man cheating at cards?

You said nothing to him at the time, but you found out that he wasrich, and, calling upon him the next day, borrowed ten thousandfrancs. When do you intend to repay that loan?"Croisenois sank back in his chair, overcome with surprise at thisdisplay of knowledge on Mascarin's part. "This is too terrible,"muttered he, but Mascarin went on,--"I know, at least, two thousand persons in Paris who only exist by theexercise of this profession; for I have studied them all, from theconvict who screws money out of his former companions, in penalservitude, to the titled villain, who, having discovered the frailtyof some unhappy woman, forces her to give him her daughter as hiswife. I know a mere messenger in the Rue Douai, who in five yearsamassed a comfortable fortune. Can you guess how? When he wasintrusted with a letter, he invariably opened it, and made himselfmaster of its contents, and if there was a compromising word in it, hepounced down upon either the writer or the person to whom it wasaddressed. I also know of one large limited company which pays anannual income to a scoundrel with half a dozen foreign orders, who hasfound out that they have broken their statues of association, andholds proofs of their having done so. But the police are on the alert,and our courts deal very severely with blackmailers."Mascarin went on: "The English, however, are our masters, for inLondon a compromising servant is as easily negotiable as a sound billof exchange. There is in the city a respectable jeweller, who willadvance money on any compromising letter with a good name at the foot.

His shop is a regular pawnshop of infamy. In the States it has beenelevated to the dignity of a profession, and the citizen at New Yorkdreads the blackmailers more than the police, if he is meditating somedishonorable action. Our first operations did not bring in any quickreturns, and the harvest promised to be a late one; but you have comeupon us just as we are about to reap our harvest. The professions ofHortebise and Catenac--the one a doctor and the other a lawyer--facilitated our operations greatly. One administered to the diseasesof the body, and the other to that of the purse, and, of course, thusthey became professors of many secrets. As for me, the head and chief,it would not do to remain an idle looker-on. Our funds had dwindleddown a good deal, and, after mature consideration, I decided to hirethis house, and open a Servants' Registry Office. Such an occupationwould not attract any attention, and in the end it turned out aperfect success, as my friends can testify."Catenac and Hortebise both nodded assent.

"By the system which I have adopted," resumed Mascarin, "the wealthyand respectable man is as strictly watched in his own house as is thecondemned wretch in his cell; for no act of his escapes the eyes ofthe servants whom we have placed around him. He can hardly evenconceal his thoughts from us. Even the very secret that he hasmurmured to his wife with closed doors reaches our ears."The Marquis gave a supercilious smile.

"You must have had some inkling of this," observed Mascarin, "for youhave never taken a servant from our establishment; but for all that, Iam as well posted up in your affairs as yourself. You have even nowabout you a valet of whom you know nothing.""Morel was recommended to me by one of my most intimate friends--SirRichard Wakefield.""But for all that I have had my suspicions of him; but we will talk ofthis later, and we will now return to the subject upon which we havemet. As I told you, I conceal the immense power I had attained throughour agency, and use it as occasion presents itself, and after twentyyears' patient labor, I am about to reap a stupendous harvest. Thepolice pay enormous sums to their secret agents, while I, withoutopening my purse, have an army of devoted adherents. I see perhapsfifty servants of both sexes daily; calculate what this will amount toin a year."There was an air of complacency about the man as he explained theworking of his system, and a ring of triumph in his voice.

"You must not think that all my agents are in my secrets, for thegreater part of them are quite unaware of what they are doing, and inthis lies my strength. Each of them brings me a slender thread, whichI twine into the mighty cord by which I hold my slaves. Theseunsuspecting agents remind me of those strange Brazilian birds, whosepresence is a sure sign that water is to be found near at hand. Whenone of them utters a note, I dig, and I find. And now, Marquis, do youunderstand the aim and end of our association?""It has," remarked Hortebise quietly, "brought us in some years twohundred and fifty thousand francs apiece."If M. de Croisenois disliked prosy tales, he by no means underratedthe eloquence of figures. He knew quite enough of Paris to understandthat if Mascarin threw his net regularly, he would infallibly catchmany fish. With this conviction firmly implanted in his mind, he didnot require much urging to look with favor on the scheme, and, puttingon a gracious smile, he now asked, "And what must I do to deserveadmission into this association?"Paul had listened in wonder and terror, but by degrees all feelings ofdisgust at the criminality of these men faded away before the powerthat they unquestionably possessed.

"If," resumed Mascarin, "we have up to this met with no seriousobstacles, it is because, though apparently acting rashly, we are inreality most prudent and cautious. We have managed our slaves well,and have not driven any one to desperation. But we are beginning toweary of our profession; we are getting old, and we have need ofrepose. We intend, therefore, to retire, but before that we wish tohave all matters securely settled. I have an immense mass ofdocumentary evidence, but it is not always easy to realize the valuethey represent, and I wait upon your assistance to enable me to doso."Croisenois' face fell. Was he to take compromising letters round tohis acquaintances and boldly say, "Your purse or your honor?" He hadno objection to share the profits of this ignoble trade, but heobjected strongly to showing his connection with it openly. "No, no,"cried he hastily, "you must not depend upon me."He seemed so much in earnest that Hortebise and Catenac exchangedglances of dismay.

"Let us have no nonsense," returned Mascarin sternly, "and wait alittle before you display so much fierceness. I told you that mydocumentary evidence was of a peculiar kind. We very often had amongour fish married people who cannot deal with their personal property.

A husband, for instance, will say, 'I can't take ten thousand francswithout my wife, knowing of it.' Women say, 'Why, I get all my moneythrough my husband,' and both are telling the truth. They kneel at myfeet and entreat me to have mercy, saying, 'Find me some excuse forusing a portion of my funds and you shall have more than you ask.' Fora long time I have sought for this means, and at last I have found itin the Limited Company, which you, Marquis, will float next month.""Really!" returned the Marquis. "I do not see--""I beg your pardon; you see it all clearly. A husband who cannot,without fear of disturbing his domestic peace, put in five thousandfrancs, can put in ten thousand if he tells his wife, 'It is aninvestment;' and many a wife who has not any money of her own willpersuade her husband to bring in the money we require by the proposalto take shares. Now, what do you say to the idea?""I think that it is an excellent one, but what part am I to play init?""In taking the part of Chairman of the Company. I could not do so,being merely the proprietor of a Servant's Registry Office. Hortebise,as a doctor, and more than all a homeopath, would inspire noconfidence, and Catenac's legal profession prevents him appearing inthe matter openly. He will act as our legal adviser.""But really I do not see anything about me that would induce people toinvest," remarked De Croisenois.

"You are too modest; you have your name and rank, which, however wemay look upon them, have a great effect upon the general public. Thereare many Companies who pay directors of rank and credible connectionvery largely. Before starting this enterprise you can settle all yourdebts, and the world will then conclude that you are possessed ofgreat wealth, while, at the same time, the news of your approachingmarriage with Mademoiselle du Mussidan will be the general talk ofsociety. What better position could you be in?""But I have the reputation of being a reckless spendthrift.""All the better. The day the prospectus comes out with your name atthe head of it, there will be a universal burst of laughter. Men willsay, 'Do you see what Croisenois is at now? What on earth possessedhim to go into Company work?' But as this proceeding on your part willhave paid your debts and given you Mademoiselle Sabine's dowry, Ithink that the laugh will be on your side."The prospect dazzled Des Croisenois.

"And suppose I accept," asked he, "what will be the end of the farce?""Very simple. When all the shares are taken up, you will close theoffice and let the Company look after itself."Croisenois started to his feet angrily. "Why," cried he, "you intendto make a catspaw of me! Such a proceeding would send me to penalservitude.""What an ungrateful man he is!" said Mascarin, appealing to hisaudience, "when I am doing all I can to prevent his going there.""Sir!"But Catenac now felt it time to interfere. "You do not understand,"remarked he, addressing Croisenois. "You will start a Company for thedevelopment of some native product, let us say Pyrenean marble, forinstance, issue a prospectus, and the shares will be at once taken upby Mascarin's clients.""Well, what happens then?""Why, out of the funds thus obtained we will take care when the crashcomes to reimburse any outsiders who may have taken shares in theconcern, telling them that the thing has been a failure, and that weare ruined; while Mascarin will take care to obtain from all hisclients a discharge in full, so the Company will quietly collapse.""But," objected the Marquis, "all the shareholders will know that I ama rogue.""Naturally.""They would hold me in utter contempt.""Perhaps so, but they would never venture to let you see it. I neverthought that you would make objections; and whose character, howeverdeep, will bear investigation?""Are you sure that you hold your people securely?" asked he; "and thatnone of them will turn surly?"Mascarin was waiting for this question, and taking from his desk thepieces of cardboard which he took so much pains to arrange, hereplied, "I have here the names of three hundred and fifty people whowill each invest ten thousand francs in the Company. Listen to me, andjudge for yourself."He put all three pieces of cardboard together, and then drawing outone he read,--" 'N---, civil engineer. Five letters written by him to the gentlemanwho procured his appointment for him: worth fifteen thousand francs.'

" 'P---, merchant. Absolute proof that his last bankruptcy was afraudulent one, and that he kept back from his creditors two hundredthousand francs. Good for twenty thousand francs.'

" 'Madame V---. A photograph taken in very light and airy costume.

Poor, but can pay three thousand francs.'

" 'M. H---. Three letters from her mother, proving that the daughterhad compromised herself before marriage. Letter from a monthly nurseappended. Can be made to pay ten thousand francs.'

" 'X---, a portion of his correspondence with L--- in 1848. Threethousand francs.'

" 'Madame M. de M---. A true history of her adventure with M. J---.' "This sample was quite sufficient to satisfy M. de Croisenois.

"Enough," cried he, "I yield. I bow before your gigantic power, whichutterly surpasses that of the police. Give me your orders."Before this Mascarin had conquered Hortebise and Paul Violaine, andnow he had the Marquis at his feet. Many times during thisconversation the Marquis had more than once endeavored to make up hismind to withdraw entirely from the business, but he had been unable toresist the strange fascination of that mysterious person who had beenlaying bare his scheme with such extraordinary audacity. The fewvestiges of honesty that were still left in his corrupted soulrevolted at the thought of the shameful compact into which he wasabout to enter, but the dazzling prospect held out before his eyessilenced his scruples, and he felt a certain pride in being theassociate of men who possessed such seemingly illimitable power.

Mascarin saw that there was no longer any necessity for the extremefirmness with which he had before spoken, and it was with the moststudied courtesy that he replied: "I have no orders to give you,Marquis, our interests are identical, and we must all have a voice inthe deliberations as to the best means of carrying them out."This change from /hauteur/ to suavity gratified Croisenois' prideimmensely.

"Now," continued Mascarin, "let us speak of your own circumstances.

You wrote to me recently that you had nothing, and I am aware that youhave no expectations for the future.""Excuse me, but there is the fortune of my poor brother George, whodisappeared so mysteriously.""Let me assure you," answered Mascarin, "that we had better beperfectly frank with each other.""And am I not so?" answered the Marquis.

"Why, in talking of this imaginary fortune?""It is not imaginary; it is real, and a very large one, too, abouttwelve or fourteen hundred thousand francs, and I can obtain it, for,by Articles 127 and 129 of the Code Napoleon---"He interrupted himself, as he saw an expression of hardly-restrainedlaughter upon the features of Dr. Hortebise.

"Do not talk nonsense," answered Mascarin. "You could at first havefiled an affidavit regarding your brother's disappearance, and appliedto the Court to appoint you trustee, but this is now exactly what youwish to avoid.""Why not, pray? Do you think----""Pooh, pooh, but you have raised so much money on this inheritancethat there is nothing of it left hardly, certainly not sufficient topay your debts. It is the bait you used to allure your tradespeopleinto giving you credit."At finding himself so easily fathomed, Croisenois burst into a peel oflaughter. Mascarin had by this time thrown himself into an armchair,as though utterly worn out by fatigue.

"There is no necessity, Marquis," said he, "to detain you here longer.

We shall meet again shortly, and settle matters. Meanwhile Catenacwill draw up the prospectus and Articles of Association of theproposed Company, and post you up in the financial slang of which youmust occasionally make use."The Marquis and the lawyer at once rose and took their leave. As soonas the door had closed behind them, Mascarin seemed to recover hisenergy.

"Well, Paul," said he, "what do you think of all this?"Like all men with weak and ductile natures, Paul, after being almostprostrated by the first discovery of his master's villainy, had nowsucceeded in smothering the dictates of his conscience, and adopted acynical tone quite worthy of his companions.

"I see," said he, "that you have need of me. Well, I am not a Marquis,but you will find me quite as trustworthy and obedient."Paul's reply did not seem to surprise Mascarin, but it is doubtfulwhether he was pleased by it, for his countenance showed traces of astruggle between extreme satisfaction and intense annoyance, while thedoctor was surprised at the cool audacity of the young man whose mindhe had undertaken to form.

Paul was a little disturbed by the long and continued silence of hispatron, and at last he ventured to say timidly,--"Well, sir, I am anxious to know under what conditions I am to beshown the way to make my fortune and marry Mademoiselle Flavia Rigal,whom I love."Mascarin gave a diabolical smile.

"Whose dowry you love," he observed. "Let us speak plainly.""Pardon me, sir, I said just what I meant."The doctor, who had not Mascarin's reasons for gravity, now burst intoa jovial laugh.

"And that pretty Rose," said he, "what of her?""Rose is a creature of the past," answered Paul. "I can now see whatan idiot I was, and I have entirely effaced her from my memory, and Iam half inclined to deplore that Mademoiselle Rigal is an heiress, themore so if it is to form a barrier between us."This declaration seemed to make Mascarin more easy.

"Reassure yourself, my boy," said he, "we will remove that barrier;but I will not conceal from you that the part you have to play is muchmore difficult than that assigned to the Marquis de Croisenois; but ifit is harder and more perilous, the reward will be proportionatelygreater.""With your aid and advice I feel capable of doing everythingnecessary," returned Paul.

"You will need great self-confidence, the utmost self-possession, andas a commencement you must utterly destroy your present identity.""That I will do with the utmost willingness.""You must become another person entirely; you must adopt his name, hisgait, his behavior, his virtues, and even his failings. You mustforget all that you have either said or done. You must always thinkthat you are in reality the person you represent yourself to be, forthis is the only way in which you can lead others into a similarbelief. Your task will be a heavy one.""Ah, sir," cried the young man, enthusiastically, "can you doubt me?""The glorious beam of success that shines ahead of you will take yourattention from the difficulties and dangers of the road that you aretreading."The genial Dr. Hortebise rubbed his hands.

"You are right," cried he, "quite right.""When you have done this," resumed Mascarin, "we shall not hesitate toacquaint you with the secret of the lofty destiny that awaits you. Doyou understand me fully?"Here the speaker was interrupted by the entrance of Beaumarchef, whohad signified his desire to come in by three distinct raps upon thedoor. He was now gorgeous to look upon, for having taken advantage ofa spare half hour, he had donned his best clothes.

"What is it?" demanded Mascarin.

"Here are two letters, sir.""Thank you; hand them to me, and leave us."As soon as they were once more alone, Mascarin examined the letters.

"Ah," cried he, "one from Van Klopen, and the other from the Hotel deMussidan. Let us first see what our friend the man-milliner has tosay.

"DEAR SIR,--"You may be at ease. Our mutual friend Verminet has executed yourorders most adroitly. At his instigation Gaston de Gandelu hasforged the banker Martin Rigal's signature on five differentbills. I hold them, and awaiting your further orders regardingthem, and also with respect to Madame de Bois Arden,"I remain your obedient servant,"VAN KLOPEN."Tossing it on the table, Mascarin opened the other letter, which healso read aloud.

"SIR,--"I have to report to you the breaking off of the marriage betweenMademoiselle Sabine and M. de Breulh-Faverlay. Mademoiselle isvery ill, and I heard the medical man say that she might notsurvive the next twenty-four hours.

"FLORESTAN."Mascarin was so filled with rage on learning this piece of news, whichseemed likely to interfere with his plans, that he struck his handdown heavily on the table.

"Damnation!" cried he. "If this little fool should die now, all ourwork will have to be recommenced."He thrust aside his chair, and paced hurriedly up and down the room.

"Florestan is right," said he; "this illness of the girl comes on atthe date of the rupture of the engagement. There is some secret thatwe must learn, for we dare not work in the dark.""Shall I go to the Hotel de Mussidan?" asked Hortebise.

"Not a bad idea. Your carriage is waiting, is it not? You can go inyour capacity as a medical man."The doctor was preparing to go, when Mascarin arrested his progress.

"No," said he, "I have changed my mind. We must neither of us be seennear the place. I expect that one of our mines has exploded; that theCount and Countess have exchanged confidences, and that between thetwo the daughter has been struck down.""How shall we find this out?""I will see Florestan and try and find out."In an instant he vanished into his inner room, and as he changed hisdress, continued to converse with the doctor.

"This blow would be comparatively trifling, if I had not so much onhand, but I have Paul to look after. The Champdoce affair must bepressed on, for Catenac, the traitor, has put the Duke and Perpignaninto communication. I must see Perpignan and discover how much hasbeen told him, and how much he has guessed. I will also see CarolineSchimmel, and extract something from her. I wish to heaven that therewere thirty-six hours in the day instead of only twenty-four."By this time he had completed his change of costume and called thedoctor into his room.

"I am off, now," whispered he; "do not lose sight of Paul for a singleinstant, for we are not sufficiently sure of him to let him go aboutalone with our secret in his possession. Take him to dine at MartinRigal's, and then make some excuse for keeping him all night at yourrooms. See me to-morrow."And he went out so hurriedly that he did not hear the cheery voice ofthe doctor calling after him,--"Good luck; I wish you all good luck."
Chapter 19 A FRIENDLY RIVAL
　　19On leaving the Hotel de Mussidan, M. de Breulh-Faverlay dismissed hiscarriage, for he felt as a man often does after experiencing someviolent emotion, the absolute necessity for exercise, and to be alonewith his thoughts, and by so doing recover his self-possession. Hisfriends would have been surprised if they had seen him pacinghurriedly along the Champs Elysees. The usual calm of his manner hadvanished, and the generally calm expression of his features wasentirely absent. As he walked, he talked to himself, and gesticulated.

"And this is what we call being a man of the world. We think ourselvestrue philosophers, and a look from a pair of beautiful, pleading eyesscatters all our theories to the winds."He had loved Sabine upon the day on which he had asked for her hand,but not so fondly as upon this day when he had learned that she couldno longer be his wife, for, from the moment he had made thisdiscovery, she seemed to him more gifted and fascinating than ever. Noone could have believed that he, the idol of society, the petteddarling of the women, and the successful rival of the men, could havebeen refused by the young girl to whom he had offered his hand.

"Yes," murmured he with a sigh, "for she is just the companion forlife that I longed for. Where could I find so intelligent an intellectand so pure a mind, united with such radiant beauty, so different fromthe women of society, who live but for dress and gossip. Has Sabineanything in common with those giddy girls who look upon life as aperpetual value, and who take a husband as they do a partner, becausethey cannot dance without one? How her face lighted up as she spoke ofhim, and how thoroughly she puts faith in him! The end of it all isthat I shall die a bachelor. In my old age I will take to thepleasures of the table, for an excellent authority declares that a mancan enjoy his four meals a day with comfort. Well, that is somethingto look forward to certainly, and it will not impair my digestion ifmy heirs and expectants come and squabble round my armchair. Ah," headded, with a deep sigh, "my life has been a failure."M. de Breulh-Faverlay was a very different type of man to that whichboth his friends and his enemies popularly supposed him to be. Uponthe death of his uncle, he had plunged into the frivolous vortex ofParisian dissipation, but of this he had soon wearied.

All that he had cared for was to see the doings of his racehorsechronicled in the sporting journals, and occasionally to expend a fewthousand francs in presents of jewelry to some fashionable actress.

But he had secretly longed for some more honorable manner offulfilling his duties in life, and he had determined that before hismarriage he would sell his stud and break with his old associatesentirely; and now this wished-for marriage would never take place.

When he entered his club, the traces of his agitation were so visibleupon his face, that some of the card-players stopped their game toinquire if Chambertin, the favorite for the Chantilly cup, had brokendown.

"No, no," replied he, as he hurriedly made his way to the writing-room, "Chambertin is as sound as a bell.""What the deuce has happened to De Breulh?" asked one of the members.

"Goodness gracious!" remarked the man to whom the question wasaddressed, "he seems in a hurry to write a letter."The gentleman was right. M. de Breulh was writing a withdrawal fromhis demand for Sabine's hand to M. de Mussidan, and he found the taskby no means an easy one, for on reading it over he found that therewas a valid strain of bitterness throughout it, which would surelyattract attention and perhaps cause embarrassing questions to be putto him.

"No," murmured he, "this letter is quite unworthy of me." And tearingit up, he began another, in which he strung together severalconventional excuses, alleging the difficulty of breaking off hisformer habits and of an awkward entanglement which he had been unableto break with, as he had anticipated. When this little masterpiece ofdiplomacy was completed, he rang the bell, and, handing it to one ofthe club servants, told him to take it to the Count de Mussidan'shouse. When this unpleasant duty was over, M. de Breulh had hoped toexperience some feeling of relief, but in this he was mistaken. Hetried cards, but rose from the table in a quarter of an hour; heordered dinner, but appetite was wanting; he went to the opera, butthen he did nothing but yawn, and the music grated on his nerves. Atlength he returned home. The day had seemed interminable, and he couldnot sleep, for Sabine's face was ever before him. Who could this manbe whom she so fondly loved and preferred before all others? Herespected her too much not to feel assured that her choice was aworthy one, but his experience had taught him that when so many men ofthe world fell into strange entanglements, a poor girl withoutknowledge of the dangers around her might easily be entrapped. "If heis worthy of her," thought he, "I will do my best to aid her; but ifnot, I will open her eyes."At four o'clock in the morning he was still seated musing before theexpiring embers of his fire; he had made up his mind to see Andre--there was no difficulty in this, for a man of taste and wealth canfind a ready excuse for visiting the studio of a struggling artist. Hehad no fixed plan as to what he would say or do, he left all tochance, and with this decision he went to bed, and by two in theafternoon he drove straight to the Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne.

Andre's discreet portress was as usual leaning on her boom in thegallery as M. de Breulh's magnificent equipage drew up.

"Gracious me!" exclaimed the worthy woman, dazzled by the gorgeousnessof the whole turnout; "he can't be coming here, he must have mistakenthe house."But her amazement reach its height when M. de Breulh, on alighting,asked for Andre.

"Fourth story, first door to the right," answered the woman; "but Iwill show you the way.""Don't trouble yourself;" and with these words M. de Breulh ascendedthe staircase that led to the painter's studio and knocked on thedoor. As he did so, he heard a quick, light step upon the stairs, anda young and very dark man, dressed in a weaver's blouse and carrying atin pail which he had evidently just filled with water from thecistern, came up.

"Are you M. Andre?" asked De Breulh.

"That is my name, sir.""I wish to say a few words to you.""Pray come in," replied the young artist, opening the door of hisstudio and ushering his visitor in. Andre's voice and expression hadmade a favorable impression upon his visitor; but he was, in spite ofhis having thrown aside nearly all foolish prejudices, a littlestartled at his costume. He did not, however, allow his surprise to bevisible.

"I ought to apologize for receiving you like this," remarked Andrequickly, "but a poor man must wait upon himself." As he spoke, hethrew off his blouse and set down the pail in a corner of the room.

"I rather should offer my excuse for my intrusion," returned M. deBreulh. "I came here by the advice of one of my friends;" he stoppedfor an instant, endeavoring to think of a name.

"By Prince Crescensi, perhaps," suggested Andre.

"Yes, yes," continued M. de Breulh, eagerly snatching at the rope theartist held out to him. "The Prince sings your praises everywhere, andspeaks of your talents with the utmost enthusiasm. I am, on hisrecommendation, desirous of commissioning you to paint a picture forme, and I can assure you that in my gallery it will have no need to beashamed of its companions."Andre bowed, coloring deeply at the compliment.

"I am obliged to you," said he, "and I trust that you will not bedisappointed in taking the Prince's opinion of my talent.""Why should I be so?""Because, for the last four months I have been so busy that I havereally nothing to show you.""That is of no importance. I have every confidence in you.""Then," returned Andre, "all that we have to do is to choose asubject."Andre's manner had by this time so captivated De Breulh that hemuttered to himself, "I really ought to hate this fellow, but on myword I like him better than any one I have met for a long time."Andre had by this time placed a large portfolio on the table. "Here,"said he, "are some twenty or thirty sketches; if any of them took yourfancy, you could make your choice.""Let me see them," returned De Breulh politely, for having made anestimate of the young man's character, he now wished to see what hisartistic talents were like. With this object in view he examined allthe sketches in the portfolio minutely, and then turned to those onthe walls. Andre said nothing, but he somehow felt that this visitwould prove the turning-point of his misfortunes. But for all that theyoung man's heart was very sad, for it was two days since Sabine hadleft him, promising to write to him the next morning regarding M. deBreulh-Faverlay, but as yet he had received no communication, and hewas on the tenterhooks of expectation, not because he had any doubt ofSabine, but for the reason that he had no means of obtaining anyinformation of what went on in the interior of the Hotel de Mussidan.

M. de Breulh had now finished his survey, and had come to theconclusion that though many of Andre's productions were crude andlacking in finish, yet that he had the true artistic metal in him. Heextended his hand to the young man and said forcibly, "I am no longerinfluenced by the opinion of a friend. I have seen and judged formyself, and am more desirous than ever of possessing one of yourpictures. I have made my choice of a subject, and now let us discussthe details."As he spoke he handed a little sketch to Andre. It was a view ofeveryday life, which the painter had entitled, "Outside the Barrier."Two men with torn garments and wine-flushed faces were struggling intipsy combat, while on the right hand side of the picture lay a woman,bleeding profusely from a cut on the forehead, and two of herterrified companions were bending over her, endeavoring to restore herto consciousness. In the background were some flying figures, who werehastening up to separate the combatants. The sketch was one of reallife, denuded of any sham element of romance, and this was the onethat M. de Breulh had chosen. The two men discussed the size of thepicture, and not a single detail was omitted.

"I am sure that you will do all that is right," remarked De Breulh.

"Let your own inspiration guide you, and all will be well." In realityhe was dying to get away, for he felt in what a false position he was,and with a violent effort he approached the money part of the matter.

"Monsieur," said Andre, "it is impossible to fix a price; whencompleted, a picture may only be worth the canvas that it is paintedon, or else beyond all price. Let us wait.""Well," broke in M. de Breulh, "what do you say to ten thousandfrancs?""Too much," returned Andre with a deprecatory wave of his hand; "fartoo much. If I succeed in it, as I hope to do, I will ask six thousandfrancs for it.""Agreed!" answered De Breulh, taking from his pocket an elegant note-case with his crest and monogram upon it and extracting from it threethousand francs. "I will, as is usual, deposit half the price inadvance."Andre blushed scarlet. "You are joking," said he.

"Not at all," answered De Breulh quietly; "I have my own way of doingbusiness, from which I never deviate."In spite of this answer Andre's pride was hurt.

"But," remarked he, "this picture will not be ready for perhaps six orseven months. I have entered into a contract with a wealthy builder,named Candele, to execute the outside decorations of his house.""Never mind that," answered M. de Breulh; "take as long as you like."Of course, after this, Andre could offer no further opposition; hetherefore took the money without another word.

"And now," said De Breulh, as he paused for a moment at the opendoorway, "let me wish you my good luck, and if you will come andbreakfast with me one day, I think I can show you some pictures whichyou will really appreciate." And handing his card to the artist, hewent downstairs.

At first Andre did not glance at the card, but when he did so, theletters seemed to sear his eyeballs like a red-hot iron. For a momenthe could hardly breathe, and then a feeling of intense anger tookpossession of him, for he felt that he had been trifled with anddeceived.

Hardly knowing what he was doing, he rushed out on the landing, and,leaning over the banister, called out loudly, "Sir, stop a moment!"De Breulh, who had by this time reached the bottom of the staircase,turned round.

"Come back, if you please," said Andre.

After a moment's hesitation, De Breulh obeyed; and when he was againin the studio, Andre addressed him in a voice that quivered withindignation.

"Take back these notes, sir; I will not accept them.""What do you mean?""Only that I have thought the matter over, and that I will not acceptyour commission.""And why this sudden change?""You know perfectly well, M. de Breulh-Faverlay."The gentleman at once saw that Sabine had mentioned his name to theyoung artist, and with a slight lacking of generous feeling said,--"Let me hear your reasons, sir.""Because, because----" stammered the young man.

"Because is not answer."Andre's confusion became greater. He would not tell the whole truth,for he would have died sooner than bring Sabine's name into thediscussion; and he could only see one way out of his difficulty.

"Suppose I say that I do not like your manner or appearance," returnedhe disdainfully.

"Is it your wish to insult me, M. Andre?""As you choose to take it."M. de Breulh was not gifted with an immense stock of patience. Heturned livid, and made a step forward; but his generous impulsesrestrained him, and it was in a voice broken by agitation that hesaid,--"Accept my apologies, M. Andre; I fear that I have played a partunworthy of you and of myself. I ought to have given you my name atonce. I know everything.""I do not comprehend you," answered Andre in a glacial voice.

"Why doubt, then, if you do not understand? However, I have given youcause to do so. But, let me reassure you, Mademoiselle Sabine hasspoken to me with the utmost frankness; and, if you still distrust me,let me tell you that this veiled picture is her portrait. I will saymore," continued De Breulh gravely, as the artist still kept silent;"yesterday, at Mademoiselle de Mussidan's request, I withdrew from myposition as a suitor for her hand."Andre had already been touched by De Breulh's frank and open manner,and these last words entirely conquered him.

"I can never thank you enough," began he.

But De Breulh interrupted him.

"A man should not be thanked for performing his duty. I should lie toyou if I said that I am not painfully surprised at her communication;but tell me, had you been in my place, would you not have acted in thesame manner?""I think that I should.""And now we are friends, are we not?" and again De Breulh held out hishand, which Andre clasped with enthusiasm.

"Yes, yes," faltered he.

"And now," continued De Breulh, with a forced smile, "let us say nomore about the picture, which was, after all, merely a pretext. As Icame here I said to myself, 'If the man to whom Mademoiselle deMussidan has given her heart is worthy of her, I will do all I can toadvance his suit with her family!' I came here to see what you werelike; and now I say to you, do me a great honor, and permit me toplace myself, my fortune, and the influence of my friends, at yourdisposal."The offer was made in perfect good faith, but Andre shook his head.

"I shall never forget your kindness in making this offer, but----"; hepaused for a moment, and then went on: "I will be as open as you havebeen, and will tell you the whole truth. You may think me foolish; butremember, though I am poor, I have still my self-respect to maintain.

I love Sabine, and would give my life for her. Do not be offended atwhat I am about to say. I would, however, sooner give up her hand thanbe indebted for it to you.""But this is mere madness.""No, sir, it is the purest wisdom; for were I to accede to yourwishes, I should feel deeply humiliated by the thought of your self-denial; for I should be madly jealous of the part you were playing.

You are of high birth and princely fortune, while I am utterlyfriendless and unknown; all that I am deficient in you possess.""But I have been poor myself," interposed De Breulh, "and perhapsendured even greater miseries than ever you have done. Do you knowwhat I was doing at your age? I was slowly starving to death atSonora, and had to take the humblest position in a cattle ranch. Doyou think that those days taught me nothing?""You will be able to judge me all the more clearly then," returnedAndre. "If I raise myself up to Sabine's level, as she begged me to,then I shall feel that I am your equal; but if I accept your aid, I amyour dependent; and I will obey her wishes or perish in the effort."Up to this moment the passion which stirred Andre's inmost soul hadbreathed in every word he uttered; but, checking himself by a mightyeffort, he resumed in a tone of greater calmness,--"But I ought to remember how much we already owe you, and I hope thatyou will allow me to call myself your friend?"M. de Breulh's noble nature enabled him to understand Andre'sscruples; his feelings, however, would not for the instant enable himto speak. He slowly put the notes back in their receptacle, and thensaid in a low voice,--"Your conduct is that of an honorable man; and remember this, at alltimes and seasons you may rely upon De Breulh-Faverlay. Farewell!"As soon as he was alone, Andre threw himself into an armchair, andmused over this unexpected interview, which had proved a source ofsuch solace to his feelings. All that he now longed for was a letterfrom Sabine. At this moment the portress entered with a letter. Andrewas so occupied with his thoughts that he hardly noticed this act ofcondescension on the part of the worthy woman.

"A letter!" exclaimed he; and, tearing it open, he glanced at thesignature. But Sabine's name was not there; it was signed Modeste.

What could Sabine's maid have to say to him? He felt that some greatmisfortune was impending, and, trembling with excitement, he read theletter.

"SIR,--"I write to tell you that my mistress has succeeded in the mattershe spoke of to you; but I am sorry to say that I have bad news togive you, for she is seriously ill.""Ill!" exclaimed Andre, crushing up the letter in his hands, anddashing it upon the floor. "Ill! ill!" he repeated, not heeding thepresence of the portress; "why, she may be dead;" and, snatching uphis hat, he dashed downstairs into the street.

As soon as the portress was left alone, she picked up the letter,smoothed it out, and read it.

"And so," murmured she, "the little lady's name was Sabine--a prettyname; and she is ill, is she? I expect that the old gent who calledthis morning, and asked so many questions about M. Andre, would give agood deal for this note; but no, that would not be fair."
Chapter 20 A COUNCIL OF WAR.
　　20Mad with his terrible forebodings, Andre hurried through the streetsin the direction of the Hotel de Mussidan, caring little for theattention that his excited looks and gestures caused. He had no fixedplan as to what to do when he arrived there, and it was only onreaching the Rue de Matignon that he recovered sufficient coolness todeliberate and reflect.

He had arrived at the desired spot; how should he set to work toobtain the information that he required? The evening was a dark one,and the gas-lamps showed a feeble light through the dull February fog.

There were no signs of life in the Rue de Matignon, and the silencewas only broken by the continuous surge of carriage wheels in theFaubourg Saint Honore. This gloom, and the inclemency of the weather,added to the young painter's depression. He saw his utterhelplessness, and felt that he could not move a step withoutcompromising the woman he so madly adored. He walked to the gate ofthe house, hoping to gain some information even from the exterioraspect of the house; for it seemed to him that if Sabine were dying,the very stones in the street would utter sounds of woe andlamentation; but the fog had closely enwrapped the house, and he couldhardly see which of the windows were lighted. His reasoning facultiestold him that there was no use in waiting, but an inner voice warnedhim to stay. Would Modeste, who had written to him, divine, by somemeans that he was there, in an agony of suspense, and come out to givehim information and solace? All at once a thought darted across hismind, vivid as a flash of lightning.

"M. de Breulh will help me," cried he; "for though I cannot go to thehouse, he will have no difficulty in doing so."By good luck, he had M. de Breulh's card in his pocket, and hurriedoff to his address. M. de Breulh had a fine house in the Avenue del'Imperatrice, which he had taken more for the commodiousness of thestables than for his own convenience.

"I wish to see M. de Breulh," said Andre, as he stopped breathless atthe door, where a couple of footmen were chatting.

The men looked at him with supreme contempt. "He is out," one of themat last condescended to reply.

Andre had by this time recovered his coolness, and taking out DeBreulh's card, wrote these words on it in pencil: "One moment'sinterview. ANDRE.""Give this to your master as soon as he comes in," said he.

Then he descended the steps slowly. He was certain that M. de Breulhwas in the house, and that he would send out after the person who hadleft the card almost at once. His conclusion proved right; in fiveminutes he was overtaken by the panting lackey, who, conducting himback to the house, showed him into a magnificently furnished library.

De Breulh feared that some terrible event had taken place.

"What has happened?" said he.

"Sabine is dying;" and Andre at once proceeded to inform De Breulh ofwhat had happened since his departure.

"But how can I help you?""You can go and make inquiries at the house.""Reflect; yesterday I wrote to the Count, and broke off a marriage,the preliminaries of which had been completely settled; and withintwenty-four hours to send and inquire after his daughter's healthwould be to be guilty of an act of inexcusable insolence; for it wouldlook as if I fancied that Mademoiselle de Mussidan had been struckdown by my rupture of the engagement.""You are right," murmured Andre dejectedly.

"But," continued De Breulh, after a moment's reflection, "I have adistant relative, a lady who is also a connection of the Mussidanfamily, the Viscountess de Bois Arden, and she will be glad to be ofservice to me. She is young and giddy, but as true as steel. Come withme to her; my carriage is ready."The footman were surprised at seeing their master on such terms ofintimacy with the shabbily dressed young man, but ventured, of course,on no remarks.

Not a word was exchanged during the brief drive to Madame de BoisArden's house.

"Wait for me," exclaimed De Breulh, springing from the vehicle as soonas it drew up; "I will be back directly."Madame de Bois Arden is justly called one of the handsomest women inParis. Very fair, with masses of black hair, and a complexion to whichart has united itself to the gifts of nature, she is a woman who hasbeen everywhere, knows everything, talks incessantly, and generallyvery well. She spends forty thousand francs per annum on dress. She isalways committing all sorts of imprudent acts, and scandal is everbusy with her name. Half a dozen of the opposite sex have been talkedof in connection with her, while in reality she is a true and faithfulwife, for, in spite of all her frivolity, she adores her husband, andis in great awe of him. Such was the character of the lady into whoseapartment M. de Breulh was introduced. Madame de Bois Arden wasengaged in admiring a very pretty fancy costume of the reign of LouisXV., one of Van Klopen's masterpieces, when M. de Breulh wasannounced, which she was going to wear, on her return from the opera,at a masquerade ball at the Austrian Ambassador's. Madame de BoisArden greeted her visitor with effusion, for they had beenacquaintances from childhood, and always addressed each other by theirChristian names.

"What, you here at this hour, Gontran!" said the lady. "Is it avision, or only a miracle?" But the smile died away upon her lips, asshe caught a glimpse of her visitor's pale and harassed face. "Isthere anything the matter?" asked she.

"Not yet," answered he, "but there may be, for I hear thatMademoiselle de Mussidan is dangerously ill.""Is she really? Poor Sabine! what is the matter with her?""I do not know; and I want you, Clotilde, to send one of your peopleto inquire into the truth of what we have heard."Madame de Bois Arden opened her eyes very wide.

"Are you joking?" said she. "Why do you not send yourself?""It is impossible for me to do so; and if you have any kindness ofheart, you do as I ask you; and I want you also to promise me not tosay a word of this to any one."Excited as she was by this mystery, Madame de Bois Arden did not askanother question.

"I will do exactly what you want," replied she, "and respect yoursecret. I would go at once, were it not that Bois Arden will never sitdown to dinner without me; but the moment we have finished I will go.""Thanks, a thousand times; and now I will go home and wait for newsfrom you.""Not at all,--you will remain here to dinner.""I must,--I have a friend waiting for me.""Do as you please, then," returned the Viscountess, laughing. "I willsend round a note this evening."De Breulh pressed her hand, and hurried down, and was met by Andre atthe door, for he had been unable to sit still in the carriage.

"Keep up your courage. Madame de Bois Arden had not heard ofMademoiselle Sabine's illness, and this looks as if it was not a veryserious matter. We shall have the real facts in three hours.""Three hours!" groaned Andre, "what a lapse of time!""It is rather long, I admit; but we will talk of her while we wait,for you must stay and dine with me."Andre yielded, for he had no longer the energy to contest anything.

The dinner was exquisite, but the two men were not in a condition ofmind to enjoy it, and scarcely consumed anything. Vainly did theyendeavor to speak on indifferent subjects, and when the coffee hadbeen served in the library, they relapsed into utter silence. As theclock struck ten, however, a knock was heard at the door, thenwhisperings, and the rustle of female attire, and lastly Madame deBois Arden burst upon them like a tornado.

"Here I am," cried she.

It was certainly rather a hazardous step to pay such a late visit to abachelor's house, but then the Viscountess de Bois Arden did exactlyas she pleased.

"I have come here, Gontran," exclaimed she, with extreme vehemence,"to tell you that I think your conduct is abominable andungentlemanly.""Clotilde!""Hold your tongue! you are a wretch! Ah! now I can see why you did notwish to write and inquire about poor Sabine. You well knew the effectthat your message would have on her."M. de Breulh smiled as he turned to Andre and said,--"You see that I was right in what I told you."This remark for the first time attracted Madame de Bois Arden'sattention to the fact that a stranger was present, and she trembledlest she had committed some grave indiscretion.

"Gracious heavens!" exclaimed she, with a start, "why, I thought thatwe were alone!""This gentleman has all my confidence," replied M. de Breulhseriously; and as he spoke he laid his hand upon Andre's shoulder.

"Permit me to introduce M. Andre to you, my dear Clotilde; he may notbe known to-day, but in a short time his reputation will be European."Andre bowed, but for once in her life the Viscountess feltembarrassed, for she was surprised at the extremely shabby attire ofthis confidential friend, and then there seemed something wanting tothe name.

"Then," resumed De Breulh, "Mademoiselle de Mussidan is really ill,and our information is correct.""She is.""Did you see her?""I did, Gontran; and had you seen her, your heart would have beenfilled with pity, and you would have repented your conduct toward her.

The poor girl did not even know me. She lay in her bed, whiter thanthe very sheets, cold and inanimate as a figure of marble. Her largeblack eyes were staring wildly, and the only sign of life sheexhibited was when the great tears coursed down her cheeks."Andre had determined to restrain every token of emotion in thepresence of the Viscountess, but her recital was too much for him.

"Ah!" said he, "she will die; I know it."There was such intense anguish in his tone that even the practisedwoman of the world was softened.

"I assure you, sir," said she, "that you go too far; there is nopresent danger; the doctors say it is catalepsy, which often attackspersons of a nervous temperament upon the receipt of a sudden mentalshock.""But what shock has she received?" asked Andre.

"No one told me," answered she after a short pause, "that Sabine'sillness was caused by the breaking off of her engagement; but, ofcourse, I supposed that it was.""That was not the reason, Clotilde; but you have told us nothing;pray, go on," interposed De Breulh.

The extreme calmness of her cousin, and a glance which she observedpassing between him and Andre, enlightened the Viscountess somewhat.

"I asked as much as I dared," she replied, "but I could only get thevaguest answers. Sabine looked as if she were dead, and her father andmother hovered around her couch like two spectres. Had they slain herwith their own hands, they could not have looked more guilty; theirfaces frightened me.""Tell me precisely what answers were given to your questions," brokein he impatiently.

"Sabine had seemed so agitated all day, that her mother asked her ifshe was suffering any pain.""We know that already.""Indeed!" replied the Viscountess, with a look of surprise. "It seems,cousin, that you saw Sabine that afternoon, but what became of herafterward no one appears to know; but there is positive proof that shedid not leave the house, and received no letters. At all events, itwas more than an hour after her maid saw her enter her own room.

Sabine said a few unintelligible words to the girl, who, seeing thepallor upon her mistress's face, ran up to her. Just as she did so,Sabine uttered a wild shriek, and fell to the ground. She was raisedup and laid upon the bed, but since then she has neither moved norspoken.""That is not all," said De Breulh, who had watched his cousin keenly.

The Viscountess started, and avoided meeting her cousin's eye.

"I do not understand," she faltered. "Why do you look at me likethat?"De Breulh, who had been pacing up and down the room, suddenly haltedin front of the Viscountess.

"My dear Clotilde," said he, "I am sure when I tell you that thetongue of scandal has often been busy with your name, I am telling younothing new.""Pooh!" answered the Viscountess. "What do I care for that?""But I always defended you. You are indiscreet--your presence heretonight shows this; but you are, after all, a true woman,--brave andtrue as steel.""What do you mean by this exordium, Gontran?""This, Clotilde,--I want to know if I dare venture to intrust to you asecret which involves the honor of two persons, and, perhaps, thelives of more.""Thank you, Gontran," answered she calmly. "You have formed a correctjudgment of me."But here Andre felt that he must interpose, and, taking a stepforward, said, "Have you the right to speak?""My dear Andre," said De Breulh, "this is a matter in which my honoris as much concerned as yours. Will you not trust me?" Then turning tothe Viscountess, he added, "Tell us all you heard.""It is only something I heard from Modeste. You had hardly left thehouse, when the Baron de Clinchain made his appearance.""An eccentric old fellow, a friend of the Count de Mussidan's. I knowhim.""Just so; well, they had a stormy interview, and at the end of it, theBaron was taken ill, and it was with difficulty that he regained hiscarriage.""That seems curious.""Wait a bit. After that Octave and his wife had a terrible scenetogether, and Modeste thinks that her mistress must have heardsomething, for the Count's voice rang through the house like thunder."Every word that the Viscountess uttered strengthened De Breulh'ssuspicions. "There is something mysterious in all this, Clotilde,"said he, "as you will say when you know the whole truth," and, withoutomitting a single detail, he related the whole of Sabine and Andre'slove story.

Madame de Bois Arden listened attentively, sometimes thrilled withhorror, and at others pleased with this tale of innocent love.

"Forgive me," said she, when her cousin had concluded; "my reproachesand accusations were equally unfounded.""Yes, yes; never mind that; but I am afraid that there is some hiddenmystery which will place a fresh stumbling-block in our friend Andre'spath.""Do not say that," cried Andre, in terror. "What is it?""That I cannot tell; for Mademoiselle de Mussidan's sake, I havewithdrawn all my pretensions to her hand,--not to leave the field opento any other intruder, but in order that she may be your wife.""How are we to learn what has really happened?" asked the Viscountess.

"In some way or other we shall find out, if you will be our ally."Most women are pleased to busy themselves about a marriage, and theViscountess was cheered to find herself mixed up in so romantic adrama.

"I am entirely at your beck and call," answered she. "Have you anyplan?""Not yet, but I will soon. As far as Mademoiselle de Mussidan isconcerned, we must act quite openly. Andre will write to her, askingfor an explanation, and you shall see her to-morrow, and if she iswell enough, give her his note."The proposal was a startling one, and the Viscountess did notentertain it favorably.

"No," said she, "I think that would not do at all.""Why not? However, let us leave it to Andre."Andre, thus addressed, stepped forward, and said,--"I do not think that it would be delicate to let Mademoiselle deMussidan know that her secret is known to any one else thanourselves."The Viscountess nodded assent.

"If," continued Andre, "the Viscountess will be good enough to askModeste to meet me at the corner of the Avenue de Matignon; I shall bethere.""A capital idea, sir," said the lady, "and I will give your message toModeste." She broke off her speech suddenly, and uttered a prettylittle shriek, as she noticed that the hands of the clock on themantelpiece pointed to twenty to twelve. "Great heavens!" cried she,"and I am going to a ball at the Austrian Embassy, and now not evendressed." And, with a coquettish gesture, she drew her shawl aroundher, and ran out of the room, exclaiming as she descended the stairs,"I will call here to-morrow, Gontran, on my way to the Bois," anddisappeared like lightning.

Andre and his host sat over the fire, and conversed for a long time.

It seemed strange that two men who had met that morning for the firsttime should now be on such intimate terms of friendship; but such wasthe case, for a mutual feeling of admiration and respect had sprung upin their hearts.

M. de Breulh wished to send Andre home in his carriage, but this theyoung man declined, and merely borrowed an overcoat to protect himfrom the inclemency of the weather.

"To-morrow," said he, as he made his way home, "Modeste shall tell allshe knows, provided always that that charming society dame does notforget all about our existence before then."Madame de Bois Arden, however, could sometimes be really in earnest.

Upon her return from the ball she would not even go to bed, lest sheshould oversleep herself, and the next day Andre found Modeste waitingat the appointed spot, and learnt, to his great grief, that Sabine hadnot yet regained consciousness.

The family doctor betrayed no uneasiness, but expressed a wish for aconsultation with another medical man. Meanwhile, the girl promised tomeet Andre morning and evening in the same place, and give him suchscraps of information as she had been able to pick up. For two wholedays Mademoiselle de Mussidan's condition remained unchanged, andAndre spent his whole time between his own studio, the Avenue deMatignon, and M. de Breulh's, where he frequently met Madame de BoisArden.

But on the third day Modest informed him, with tears in her eyes, thatthough the cataleptic fit had passed away, Sabine was struggling witha severe attack of fever. Modeste and Andre were so interested intheir conversation, that they did not perceive Florestan, who had goneout to post a letter to Mascarin.

"Listen, Modeste," whispered Andre, "you tell me that she is indanger,--very great danger.""The doctor said that the crisis would take place to-day; be here atfive this evening."Andre staggered like a madman to De Breulh's house; and so excited washe that his friend insisted upon his taking some repose, and wouldnot, when five o'clock arrived, permit Andre to go to the appointmentalone. As they turned the corner, they saw Modeste hurrying towardthem.

"She is saved, she is saved!" said she, "for she has fallen into atranquil sleep, and the doctor says that she will recover."Andre and De Breulh were transported by this news; but they did notknow that they were watched by two men, Mascarin and Florestan, whodid not let one of their movements escape them. Warned by a brief notefrom Florestan, Mascarin had driven swiftly to Father Canon's public-house, where he thought he was certain to find the domestic, but theman was not there, and Mascarin, unable to endure further suspense,sent for him to the Hotel de Mussidan. When the servant informedMascarin that the crisis was safely passed, he drew a deep breath ofrelief; for he no longer feared that the frail structure that he hadbuilt up with such patient care for twenty long years would beshattered at a blow by the chill hand of death. He bent his brow,however, when he heard of Modeste's daily interviews with the youngman whom Florestan termed "Mademoiselle's lover.""Ah," muttered he, "if I could only be present at one of thoseinterviews!""And, as you say," returned Florestan, drawing out, as he spoke, aneat-looking watch, "it is just the hour of their meeting; and as theplace is always the same, you--""Come, then," broke in his patron. They went out accordingly, andreached the Champs Elysees by a circuitous route. The place wasadmirably suited to their purpose, for close by were several of thoselittle wooden huts, occupied in summer by the vendors of cakes andplaythings.

"Let us get behind one of these," said Florestan. Night was drawingin, but objects could still be distinguished, and in about fiveminutes Florestan whispered, "Look, there comes Modeste, and there isthe lover, but he has a pal with him to-night. Why, what can she betelling him? He seems quite overcome."Mascarin divined the truth at once, and found that it would be adifficult task to interfere with the love of a man who displayed somuch intensity of feeling.

"Then," remarked Mascarin, savagely, "that great booby, staggeringabout on his friend's arm, is your young lady's lover?""Just so, sir.""Then we must find out who he is."Florestan put on a crafty air, and replied in gentle accents.

"The day before yesterday, as I was smoking my pipe outside, I sawthis young bantam swaggering down the street--not but what he seemedrather crestfallen; but I knew the reason for that, and should lookjust as much in the dumps if my young woman was laid up. I thought, asI had nothing to do, I might as well see who he was and where helived; so, sticking my hands in my pockets, after him I sloped. Hewalked such a long way, that I got precious sick of my job, but atlast I ran him to earth in a house. I went straight up to the lodge,and showed the portress my tobacco pouch, and said, 'I picked up this;I think that the gentleman who has just gone in dropped it. Do youknow him?' 'Of course I do,' said she. 'He is a painter; lives on thefourth floor; and his name is M. Andre.' ""Was the house in the Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne?" broke in Mascarin.

"You are right, sir," returned the man, taken a little aback. "Itseems, sir, that you are better informed than I am."Mascarin did not notice the man's surprise, but he was struck with thestrange persistency with which this young man seemed to cross hisplans, for he found that the acquaintance of Rose and the lover ofMademoiselle de Mussidan were one and the same person, and he had apresentiment that he would in some way prove a hindrance to his plans.

The astute Mascarin concentrated all his attention upon Andre.

The latter said something to Modeste, which caused that young woman toraise her hands to heaven, as though in alarm.

"But who is the other?" asked he,--"the fellow that looks like anEnglishman?""Do you not know?" returned the lackey. "Why, that is M. de Breulh-Faverlay.""What, the man who was to marry Sabine?""Certainly."Mascarin was not easily disconcerted, but this time a blasphemous oathburst from his lips.

"Do you mean," said he, "that De Breulh and this painter are friends?""That is more than I can tell. You seem to want to know a lot,"answered Florestan, sulkily.

Modeste had now left the young men, who walked arm in arm in thedirection of the Avenue de l'Imperatrice.

"M. de Breulh takes his dismissal easily enough," observed Mascarin.

"He was not dismissed; it was he that wrote and broke off theengagement."This time Mascarin contrived to conceal the terrible blow that thisinformation caused to him, and even made some jesting remark as hetook leave of Florestan; but he was in truth completely staggered, forafter thoroughly believing that the game was won, he saw that, thoughperhaps not lost, his victory was postponed for an indefinite period.

"What!" said he, as he clenched his hand firmly, "shall the headstrongpassion of this foolish boy mar my plans? Let him take care ofhimself; for if he walks in my path, he will find it a road that leadsto his own destruction."
Chapter 21 AN ACADEMY OF MUSIC.
　　21Dr. Hortebise had for some time back given up arguing with Mascarin asto the advice the latter gave him. He had been ordered not to let Paulout of his sight, and he obeyed this command literally. He had takenhim to dine at M. Martin Rigal's, though the host himself was absent;from there he took Paul to his club, and finally wound up by forcingthe young man to accept a bed at his house. They both slept late, andwere sitting down to a luxurious breakfast, when the servant announcedM. Tantaine, and that worthy man made his appearance with the samesmile upon his face which Paul remembered so well in the Hotel dePerou. The sight of him threw the young man into a state of fury. "Atlast we meet," cried he. "I have an account to settle with you.""You have an account to settle with me?" asked Daddy Tantaine with apuzzled smile.

"Yes; was it not through you that I was accused of theft by that oldhag, Madame Loupins?"Tantaine shrugged his shoulders.

"Dear me," said he; "I thought that M. Mascarin had explainedeverything, and that you were anxious to marry Mademoiselle Flavia,and that, above all, you were a young man of intelligence and tact."Hortebise roared with laughter, and Paul, seeing his folly, blusheddeeply and remained silent.

"I regret having disturbed you, doctor," resumed Tantaine, "but I hadstrict orders to see you.""Is there anything new then?""Yes; Mademoiselle de Mussidan is out of danger, and M. de Croisenoiscan commence proceedings at once."The doctor drank off a glass of wine. "To the speedy marriage of ourdear friend the Marquis and Mademoiselle Sabine," said he gayly.

"So be it," said Tantaine; "I am also directed to beg M. Paul not toleave this house, but to send for his luggage and remain here."Hortebise looked so much annoyed that Tantaine hastened to add: "Onlyas a temporary measure, for I am on the lookout for rooms for himnow."Paul looked delighted at the idea of having a home of his own.

"Good!" exclaimed the doctor merrily. "And now, my dear Tantaine, asyou have executed all your commissions, you can stay and breakfastwith us.""Thanks for the honor; but I am very busy with affairs of the Duke deChampdoce and must see Perpignan at once." As he spoke he rose, makinga little sign which Paul did not catch, and Hortebise accompanied himto the door of the vestibule. "Don't leave that lad alone," saidTantaine; "I will see about him to-morrow; meanwhile prepare him alittle.""I comprehend," answered Hortebise; "my kind regards to that dearfellow, Perpignan."This Perpignan was well known--some people said too well known--inParis. His real name was Isidore Crocheteau, and he had started lifeas a cook in a Palais Royal restaurant. Unfortunately a breach of theEighth Commandment had caused him to suffer incarceration for a periodof three years, and on his release he bloomed out into a privateinquiry agent. His chief customers were jealous husbands, but assurely as one of these placed an affair in his hands, he would go tothe erring wife and obtain a handsome price from her for his silence.

Mascarin and Perpignan had met in an affair of this kind; and as theymutually feared each other, they had tacitly agreed not to cross eachother's path in that great wilderness of crime--Paris. But whilePerpignan knew nothing of Mascarin's schemes and operations, theformer was very well acquainted with the ex-cook's doings. He knew,for instance, that the income from the Inquiry Office would not coverPerpignan's expenses, who dressed extravagantly, kept a carriage,affected artistic tastes, played cards, betted on races, and likedgood dinners at the most expensive restaurants. "Where can he get hismoney from?" asked Mascarin of himself; and, after a long search, hesucceeded in solving the riddle.

Daddy Tantaine, after leaving the doctor's, soon arrived at theresidence of M. Perpignan, and rang the bell.

A fat woman answered the door. "M. Perpignan is out," said she.

"When will he be back?""Some time this evening.""Can you tell me where I can find him, as it is of the utmostimportance to both of us that I should see him at once?""He did not say where he was going to.""Perhaps he is at the factory," said Tantaine blandly.

The fat woman was utterly taken aback by this suggestion. "What do youknow about that?" faltered she.

"You see I /do/ know, and that is sufficient for you. Come, is hethere?""I think so.""Thank you, I will call on him then. An awfully long journey,"muttered Tantaine, as he turned away; "but, perhaps, if I catch theworthy man in the midst of all his little business affairs, he will bemore free in his language, and not so guarded in his actualadmissions."The old man went to his task with a will. He passed down the RueToumenon, skirted the Luxemburg, and made his way into the Rue GuyLussac; from thence he walked down the Rue Mouffetard, and thencedirect into one of those crooked lanes which run between the GobelinsFactory and the Hopital de l'Oursine. This is a portion of the cityutterly unknown to the greater number of Parisians. The streets arenarrow and hardly afford room for vehicles. A valley forms the centreof the place, down which runs a muddy, sluggish stream, the banks ofwhich are densely crowded with tanyards and iron works. On the oneside of this valley is the busy Rue Mouffetard, and on the other oneof the outer boulevard, while a long line of sickly-looking poplarsmark the course of the semi-stagnant stream. Tantaine seemed to knowthe quarter well, and went on until he reached the Champs desAlouettes. Then, with a sigh of satisfaction, he halted before alarge, three-storied house, standing on a piece of ground surroundedby a mouldering wooden fence. The aspect of the house had somethingsinister and gloomy about it, and for a moment Tantaine paused as ifhe could not make up his mind to enter it; but at last he did so. Theinterior was as dingy and dilapidated as the outside. There were tworooms on the ground floor, one of which was strewn with straw, with afew filthy-looking quilts and blankets spread over it. The next roomwas fitted up as a kitchen; in the centre was a long table composed ofboards placed on trestles, and a dirty-looking woman with her headenveloped in a coarse red handkerchief, and grasping a big woodenspoon, was stirring the contents of a large pot in which someterrible-looking ingredients were cooking. On a small bed in a cornerlay a little boy. Every now and then a shiver convulsed his frame, hisface was deadly pale, and his hands almost transparent, while hisgreat black eyes glittered with the wild delirium of fever. Sometimeshe would give a deep groan, and then the old beldame would turnangrily and threaten to strike him with her wooden spoon.

"But I am so ill," pleaded the boy.

"If you had brought home what you were told, you would not have beenbeaten, and then you would have had no fever," returned the womanharshly.

"Ah, me! I am sick and cold, and want to go away," wailed the child;"I want to see mammy."Even Tantaine felt uneasy at this scene, and gave a gentle cough toannounce his presence. The old woman turned round on him with an angrysnarl. "Who do you want here?" growled she.

"Your master.""He has not yet arrived, and may not come at all, for it is not hisday; but you can see Poluche.""And who may he be?""He is the professor," answered the hag contemptuously.

"And where is he?""In the music-room."Tantaine went to the stairs, which were so dingy and dilapidated as tomake an ascent a work of danger and difficulty. As he ascended higher,he became aware of a strange sound, something between the grinding ofscissors and the snarling of cats. Then a moment's silence, a loudexecration, and a cry of pain. Tantaine passed on, and coming to arickety door, he opened it, and in another moment found himself inwhat the old hag downstairs had called the music-room. The partitionsof all the rooms on the floor had been roughly torn down to form thisapartment; hardly a pane of glass remained intact in the windows; thedingy, whitewashed walls were covered with scrawls and drawings incharcoal. A suffocating, nauseous odor rose up, absolutelyoverpowering the smell from the neighboring tanyards. There was nofurniture except a broken chair, upon which lay a dog whip withplaited leather lash. Round the room, against the wall, stood sometwenty children, dirty, and in tattered clothes. Some had violins intheir hands, and others stood behind harps as tall as themselves. Uponthe violins Tantaine noticed there were chalk marks at variousdistances. In the middle of the room was a man, tall and erect as adart, with flat, ugly features and lank, greasy hair hanging down onhis shoulders. He, too, had a violin, and was evidently giving thechildren a lesson. Tantaine at once guessed that this was ProfessorPoluche.

"Listen," said he; "here, you Ascanie, play the chorus from the/Chateau de Marguerite/." As he spoke he drew his bow across hisinstrument, while the little Savoyard did his best to imitate him, andin a squeaking voice, in nasal tone, he sang:

"Ah! great heavens, how fine and grand Is the palace!""You young rascal!" cried Poluche. "Have I not bid you fifty timesthat at the word 'palace' you are to place your bow on the fourthchalkmark and draw it across? Begin again."Once again the boy commenced, but Poluche stopped him.

"I believe, you young villain, that you are doing it on purpose. Now,go through the whole chorus again; and if you do not do it right, lookout for squalls."Poor Ascanie was so muddled that he forgot all his instructions.

Without any appearance of anger, the professor took up the whip andadministered half a dozen severe cuts across the bare legs of thechild, whose shouts soon filled the room.

"When you are done howling," remarked Poluche, "you can try again; andif you do not succeed, no supper for you to-night, my lad. Now,Giuseppe, it is your turn."Giuseppe, though younger than Ascanie, was a greater proficient on theinstrument, and went through his task without a single mistake.

"Good!" said Poluche; "if you get on like that, you will soon be fitto go out. You would like that, I suppose?""Yes," replied the delighted boy, "and I should like to bring in a fewcoppers too."But the Professor did not waste too much time in idle converse.

"It is your turn now, Fabio," said he.

Fabio, a little mite of seven, with eyes black and sparkling as thoseof a dormouse, had just seen Tantaine in the doorway and pointed himout to the professor.

Poluche turned quickly round and found himself face to face withTantaine, who had come quickly forward, his hat in his hand.

Had the professor seen an apparition, he could not have started moreviolently, for he did not like strangers.

"What do you want?" asked he.

"Reassure yourself, sir," said Tantaine, after having for a fewseconds enjoyed his evident terror; "I am the intimate friend of thegentleman who employs you, and have come here to discuss an importantmatter of business with him."Poluche breathed more freely.

"Take a chair, sir," said he, offering the only one in the room. "Mymaster will soon be here."But Daddy Tantaine refused the offer, saying that he did not wish tointrude, but would wait until the lesson was over.

"I have nearly finished," remarked Poluche; "it is almost time to letthese scamps have their soup."Then turning to his pupils, who had not dared to stir a limb, hesaid,--"There, that is enough for to-day; you can go."The children did not hesitate for a moment, but tumbled over eachother in their eagerness to get away, hoping, perhaps, that he mightomit to execute certain threats that he had held out during thelesson. The hope was a vain one, for the equitable Poluche went to thehead of the stairs and called out in a loud voice,--"Mother Butor, you will give no soup to Monte and put Ravillet on halfallowance."Tantaine was much interested, for the scene was an entirely new one.

The professor raised his eyes to heaven.

"Would," said he, "that I might teach them the divine science as Iwould wish; but the master would not allow me; indeed, he woulddismiss me if I attempted to do so.""I do not understand you.""Let me explain to you. You know that there are certain old women who,for a consideration, will train a linnet or a bullfinch to whistle anyair?"Tantaine, with all humility, confessed his ignorance of these matters.

"Well," said the professor, "the only difference between those oldwomen and myself is, that they teach birds and I boys; and I knowwhich I had rather do."Tantaine pointed to the whip.

"And how about this?" asked he.

Poluche shrugged his shoulders.

"Put yourself in my place for a little while," remarked he. "You seemy master brings me all sorts of boys, and I have to cram music intothem in the briefest period possible. Of course the child revolts, andI thrash him; but do not think he cares for this; the young impsthrive on blows. The only way that I can touch them is through theirstomachs. I stop a quarter, a half, and sometimes the whole of theirdinner. That fetches them, and you have no idea how a littlestarvation brings them on in music."Daddy Tantaine felt a cold shiver creep over him as he listened tothis frank exposition of the professor's mode of action.

"You can now understand," remarked the professor, "how some airsbecome popular in Paris. I have forty pupils all trying the samething. I am drilling them now in the /Marguerite/, and in a littletime you will have nothing else in the streets."Poluche was proceeding to give Tantaine some further information, whena step was heard upon the stairs, and the professor remarked,--"Here is the master; he never comes up here, because he is afraid ofthe stairs. You had better go down to him."
Chapter 22 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.
　　22The ex-cook appeared before Tantaine in all his appalling vulgarity asthe latter descended the stairs. The proprietor of the musical academywas a stout, red-faced man, with an insolent mouth and a cynical eye.

He was gorgeously dressed, and wore a profusion of jewelry. He wasmuch startled at seeing Tantaine, whom he knew to be the redoubtableMascarin's right-hand man. "A thousand thunders!" muttered he. "Ifthese people have sent him here for me, I must take care what I amabout," and with a friendly smile he extended his hand to Tantaine.

"Glad to see you," said he. "Now, what can I do for you, for I hopeyou have come to ask me to do something?""The veriest trifle," returned Tantaine.

"I am sorry that it is not something of importance, for I have thegreatest respect for M. Mascarin."This conversation had taken place in the window, and was interruptedevery moment by the shouts and laughter of the children; but beneaththese sounds of merriment came an occasional bitter wail oflamentation.

"What is that?" inquired Perpignan, in a voice of thunder. "Whopresumes to be unhappy in this establishment?""It is two of the lads that I have put on half rations," returnedPoluche. "I'll make them learn somehow or----"A dark frown on the master's face arrested his further speech. "Whatdo I hear?" roared Perpignan. "Do you dare, under my roof, to deprivethose poor children of an ounce of food? It is scandalous, I may say,infamous on your part, M. Poluche.""But, sir," faltered the professor, "have you not told me hundreds oftimes--""That you were an idiot, and would never be anything better. Go andtell Mother Butor to give these poor children their dinner."Repressing further manifestations of rage, Perpignan took Tantaine bythe arm and led him into a little side-room, which he dignified by thename of his office. There was nothing in it but three chairs, a commondeal table, and a few shelves containing ledgers. "You have come onbusiness, I presume," remarked Perpignan.

Tantaine nodded, and the two men seated themselves at the table,gazing keenly into each other's eyes, as though to read the thoughtsthat moved in the busy brain.

"How did you find out my little establishment down here?" askedPerpignan.

"By a mere chance," remarked Tantaine carelessly. "I go about a gooddeal, and hear many things. For instance, you have taken everyprecaution here, and though you are really the proprietor, yet thehusband of your cook and housekeeper, Butor, is supposed to be theowner of the house--at least it stands in his name. Now, if anythinguntoward happened, you would vanish, and only Butor would remain aprey for the police."Tantaine paused for a moment, and then slowly added, "Such tacticsusually succeed unless a man has some secret enemy, who would takeadvantage of his knowledge, to do him an injury by obtainingirrefragable proofs of his complicity."The ex-cook easily perceived the threat that was hidden under thesewords. "They know something," muttered he, "and I must find out whatit is.""If a man has a clear conscience," said he aloud, "he is all right. Ihave nothing to conceal, and therefore nothing to fear. You have nowseen my establishment; what do you think of it?""It seems to me a very well-conducted one.""It may have occurred to you that a factory at Roubaix might have beena better investment, but I had not the capital to begin with."Tantaine nodded. "It is not half a bad trade," said he.

"I agree with you. In the Rue St. Marguerite you will find more thanone similar establishment; but I never cared for the situation of theFaubourg St. Antoine. My little angels find this spot moresalubrious.""Yes, yes," answered Tantaine amicably, "and if they howl too muchwhen they are corrected, there are not too many neighbors to hearthem."Perpignan thought it best to take no notice of this observation. "Thepapers are always pitching into us," continued he. "They had muchbetter stick to politics. The fact is, that the profits of ourbusiness are tremendously exaggerated.""Well, you manage to make a living out of it?""I don't lose, I confess, but I have six little cherubs in hospital,besides the one in the kitchen, and these, of course, are a dead lossto me.""That is a sad thing for you," answered Tantaine gravely.

Perpignan began to be amazed at his visitor's coolness.

"Damn it all," said he, "if you and Mascarin think the business such aprofitable one, why don't you go in for it. You may perhaps think iteasy to procure the kids; just try it. You have to go to Italy formost of them, then you have to smuggle them across the frontier likebales of contraband goods."Perpignan paused to take a breath, and Tantaine asked,--"What sum to you make each of the lads bring in daily?""That depends," answered Perpignan hesitatingly.

"Well, you can give an average?""Say three francs then.""Three francs!" repeated Tantaine with a genial smile, "and you haveforty little cherubs, so that makes one hundred and twenty francs perday.""Absurd!" retorted Perpignan; "do you think each of the lads bring insuch a sum as that?""Ah! you know the way to make them do so.""I don't understand you," answered Perpignan, in whose voice a shadeof anxiety now began to appear.

"No offence, no offence," answered Tantaine; "but the fact is, thenewspapers are doing you a great deal of harm, by retailing some ofthe means adopted by your colleague to make the boys do a good day'swork. Do you recollect the sentence on that master who tied one of hislads down on a bed, and left him without food for two days at astretch?""I don't care about such matters; no one can bring a charge of crueltyagainst me," retorted Perpignan angrily.

"A man with the kindest heart in the world may be the victim ofcircumstances."Perpignan felt that the decisive moment was at hand.

"What do you mean?" asked he.

"Well, suppose, to punish one of your refractory lads, you were toshut him in the cellar. A storm comes on during the night, the guttergets choked up, the cellar fills with water, and next morning you findthe little cherub drowned like a rat in his hole?"Perpignan's face was livid.

"Well, and what then?" asked he.

"Ah! now the awkward part of the matter comes. You would not care tosend for the police, that might excite suspicion; the easiest thing isto dig a hole and shove the body into it."Perpignan got up and placed his back against the door.

"You know too much, M. Tantaine,--a great deal too much," said he.

Perpignan's manner was most threatening; but Tantaine still smiledpleasantly, like a child who had just committed some simplymischievous act, the results of which it cannot foresee.

"The sentence isn't heavy," he continued; "five years' penalservitude, if evidence of previous good conduct could be put in; butif former antecedents were disclosed, such as a journey to Nancy----"This was the last straw, and Perpignan broke out,--"What do you mean?" said he; "and what do you want me to do?""Only a trifling service, as I told you before. My dear sir, do notput yourself in a rage," he added, as Perpignan seemed disposed tospeak again. "Was it not you who first began to talk of your, 'em--well, let us say business?""Then you wanted to make yourself agreeable by talking all this rot tome. Well, shall I tell you in my turn what I think?""By all means, if it will not be giving you too much trouble.""Then I tell you that you have come here on an errand which no manshould venture to do alone. You are not of the age and build forbusiness like this. It is a misfortune--a fatal one perhaps--to putyourself in my power, in such a house as this.""But, my dear sir, what is likely to happen to me?"The features of the ex-cook were convulsed with fury; he was in thatmad state of rage in which a man has no control over himself.

Mechanically his hand slipped into his pocket; but before he coulddraw it out again, Tantaine who had not lost one of his movements,sprang upon him and grasped him so tightly by the throat that he waspowerless to adopt any offensive measures, in spite of his greatstrength and robust build. The struggle was not a long one; the oldman hurled his adversary to the ground, and placed his foot on hischest, and held him down, his whole face and figure seeminglytransfigured with the glories of strength and success.

"And so you wished to stab me,--to murder a poor and inoffensive oldman. Do you think that I was fool enough to enter your cut-throat doorwithout taking proper precautions?" And as he spoke he drew a revolverfrom his bosom. "Throw away your knife," added he sternly.

In obedience to this mandate, Perpignan, who was now entirelydemoralized, threw the sharp-pointed weapon which he had contrived toopen in his pocket into a corner of the room.

"Good," said Tantaine. "You are growing more reasonable now. Of courseI came alone, but do you think that plenty of people did not knowwhere I was going to? Had I not returned to-night, do you think thatmy master, M. Mascarin, would have been satisfied? and how long do youthink it would have been before he and the police would have beenhere. If you do not do all that I wish for the rest of your life, youwill be the most ungrateful fellow in the world."Perpignan was deeply mortified; he had been worsted in single combat,and now he was being found out, and these things had never happened tohim before.

"Well, I suppose that I must give in," answered he sulkily.

"Quite so; it is a pity that you did not think of that before.""You vexed me and made me angry.""Just so; well, now, get up, take that chair, and let us talkreasonably."Perpignan obeyed without a word.

"Now," said Tantaine, "I came here with a really magnificent proposal.

But I adopted the course I pursued because I wished to prove to youthat /you/ belonged more absolutely to Mascarin than did your wretchedforeign slaves to you. You are absolutely at his mercy, and he cancrush you to powder whenever he likes.""Your Mascarin is Satan himself," muttered the discomfited man. "Whocan resist him?""Come, as you think thus, we can talk sensibly at last.""Well," answered Perpignan ruefully, as he adjusted his disorderednecktie, "say what you like, I have no answer to make.""Let us begin at the commencement," said Tantaine. "For some days pastyour people have been following a certain Caroline Schimmel. A fellowof sixteen called Ambrose, a lad with a harp, was told off for thisduty. He is not to be trusted. Only a night or two ago one of my menmade him drunk; and fearing lest his absence might create surprise,drove him here in a cab, and left him at the corner."The ex-cook uttered an oath.

"Then you too are watching Caroline," said he. "I knew well that therewas some one else in the field, but that was no matter of mine.""Well, tell me why you are watching her?""How can you ask me? You know that my motto is silence and discretion,and that this is a secret intrusted to my honor."Tantaine shrugged his shoulders.

"Why do you talk like that, when you know very well that you arefollowing Ambrose on your own account, hoping by that means topenetrate a secret, only a small portion of which has been intrustedto you?" remarked he.

"Are you certain of this statement?" asked the man, with a cunninglook.

"So sure that I can tell you that the matter was placed in your handsby a certain M. Catenac."The expression in Perpignan's face changed from astonishment to fear.

"Why, this Mascarin knows everything," muttered he.

"No," replied Tantaine, "my master does not know everything, and theproof of this is, that I have come to ask you what occurred betweenCatenac's client and yourself, and this is the service that we expectfrom you.""Well, if I must, I must. About three weeks ago, one morning, I hadjust finished with half a dozen clients at my office in the Rue deFame, when my servant brought me Catenac's card. After some talk, heasked me if I could find out a person that he had utterly lost sightof. Of course I said, yes, I could. Upon this he asked me to make anappointment for ten the next morning, when some one would call on meregarding the affair. At the appointed time a shabbily dressed man wasshown in. I looked at him up and down, and saw that, in spite of hisgreasy hat and threadbare coat, his linen was of the finest kind, andthat his shoes were the work of one of our best bootmakers. 'Aha,'

said I to myself, 'you thought to take me in, did you!' I handed him achair, and he at once proceeded to let me into his reasons for coming.

'Sir,' said he, 'my life has not been a very happy one, and once I wascompelled to take to the Foundling Asylum a child that I loved verydearly, the son of a woman whom I adored. She is dead now, and I amold and solitary. I have a small property, and would give half of itto recover the child. Tell me, is there any chance of my doing so?'

You must imagine, my dear sir," continued he, after a slight pause,"that I was much interested in this story, for I said to myself, thatthe man's fortune must be a very small one if half of it would notamply repay me for making a journey to the Foundling Hospital. So Iagreed to undertake the business, but the old fellow was too sharp forme. 'Stop a bit, and let me finish,' said he, 'and you will see thatyour task will not be so easy as you seem to think it.' I, of course,bragged of my enormous sources of information, and the probability ofultimate success.""Keep to your story," said Tantaine impatiently, "I know all aboutthat.""I will leave you, then, to imagine all I said to the old man, wholistened to me with great satisfaction. 'I only hope that you are asskilful as M. Catenac says you are, and have as much influence andpower as you assert, for no man has a finer chance than you now have.

I have tried all means up to this, but I have failed.' I went first tothe hospital where the child had been placed, and they showed me theregister containing the date of his admission, but no one knew whathad become of him, for at twelve years of age he had left the place,and no one had heard of him since; and in spite of every effort, Ihave been unable to discover whether he is alive or dead.""A pretty riddle to guess," remarked Tantaine.

"An enigma that it is impossible to solve," returned Perpignan. "Howis one to get hold of a boy who vanished ten years ago, and who mustnow be a grown-up man?""We could do it."Tantaine's tone was so decided, that the other man looked sharply athim with a vague suspicion rising in his breast that the affair hadalso been placed in Mascarin's hands; and if so, whether he had workedit with more success than himself.

"You might, for all I know; but I felt that the clue was absolutelywanting," answered Perpignan sulkily. "I put on a bold face, however,and asked for the boy's description. The man told me that he couldprovide me with an accurate one, for that many people, notably thelady superior, remembered the lad. He could also give other detailswhich might be useful.""And these you obtained, of course?""Not yet.""Are you joking?""Not a bit. I do not know whether the old man was sharp enough to readin the expression of my features that I had not the smallest hope ofsuccess; be that as it may, he could give me no further informationthat day, declaring that he came in only to consult me, and thateverything must be done in a most confidential way. I hastened toassure him that my office was a perfect tomb of secrets. He told methat he took that for granted. Then telling me that he wished me todraw up a /precis/ of my intended course, he took out a note for fivehundred francs, which he handed to me for my time. I refused to takeit, though it cost me a struggle to do so, for I thought that I shouldmake more out of him later on. But he insisted on my taking it, sayingthat he would see me again soon, and that Catenac would communicatewith me. He left me less interested in the search than in who this oldman could possibly be."Tantaine felt that Perpignan was telling the truth.

"Did you not try and find out that?" asked he.

Perpignan hesitated; but feeling convinced that there was no loopholefor escape, he answered, "Hardly had my visitor left than, slipping ona cap and a workman's blouse, I followed him in his track, and saw himenter one of the finest houses in the Rue de Varennes.""He lived there then?""He did, and he was a very well-known man--the Duke de Champdoce.""Yes, I know all that," answered Tantaine, placidly, "but I can't, forthe life of me, imagine the connection between the Duke and CarolineSchimmel."Perpignan raised his eyebrows.

"Why did you put a man to watch her?" asked Tantaine.

"My reasons for doing so were most simple. I made every inquiryregarding the Duke; learned that he was very wealthy, and lived a verysteady life. He is married, and loves his wife dearly. They had oneson, whom they lost a year ago, and have never recovered from theshock. I imagine that this Duke, having lost his legitimate heir,wished me to find his other son. Do you not think that I am right?""There is something in it; but, after all, you have not explained yourreasons for watching Caroline."Perpignan was no match for Mascarin's right-hand man, but he was keenenough to discern that Tantaine was putting a string of questions tohim which had been prepared in advance. This he, however, waspowerless to resent.

"As you may believe," said he, "I made every inquiry into the past aswell as the present of the Duke, and also tried to discover who wasthe mother of the child, but in this I entirely failed.""What! not with all your means?" cried Tantaine, with a sneer.

"Laugh at me as much as you like; but out of the thirty servants inthe Champdoce establishment, not one has been there more than tenyears. Nor could I anywhere lay my hands upon one who had been in theDuke's service in his youth. Once, however, as I was in the wineshopin the Rue de Varennes, I quite by chance heard allusion made to awoman who had been in the service of the Duke twenty-five years ago,and who was now in receipt of a small allowance from him. This womanwas Caroline Schimmel. I easily found out her address, and set a watchon her.""And of what use will she be to you?""Very little, I fear. And yet the allowance looks as if she had at onetime done something out of the way for her employers. Can it be thatshe has any knowledge of the birth of this natural child?""I don't think much of your idea," returned Tantaine carelessly.

"Since then," continued Perpignan, "the Duke has never put in anappearance in my office.""But how about Catenac?""I have seen him three times.""Has he told you nothing more? Do you not even know in which hospitalthe child was placed?""No; and on my last visit I plainly told him that I was getting sickof all this mystery; and he said that he himself was tired, and wassorry that he had ever meddled in the affair."Tantaine was not surprised at hearing this, and accounted forCatenac's change of front by the threats of Mascarin.

"Well, what do you draw from this?" asked he.

"That Catenac has no more information than I have. The Duke mostlikely proposes to drop the affair; but, were I in his place, I shouldbe afraid to find the boy, however much I might at one time havedesired to do so. He may be in prison--the most likely thing for a ladwho, at twelve years of age, ran away from a place where he was welltreated. I have, however, planned a mode of operation, for, withpatience, money, and skill, much might be done.""I agree with you.""Then let me tell you. I have drawn an imaginary circle round Paris. Isaid to myself, 'I will visit every house and inn in the villagesround within this radius; I will enter every isolated dwelling, andwill say to the inhabitants, "Do any of you remember at any timesheltering and feeding a child, dressed in such and such a manner?" '

giving at the same time a description of him. I am sure that I shouldfind some one who would answer in the affirmative. Then I should gaina clue which I would follow up to the end."This plan appeared so ingenious to Tantaine, that he involuntarilyexclaimed,--"Good! excellent!"Perpignan hardly knew whether Tantaine was praising or blaming him.

His manner might have meant either.

"You are very fast," returned he dismally. "Perhaps presently you willbe good enough to allow that I am not an absolute fool. Do you reallythink that I am an idiot? At any rate, I sometimes hit upon ajudicious combination. For example, with regard to this boy, I have anotion which, if properly worked might lead to something.""Might I ask what it is?""I speak confidentially. If it is impossible to lay our hands upon thereal boy, why should we not substitute another?"At this suggestion, Tantaine started violently.

"It would be most dangerous, most hazardous," gasped he.

"You are afraid, then?" said Perpignan, delighted at the effect hisproposal had made.

"It seems it is you who were afraid," retorted Tantaine.

"You do not know me when you say that," said Perpignan.

"If you were not afraid," asked Tantaine, in his most oily voice, "whydid you not carry out your plan?""Because there was one obstacle that could not be got over.""Well, I can't see it myself," returned Tantaine, desirous of hearingevery detail.

"Ah, there is one thing that I omitted in my narrative. The Dukeinformed me that he could prove the identity of the boy by certainscars.""Scars? And of what kind, pray?""Now you are asking me too much. I do not know."On receiving this reply, Tantaine rose hastily from his chair, andthus concealed his agitation from his companion.

"I have a hundred apologies to make for taking up so much of yourvaluable time. My master has got it into his head that you were afterthe same game as ourselves. He was mistaken, and now we leave thefield clear to you."Before Perpignan could make any reply, the old man had passed throughthe doorway. On the threshold he paused, and said,--"Were I in your place, I would stick to my first plan. You will neverfind the boy, but you will get several thousand francs out of theDuke, which I am sure will come in handy.""There are scars now, then," muttered Tantaine, as he moved away fromthe house, "and that Master Catenac never said a word about them!"
Chapter 23 FATHER AND SON.
　　23Two hours after Andre had left the Avenue de Matignon, one ofMascarin's most trusty emissaries was at his heels, who could watchhis actions with the tenacity of a bloodhound. Andre, however, nowthat he had heard of Sabine's convalescence, had entirely recoveredthe elasticity of his spirits, and would never have noticed that hewas being followed. His heart, too, was much rejoiced at thefriendship of M. de Breulh and the promise of assistance from theViscountess de Bois Arden; and with the assistance of these two, hefelt that he could end his difficulties.

"I must get to work again," muttered he, as he left M. de Breulh'shospitable house. "I have already lost too much time. To-morrow, ifyou look up at the scaffolding of a splendid house in the ChampsElysees, you will see me at work."Andre was busy all night with his plans for the rich contractor, M.

Gandelu, who wanted as much ornamental work on the outside of hishouse as he had florid decorations within. He rose with the lark, andhaving gazed for a moment on Sabine's portrait, started for the abodeof M. Gandelu, the proud father of young Gaston. This celebratedcontractor lived in a splendid house in the Rue Chasse d'Antin, untilhis more palatial residence should be completed.

When Andre presented himself at the door, an old servant, who knew himwell, strongly urged him not to go up.

"Never," said he, "in all the time that I have been with master, haveI seen him in such a towering rage. Only just listen!"It was easy to hear the noise alluded to, mingled with the breaking ofglass and the smashing of furniture.

"The master has been at this game for over an hour," remarked theservant, "ever since his lawyer, M. Catenac, has left him."Andre, however, decided not to postpone his visit. "I must see him inspite of everything; show me up," said he.

With evident reluctance the domestic obeyed, and threw open the doorof a room superbly furnished and decorated, in the centre of whichstood M. Gandelu waving the leg of a chair frantically in his hand. Hewas a man of sixty years of age, but did not look fifty, built like aHercules, with huge hands and muscular limbs which seemed to fretunder the restraint of his fashionable garments. He had made hisenormous fortune, of which he was considerably proud, by honest labor,and no one could say that he had not acted fairly throughout his wholecareer. He was coarse and violent in his manner, but he had a generousheart and never refused aid to the deserving and needy. He swore likea trooper, and his grammar was faulty; but for all that, his heart wasin the right place, and he was a better man than many who boast ofhigh birth and expensive education.

"What idiot is coming here to annoy me?" roared he, as soon as thedoor was opened.

"I have come by appointment," answered Andre, and the contractor'sbrow cleared as he saw who his visitor was.

"Ah, it is you, is it? Take a seat; that is, if there is a sound chairleft in the room. I like you, for you have an honest face and don'tshirk hard work. You needn't color up, though; modesty is no fault.

Yes, there is something in you, and when you want a hundred thousandfrancs to go into business with, here it is ready for you; and had I adaughter, you should marry her, and I would build your house for you.""I thank you much," said Andre; "but I have learned to depend entirelyon myself.""True," returned Gandelu, "you never knew your parents; you never knewwhat a kind father would do for his child. Do you know my son?" askedhe, suddenly turning upon Andre.

This question at once gave Andre the solution of the scene before him.

M. Gandelu was irritated at some folly that his son had committed. Fora moment Andre hesitated; he did not care to say anything that mightrevive the old man's feeling of anger, and therefore merely repliedthat he had only met his son Gaston two or three times.

"Gaston," cried the old man, with a bitter oath; "do not call himthat. Do you think it likely that old Nicholas Gandelu would ever havebeen ass enough to call his son Gaston? He was called Peter, after hisgrandfather, but it wasn't a good enough one for the young fool; hewanted a swell name, and Peter had too much the savor of hard work init for my fine gentleman. But that isn't all; I could let that pass,"continued the old man. "Pray have you seen his cards? Over the name ofGaston de Gandelu is a count's coronet. He a count indeed! the son ofa man who has carried a hod for years!""Young people will be young people," Andre ventured to observe; butthe old man's wrath would not be assuaged by a platitude like this.

"You can find no excuse for him, only the fellow is absolutely ashamedof his father. He consorts with titled fools and is in the seventhheaven if a waiter addresses him as 'Count,' not seeing that it is nothe that is treated with respect, but the gold pieces of his oldfather, the working man."Andre's position was now a most painful one, and he would have given agood deal not to be the recipient of a confidence which was the resultof anger.

"He is only twenty, and yet see what a wreck he is," resumed Gandelu.

"His eyes are dim, and he is getting bald; he stoops, and spends hisnights in drink and bad company. I have, however, only myself toblame, for I have been far too lenient; and if he had asked me for myhead, I believe that I should have given it to him. He had only to askand have. After my wife's death, I had only the boy. Do you know whathe has in this house? Why, rooms fit for a prince, two servants andfour horses. I allow him monthly, fifteen hundred francs, and he goesabout calling me a niggard, and has already squandered every bit ofhis poor mother's fortune." He stopped, and turned pale, for at thatmoment the door opened, and young Gaston, or rather Peter, slouchedinto the room.

"It is the common fate of fathers to be disappointed in theiroffspring, and to see the sons who ought to have been their honor andglory the scourge to punish their worldly aspirations," exclaimed theold man.

"Good! that is really a very telling speech," murmured Gastonapprovingly, "considering that you have not made a special study ofelocution."Fortunately his father did not catch these words, and continued in avoice broken by emotion, "That, M. Andre, is my son, who for twentyyears has been my sole care. Well, believe it or not, as you like, hehas been speculating on my death, as you might speculate on a race-horse at Vincennes.""No, no," put in Gaston, but his father stopped him with a disdainfulgesture.

"Have at least the courage to acknowledge your fault. You thought meblind because I said nothing, but your past conduct has opened myeyes.""But, father!""Do not attempt to deny it. This very morning my man of business, M.

Catenac, wrote to me, and with that real courage which only truefriends possess, told me all. I must tell you, M. Andre," resumed thecontractor, "I was ill. I had a severe attack of the gout, such as aman seldom recovers from, and my son was constant in his attendance atmy sick couch. This consoled me. 'He loves me after all,' said I. Butit was only my testamentary arrangements that he wanted to discover,and he went straight to a money-lender called Clergot and raised ahundred thousand francs assuring the blood-sucker that I had not manyhours to live.""It is a lie!" cried Gaston, his face crimsoning with shame.

The old man raised the leg of the chair in his hand, and made sothreatening a movement that Andre flung himself between father andson. "Great heavens!" cried he, "think what you are doing, sir, andforbear."The old man paused, passed his hand round his brow, and flung theweapon into a remote corner of the room. "I thank you," said he,grasping Andre's hand; "you have saved me from a great crime. Inanother moment I should have murdered him."Gaston was no coward, and he still retained the position he had beenin before.

"This is quite romantic," muttered he. "The governor seems to be goingin for infanticide."Andre did not allow him to finish the sentence, for, grasping theyoung man's wrist, he whispered fiercely, "Not another word; silence!""But I want to know what it all means?" answered the irrepressibleyouth.

"I had in my hands," said the old man, addressing Andre, and ignoringthe presence of his son, "the important paper he had copied. Yes; notmore than an hour ago I read it. These were the terms: if I diedwithin eight days from the date of signature, my son agreed to pay abonus of thirty thousand francs; but if I lived for one month, hewould take up the bill by paying one hundred and fifty thousand. If,however, by any unforeseen chance, I should recover entirely, he boundhimself to pay Clergot the hundred thousand francs."The old man tore the cravat from his swelling throat, and wiped thebeads of cold sweat that bedewed his brow.

"When this man recovers his self-command," thought Andre, "he willnever forgive me for having been the involuntary listener to thisterrible tale." But in this Andre was mistaken, for unsophisticatednature requires sympathy, and Nichols Gandelu would have said the sameto the first comer.

"Before, however, delivering the hundred thousand francs, the usurerwished to make himself more secure, and asked for a certificate fromsome one who had seen me. This person was his friend. He spoke to meof a medical man, a specialist, who would understand my case at once.

Would I not see him? Never had I seen my son so tender andaffectionate. I yielded to his entreaties at last, and one evening Isaid to him, 'Bring in this wonderful physician, if you really thinkhe can do anything for me,' and he did bring him.

"Yes, M. Andre, he found a medical man base and vile enough to becomethe tool of my son, and a money-lender; and if I choose, I can exposehim to the loathing of the world, and the contempt of his brethren.

"The fellow came, and his visit lasted nearly an hour. I can see himnow, asking questions and feeling my pulse. He went away at last, andmy son followed him. They both met Clergot, who was waiting in thestreet. 'You can pay him the cash; the old man won't last twenty-fourhours longer,' said the doctor; and then my son came back happy andradiant, and assured me that I should soon be well again. And strangeas it may seem, a change for the better took place that very night.

Clergot had asked for forty-eight hours in which to raise the sumrequired. He heard of my convalescence, and my son lost the money.

"Was it courage you lacked?" asked the old man, turning for the firsttime to his son. "Did you not know that ten drops instead of one ofthe medicine I was taking would have freed you from me for ever?"Gaston did not seem at all overwhelmed. Indeed, he was wondering howthe matter had reached his father's ears, and how Catenac haddiscovered the rough draft of the agreement.

The contractor had imagined that his son would implore forgiveness;but seeing that he remained obdurate, his violence burst forth again.

"And do you know what use my son would make of my fortune? He wouldsquander it on a creature he picked up out of the streets,--a woman hecalled Madame de Chantemille,--a fit companion for a noble count!"The shaft had penetrated the impassability which Gaston had up to thisdisplayed. "You should not insult Zora," said he.

"I shall not," returned his father with a grim laugh, "take thetrouble to do that; you are not of age, and I shall clap your friendMadame de Chantemille into prison.""You would not do that!""Would I not? You are a minor; but your Zora, whose real name is Rose,is much older; the law is wholly on my side.""But father--""There is no use in crying; my lawyer has the matter in hand, and bynightfall your Zora will be securely caged."This blow was so cruel and unexpected, that the young man could onlyrepeat,--"Zora in prison!""Yes, in the House of Correction, and from thence to Saint Lazare.

Catenac told me the very things to be done.""Shameful!" exclaimed Gaston, "Zora in prison! Why, I and my friendswill lay siege to the place. I will go to the Court, stand by herside, and depose that this all comes from your devilish malignity. Iwill say that I love and esteem her, and that as soon as I am of age Iwill marry her; the papers will write about us. Go on, go on; I ratherlike the idea."However great a man's self-control may be, it has its limits. M.

Gandelu had restrained himself even while he told his son of hisvillainous conduct; but these revolting threats were more than hecould endure, and Andre seeing this, stepped forward, opened the door,and thrust the foolish youth into the corridor.

"What have you done" cried the contractor; "do you not see that hewill go and warn that vile creature, and that she will escape fromjustice?"And as Andre, fearing he knew not what, tried to restrain him, the oldman, exerting all his muscular strength, thrust him on one side withperfect ease, and rushed from the room, calling loudly to hisservants.

Andre was horrified at the scene at which, in spite of himself, he hadbeen compelled to assist as a witness. He was not a fool, and hadlived too much in the world of art not to have witnessed many strangescenes and met with many dissolute characters; but, as a rule, thefollies of the world had amused rather than disgusted him. But thisdisplay of want of feeling on the part of a son toward a fatherabsolutely chilled his blood. In a few minutes M. Gandelu appearedwith a calmer expression upon his face.

"I will tell you how matters now stand," said he, in a voice thatquivered in spite of his efforts. "My son is locked up in his room,and a trustworthy servant whom he cannot corrupt has mounted guardover him.""Do you not fear, sir, that in his excitement and anger he may----?"The contractor shrugged his shoulders.

"You do not know him," answered he, "if you imagine that he resemblesme in any way. What do you think that he is doing now? Lying on hisbed, face downward, yelling for his Zora. Zora, indeed! As if that wasa name fit for a Christian. How is it that these creatures are enabledto drug our boys and lead them anywhere? Had his mother not been asaint on earth, I should scarcely believe that he was my son."The contractor sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands.

"You are in pain, sir?" said Andre.

"Yes; my heart is deeply wounded. Up to this time I have only felt asa father; now I feel as a man. To-morrow I send for my family andconsult with them; and I shall advertise that for the future I willnot be responsible for any debts that my son may contract. He shallnot have a penny, and will soon learn how society treats a man withempty pockets. As to the girl, she will disappear in double quicktime. I have thoroughly weighed the consequences of sending this girlto gaol, and they are very terrible. My son will do as he hasthreatened, I am sure of that; and I can picture him tied to thatinfamous creature for life, looking into her face, and telling herthat he adores her, and glorying in his dishonor, which will berepeated by every Parisian newspaper.""But is there no other way of proceeding?" asked Andre.

"No, none whatever. If all modern fathers had my courage, we shouldnot have so many profligate sons. It is impossible that thisconferring with the doctor and the money-lender could have originatedin my son's weak brain. He is a mere child, and some one must have puthim up to it."The poor father was already seeking for some excuse for the son'sconduct.

"I must not dwell on this longer," continued Gandelu, "or I shall getas mad as I was before. I will look at your plans another day. Now,let us get out of the house. Come and look at the new building in theChamps Elysees."The mansion in question was situated at the corner of the Rue deChantilly, near the Avenue des Champs Elysees, and the frontage of itwas still marked by scaffolding, so that but little of it could beseen. A dozen workmen, engaged by Andre, were lounging about. They hadexpected to see him early, and were surprised at his non-appearance,as he was usually punctuality itself. Andre greeted them in a friendlymanner, but M. Gandelu, though he was always on friendly terms withhis workmen, passed by them as if he did not even notice theirexistence. He walked through the different rooms and examined themcarelessly, without seeming to take any interest in them, for histhoughts were with his son,--his only son.

After a short time he returned to Andre.

"I cannot stay longer," said he; "I am not feeling well; I will behere to-morrow;" and he went away with his head bent down on hischest.

The workmen noticed his strange and unusual manner.

"He does not look very bright," remarked one to his comrade. "Sincehis illness he has not been the same man. I think he must have hadsome terrible shock."
Chapter 24 AN ARTFUL TRICK.
　　24Andre had removed his coat and donned his blouse, the sleeves of whichwere rolled up to his shoulders. "I must get to business," murmuredhe, "to make up for lost time." He set to work with great vigor, buthad hardly got into the swing, when a lad came actively up the ladderand told him that a gentleman wished to see him, "and a real swell,too," added the boy. Andre was a good deal put out at being disturbed,but when he reached the street and saw that it was M. de Breulh-Faverlay who was waiting for him, his ill-humor disappeared like chaffbefore the wind.

"Ah, this is really kind of you," cried he; for he could never forgetthe debt of gratitude he owed to the gentleman. "A thousand thanks forremembering me. Excuse my not shaking hands, but see;" and heexhibited his palms all white with plaster. As he did so the smiledied away on his lips, for he caught sight of his friend's face.

"What is the matter?" exclaimed he, anxiously. "Is Sabine worse? Hasshe had a relapse?"De Breulh shook his head, but the expression of his face clearlysaid,--"Would to heavens it were only that!"But the news that Sabine was not worse relieved Andre at once, and hepatiently waited for his friend to explain.

"I have seen her twice for you," answered De Breulh; "but it isabsolutely necessary that you should come to a prompt decision on animportant affair.""I am quite at your service," returned Andre a good deal surprised andtroubled.

"Then come with me at once, I did not drive here, but we shall not bemore than a quarter of an hour in reaching my house.""I will follow you almost immediately. I only ask five minutes' graceto go up to the scaffold again.""Have you any orders to give?""No, I have none.""Why should you go, then?""To make myself a little more presentable.""Is it an annoyance or inconvenience for you to go out in that dress?""Not a bit, I am thoroughly used to it; but it was for your sake.""If that is all, come along.""But people will stare at seeing you in company with a commonworkman.""Let them stare." And drawing Andre's arm through his, M. de Breulhset off.

Andre was right; many persons did turn round to look at thefashionably dressed gentleman walking arm in arm with a mason in hisworking attire, but De Breulh took but little heed, and to all Andre'squestions simply said, "Wait till we reach my house."At length they arrived, without having exchanged twenty words, andentering the library closed the door. M. de Breulh did not inflict thetorture of suspense upon his young friend a moment longer than wasnecessary.

"This morning, about twelve o'clock, as I was crossing the Avenue deMatignon, I saw Modeste, who had been waiting for you more than anhour.""I could not help it.""I know that. As soon as she saw me, she ran up to me at once. She wasterribly disappointed at not having seen you; but knowing ourintimacy, she intrusted me with a letter for you from Mademoiselle deMussidan."Andre shuddered; he felt that the note contained evil tidings, withwhich De Breulh was already acquainted. "Give it to me," said he, andwith trembling hands he tore open the letter and perused its contents.

"DEAREST ANDRE,--"I love you, and shall ever continue to do so, but I have duties--most holy ones--which I must fulfil; duties which my name andposition demand of me, even should the act cost me my life. Weshall never meet again in this world, and this letter is the lastone you will ever receive from me. Before long you will see theannouncement of my marriage. Pity me, for great as yourwretchedness will be, it will be as nothing compared to mine.

Heaven have mercy upon us both! Andre, try and tear me out of yourheart. I have not even the right to die, and oh, my darling,this--this is the last word you will ever receive from your poorunhappy"SABINE."If M. de Breulh had insisted upon taking Andre home with him before hehanded him the letter, it was because Modeste had given him someinkling of its contents. He feared that the effect would be tremendousupon nerves so highly strung and sensitive as those of Andre. But heneed not have been alarmed on this point. As the young paintermastered the contents of the letter his features became ghastly pale,and a shudder convulsed every nerve and muscle of his frame. With amechanical gesture he extended the paper to M. de Breulh, uttering theone word, "Read."His friend obeyed him, more alarmed by Andre's laconism than he couldhave been by some sudden explosion of passion.

"Do not lose heart," exclaimed he.

But Andre interrupted him. "Lose heart!" said he; "you do not know me.

When Sabine was ill, perhaps dying, far away from me, I did feel castdown; but now that she tells me that she loves me, my feelings are ofan entirely different nature."M. de Breulh was about to speak, but Andre went on.

"What is this marriage contract which my poor Sabine announces to me,as if it was her death-warrant? Her parents must all along haveintended to break with you, but you were beforehand with them. Canthey have received a more advantageous offer of marriage already? Itis scarcely likely. When she confided the secret of her life to you,she certainly knew nothing of this. What terrible event has happenedsince then? My brave Sabine would never have submitted unless somecoercion had been used that she could not struggle against; she wouldrather have quitted her father's house for ever."As Andre uttered these words De Breulh's mind was busy with similarreflections, for Modeste had given him some hint of the approachingmarriage, and had begged him to be most careful how he communicatedthe facts to Andre.

"You must have noticed," continued the young painter, "the strangecoincidence between Sabine's illness and this note. You left her happyand full of hope, and an hour afterward she falls senseless, as thoughstruck by lightning; as soon as she recovers a little she sends methis terrible letter. Do you remember that Madame de Bois Arden toldus that during Sabine's illness her father and mother never left herbedside? Was not this for fear lest some guilty secret of theirs mightescape her lips in a crisis of delirium?""Yes, I remember that, and I have long had reason to imagine thatthere is some terrible family secret in the Mussidans' family, such aswe too often find among the descendants of noble houses.""What can it be?""That I have no means of ascertaining, but that there is one I amsure."Andre turned away and paced rapidly up and down the room. "Yes," saidhe, suddenly, "there is a mystery; but you and I will leave no stoneunturned until we penetrate it." He drew a chair close to the side ofhis friend, who was reclining on a couch. "Listen," said he, "andcorrect me if you fancy that I am not right in what I am saying. Doyou believe that the most terrible necessity alone has compelledSabine to write this letter?""Most certainly.""Both the Count and Countess were willing to accept you as their son-in-law?""Exactly so.""Could M. de Mussidan have found a more brilliant match for hisdaughter, one who could unite so many advantages of experience andeducation to so enormous a fortune?"De Breulh could hardly repress a smile.

"I am not wishing to pay you a compliment," said Andre impatiently.

"Reply to my question.""Very well then, I admit that according to the opinion of the world, Iwas a most eligible suitor, and that M. de Mussidan would find it hardto replace me.""Then tell me how it comes about that neither the Count nor theCountess has made any effort to prevent this rupture?""Their pride, perhaps, has been wounded.""Not so, for Modeste tells us that on the very day you sent the letterthe Count was going to call on you to break off the engagement.""Yes, that is so, if we are to believe Modeste."As if to give more emphasis to his words, Andre started to his feet.

"This," cried he, "this man, who has so suddenly appeared upon thescene, will marry Sabine, not only against her own will, but againstthat of her parents, and for what reason? Who is this man, and what isthe mysterious power that he possesses? His power is too great tospring from an honorable source. Sabine is sacrificing herself to thisman for some reason or other, and he, like a dastardly cur, is readyto take advantage of the nobleness of her heart.""I admit the correctness of your supposition," said he; "and now, howdo you propose to act?""I shall do nothing as yet," answered the young man, with a fiercegleam in his eyes. "Sabine asks me to tear her from my heart. I willaffect to do so for the time. Modeste believes in me, and will helpme. I have patience. The villain who has wrecked my life does not knowme, and I will only reveal myself upon the day that I hold himhelpless in my hand.""Take care, Andre," urged De Breulh; "a false step would ruin yourhopes for ever.""I will make none; as soon as I have this man's name, I will insulthim; there will be a duel, and I shall kill him--or he me.""A duel will be the height of madness, and would ruin all your hopesof marriage with Sabine.""The only thing that holds me back is that I do not wish that thereshould be a corpse between Sabine and myself. Blood on a bridal dress,they say, brings misery; and if this man is what I suspect him to be,I should be doing him too much honor if I crossed swords with him. No,I must have a deeper vengeance than this, for I can never forget thathe nearly caused Sabine's death."He paused for a few seconds, and once again broke the silence whichreigned in the room.

"To abuse the power that he must possess shows what a miserable wretchhe must be; and men do not attain such a height of infamy by a singlebound. The course of his life must be full of similar crimes, growingdeeper and deadlier as he moves on. I will make it my business tounmask him and to hold him up to the scorn and contempt of his fellow-men.""Yes; that is the plan to pursue.""And we will do so, sir. Ah! heaven help me! I say 'we,' for I haverelied on you. The generous offer that you made to me I refused, and Iwas in the right in doing so; but I should now be a mere madman if Idid not entreat you to grant me your aid and advice. We have bothknown hardship and are capable of going without food or sleep, ifnecessity requires it of us. We have both graduated in the school ofpoverty and sorrow. We can keep our plans to ourselves and act."Andre paused, as if waiting for a reply, but his friend remainedsilent.

"My plan is most simple," resumed the young painter. "As soon as weknow the fellow's name we shall be able to act. He will never suspectus, and we can follow him like his very shadow. There are professionaldetectives who, for a comparatively small sum, will lay bare a man'sentire life. Are we not as clever as this fine fellow? We can workwell together in our different circles; you, in the world of fashion,can pick up intelligence that I could not hope to gain; while I, frommy lowly position, will study the hidden side of his life, for I cantalk to the servants lounging at the front doors or the grooms at thepublic-houses without suspicion."M. de Breulh was delighted at finding that he could have someoccupation which would fill up the dreary monotony of his life.

"I am yours!" cried he; "and will work with you heart and soul!"Before the artist could reply a loud blow was struck upon the librarydoor, and a woman's voice exclaimed,--"Let me in, Gontran, at once.""It is Madame de Bois Arden," remarked De Breulh, drawing the boltback; and the Viscountess rushed hastily into the room and threwherself into a low chair.

Her beautiful face was bedewed with tears, and she was in a terriblestate of excitement.

"What is the matter, Clotilde?" asked De Breulh kindly, as he took herhand.

"Something terrible," answered she with a sob; "but you may be able tohelp me. Can you lend me twenty thousand francs?"De Breulh smiled; a heavy weight had been lifted from his heart.

"If that is all you require, do not shed any more tears.""But I want them at once.""Can you give me half an hour?""Yes; but lose no time."De Breulh drew a check and despatched his valet for the money.

"A thousand thanks!" said the Viscountess; "but money is not all thatI require, I want your advice."Andre was about to leave the cousins together, but the lady stoppedhim.

"Pray remain, M. Andre," said she; "you are not at all in the way;besides, I shall have to speak of some one in whom you take a verydeep interest--of Mademoiselle de Mussidan, in short.

"I never knew such a strange occurrence," continued the Viscountess,recovering her spirits rapidly, "as that to which, my dear Gontran,you owe my visit. Well, I was just going up to dress, for I had beendetained by visitor after visitor, when at two o'clock another camebefore I could give my order, 'Not at home.' This was the Marquis deCroisenois, the brother of the man who twenty years ago disappeared inso mysterious a manner. I hardly knew him at all, though of course wehave met in society, and he bows to me in the Bois, but that is all.""And yet he called on you to-day?" remarked De Breulh.

"Don't interrupt me," said the Viscountess. "Yes, he called, and thatis enough. He is good-looking, faultlessly dressed, and talks well. Hebrought a letter from an old friend of my grandmother's, theMarchioness d'Arlanges. She is a dear old thing, she uses awfullanguage, and some of her stories are quite too--you know what I mean.

In the letter the old lady said that the Marquis was one of herfriends, and begged me for her sake to do him the service he required.

Of course I asked him to be seated, and assured him that I would doanything that lay in my power. Then he began talking about M. deClinchain, and told me a funny story about that eccentric man and alittle actress, when I heard a great noise in the anteroom. I wasabout to ring and inquire the cause, when the door flew open and incame Van Klopen, the ladies' tailor, with a very inflamed countenance.

I thought that he had come in a hurry because he had hit on somethingextremely fetching and wished me to be the first to see it. But do youknow what the impudent fellow wanted?"A smile shone in De Breulh's eyes, as he answered,--"Money, perhaps!""You are right," returned the Viscountess, gravely; "he brought mybill into my very drawing-room, and handed it in before a stranger. Inever thought that a man who supplies the most aristocratic portion ofsociety could have been guilty of such a piece of impertinence. Iordered him to leave the room, taking it for granted that he would doso with an apology, but I was wrong. He flew into a rage andthreatened me, and swore that if I did not settle the bill on thespot, he would go to my husband. The bill was nearly twenty thousandfrancs; imagine my horror! I was so thunderstruck at the amount that Iabsolutely entreated him to give me time. But my humility added to hisannoyance, and taking a seat in an armchair, he declared that he wouldnot move from it until he received his money, or had seen my husband.""What was Croisenois doing all this time?" asked M. de Breulh.

"He did nothing at first, but at this last piece of audacity he tookout his pocketbook, and throwing it in Van Klopen's face, said: 'Payyourself, you insolent scoundrel, and get out of this.' ""And the tailor went off?""No. 'I must give you a receipt,' said he, and taking writingmaterials from his pocket, he wrote at the foot of the bill, 'Receivedfrom the Marquis de Croisenois, on account of money owing by theViscountess de Bois Arden, the sum of twenty thousand francs.' ""Well," said De Breulh, looking very grave, "and after Van Klopen'sdeparture, I suppose Croisenois remained to ask the favor regardingwhich he had called?""You are mistaken," answered his cousin. "I had great difficulty inmaking him speak; but at last he confessed that he was deeply in lovewith Mademoiselle de Mussidan, and entreated me to present him to herparents and exert all my influence in his behalf."Both the young men started.

"That is the man!" cried they.

"What do you mean?" asked the Viscountess, looking from one to theother.

"That your Marquis de Croisenois is a despicable scoundrel, who hadimposed upon the Marchioness d'Arlanges. Just you listen to ourreasons for coming to this conclusion." And with the most perfectclearness De Breulh had the whole state of the case before theViscountess.

The lady listened attentively, and then said,--"Your premises are wrong; just let me say a word on the matter. Yousay that there is some man who by means of the influence that heexercises over the Count and Countess, can coerce them into grantinghim Sabine's hand. But, my dear Gontran, an utter stranger to thefamily could not exercise this power. Now M. de Croisenois has neverentered the doors of the house, and came to me to ask for anintroduction."The justness of this remark silenced De Breulh, but Andre took anotherview of the matter.

"This seems all right at a first glance, but still, after theextraordinary scene that the Viscountess has described, I should liketo ask a few questions. Was not Van Klopen's behavior veryunexpected?""It was brutal and infamous.""Are you not one of his best customers?""I am, and I have spent an enormous sum with him.""But Van Klopen is nasty sometimes; did he not sue Mademoiselle deRiversac?" asked De Breulh.

"But he did not, I expect, force his way into her drawing-room andbehave outrageously before a perfect stranger. Do you know M. deCroisenois?" returned Andre.

"Very slightly; he is of good family, and his brother George was muchesteemed by all who knew him.""Has he plenty of money?""I do not think so, but in time he will inherit a large fortune; verylikely he is over head and ears in debt.""And yet he had twenty thousand francs in his pocketbook; is not thatrather a large sum to carry when you are simply making a morning call?

and it is curious, too, that it should have been the exact sum wanted.

Then there is another point; the pocketbook was hurled into VanKlopen's face. Did he submit without a word to such treatment?""He certainly said nothing," replied Madame de Bois Arden.

"One question more, if you please. Did Van Klopen open the book andcount the notes before he gave the receipt?"The Viscountess thought for a moment.

"I was a good deal excited," said she at length, "but I am almost surethat I saw no notes in Van Klopen's hands."Andre's face grew radiant.

"Good, very good; he was told to pay himself, and yet he never lookedto see if the money was there, but gave a receipt at once. Of course,as Van Klopen kept the pocketbook, the Marquis could have had nothingin it besides the exact sum that was required.""It does seem odd," muttered De Breulh.

"But," said Andre, "your bill was not exactly twenty thousand francs,was it?""No," answered the Viscountess. "I ought to have had change to theamount of a hundred or a hundred and twenty francs, but I suppose hewas too much excited to give it me.""But for all that he could remember that he had writing materials withhim, and give you a receipt?"The Viscountess was utterly bewildered.

"And," continued Andre, "how is it that Van Klopen knew De Croisenois'

name? And now, lastly, where is the receipt?"Madame de Bois Arden turned very pale and trembled violently.

"Ah," said she, "I felt sure that something was going to happen, andit was on this very point that I wanted your advice. Well, I have notgot the receipt. M. de Croisenois crumpled it up in his hand and threwit on the table. After a while, however, he took it up and put it inhis pocket.""It is all perfectly clear," said Andre in jubilant tones; "M. deCroisenois had need of your aid, he saw that he could not easilyobtain it, and so sought to bind you by the means of a loan made toyou at a time of great need.""You are right," said De Breulh.

The Viscountess' giddy mode of action had brought her into manyscrapes, but never into so terrible a one as this.

"Great heavens!" cried she, "what do you think that M. de Croisenoiswill do with this receipt?""He will do nothing," answered M. de Breulh, "if you do everything toadvance his suit; but pause for an instant, and he will show the handof steel which has up to now been covered by the velvet glove.""I am not alarmed at a new slander?" returned the Viscountess.

"And why not?" answered De Breulh. "You know very well that in thesedays of lavish expenditure and unbridled luxury there are many womenin society who are so basely vile that they ruin their lovers with aslittle compunction as their frailer sisters. To-morrow even DeCroisenois may say at the club, 'On my word that little Bois Ardencosts me a tremendous lot,' and hands about this receipt for twentythousand francs. What do you imagine that people will think then?""The world knows me too well to think so ill of me.""No, no, Clotilde, there is no charity in society; they will simplysay that you are his mistress, and finding that the allowance fromyour husband is not enough for your needs, you are ruining your lover.

There will be a significant laugh among the members, and in time, avery short time, the scandal in a highly sensational form will come tothe ears of your husband."The Viscountess wrung her hands.

"It is too horrible," wailed she. "And do you know that Bois Ardenwould put the worst construction on the whole affair, for he declaresthat a woman will sacrifice anything in order to outshine her sex indress. Ah, I will never run up another bill anywhere; tell me,Gontran, what I had better do. Can you not get the receipt from DeCroisenois?"M. de Breulh paused for a moment and then replied, "Of course I coulddo so, but such a step would be very damaging to your reputation. Ihave no proof; and if I went to him, he would deny everything ofcourse, and it would make him your enemy for life.""Besides," added Andre, "you would put him on his guard, and he wouldescape us."The unhappy woman glanced from one to the other in utter despair.

"Then I am lost," she exclaimed. "Am I to remain for the rest of mydays in this villain's power?""Not so," returned Andre, "for I hope soon to put it out of M. deCroisenois' power to injure any one. What did he say when he asked youto introduce him to the Mussidans?""Nothing pointed.""Then, madame, do not disturb yourself to-night. So long as he hopesyou will be useful, so long he will stay his hand. Do as he wishes;never allude to the receipt; introduce him and speak well of him,while I, aided by M. de Breulh, will do my utmost to unmask thisscoundrel; and as long as he believes himself to be in perfectsecurity, our task will be an easy one."Just then the servant returned from the bank, and as soon as the manhad left the room De Breulh took the notes and placed them in hiscousin's hand.

"Here is the money for De Croisenois," said he. "Take my advice, andgive it to him this evening with a polite letter of thanks.""A thousand thanks, Gontran; I will act as you advise.""Remember you must not allude in your letter to his introduction tothe Mussidans. What do you think, Andre?""I think a receipt for the money would be a great thing," answered he.

"But such a demand would arouse his suspicions.""I think not, madame, and I see a way of doing it; have you a maidupon whom you could rely?""Yes, I have one.""Good, then give the girl a letter and the notes done up in a separateparcel, and tell her exactly what she is to do. When she sees theMarquis, let her pretend to be alarmed at the great responsibilitythat she is incurring in carrying this large sum, and insist upon areceipt for her own protection.""There is sound sense in that," said De Breulh.

"Yes, yes," said the Viscountess, "Josephine will do--as sharp a girlas you could find in a day's journey--and will manage the thingadmirably. Trust to me," she continued, as a smile of hope spread overher face; "I will keep De Croisenois in a good humor; he will confidein me, and I will tell you everything. But, oh dear! what shall I dowithout Van Klopen? Why, there is not another man in Paris fit tostand in his shoes."With these words the Viscountess rose to leave.

"I am completely worn out," remarked she; "and I have a dinner-partyto-night. Good-bye then, until we meet again;" and with her spiritsevidently as joyous as ever, she tripped into her carriage.

"Now," said Andre, as soon as they were once more alone, "we are onthe track of De Croisenois. He evidently holds Madame de Mussidan ashe holds Madame de Bois Arden. His is a really honorable mode ofaction; he surprises a secret, and then turns extortioner."
Chapter 25 A NEW SKIN.
　　25Dr. Hortebise's private arrangements were sadly upset by his beingcompelled to accede to the desire of Tantaine and Mascarin, and ingranting hospitality to Paul Violaine; and in spite of the brilliantvisions of the future, he often devoutly wished that Mascarin and hisyoung friend were at the other side of the world; but for all that henever thought of attempting to evade the order he had received. Hetherefore set himself steadily to his task, endeavoring to form Paul'smind, blunt his conscience, and prepare him for the inevitable partthat he would soon have to play.

Paul found in him a most affable companion, pleasant, witty, andgifted with great conversational powers. Five days were thus spentbreakfasting at well-known restaurants, driving in the Bois, anddining at clubs of which the doctor was a member, while the eveningswere passed at the banker's. The doctor played cards with his host,while Paul and Flavia conversed together in low whispers, or else hungover the piano together. But every kind of agreeable existence comesto an end, and one day Daddy Tantaine entered the room, his faceradiant with delight.

"I have secured you the sweetest little nest in the world," cried hemerrily. "It is not so fine as this, but more in accordance with yourposition.""Where is it?" asked Paul.

Tantaine waited. "You won't wear out much shoe leather," said he, "inwalking to a certain banker's, for your lodgings are close to hishouse."That Tantaine had a splendid talent for arrangement Paul realized assoon as he entered his new place of abode, which was in the RueMontmartre, and consisted of some neat, quiet rooms, just such as anartist who had conquered his first difficulties would inhabit. Theapartments were on the third floor, and comprised a tiny entrancehall, sitting-room, bed and dressing room. A piano stood near thewindow in the sitting-room. The furniture and curtains were tastefuland in good order, but nothing was new. One thing surprised Paul verymuch; he had been told that the apartments had been taken andfurnished three days ago, and yet it seemed as if they had beeninhabited for years, and that the owner had merely stepped out a fewminutes before. The unmade bed, and the half-burnt candles in thesleeping-room added to this impression, while on the rug lay a pair ofworn slippers. The fire had not gone out entirely, and a half-smokedcigar lay on the mantelpiece.

On the table in the sitting-room was a sheet of music paper, with afew bars jotted down upon it. Paul felt so convinced that he was inanother person's rooms, that he could not help exclaiming, "But surelysome one has been living in these chambers.""We are in your own home, my dear boy," said Tantaine.

"But you took over everything, I suppose, and the original proprietorsimply walked out?"Tantaine smiled, as though an unequivocal compliment had been paidhim.

"Why, do you not know your own home?" asked he; "you have been livinghere for the last twelve months.""I can't understand you," answered Paul, opening his eyes inastonishment; "you must be jesting.""I am entirely in earnest; for more than a year you have beenestablished here. If you want a proof of the correctness of myassertion, call up the porter." He ran to the head of the staircaseand called out, "Come up, Mother Brigaut."In a few moments a stout old woman came panting into the room.

"And how are you, Mother Brigaut?" said Tantaine gayly. "I have a wordor two to say to you. You know that gentleman, do you not?""What a question? as if I did not know one of the gentlemen lodginghere?""What is his name?""M. Paul.""What, plain M. Paul, and nothing else?""Well, sir, it is not his fault if he did not know his father ormother.""What does he do?""He is a musician; he gives lessons on the piano, and composes music.""Does he do a good business?""I can't say, sir, but I should guess about two or three hundredfrancs a month; and he makes that do, for he is economical and quiet,and as modest as a young girl."Tantaine's face shone all over with satisfaction.

"You must have known M. Paul for some time, as you seem so thoroughlyacquainted with his habits?" said he.

"Well, I ought to, for he has been here nearly fifteen months, and allthat time I have looked after his room.""Do you know where he lived before he came here?""Of course I do, for I went to inquire about him in the Rue Jacob. Thepeople there were quite cut up at his leaving, but you see this wasmore handy for the music publisher in the Rue Richelieu, for whom heworks.""Good, Mother Brigaut; that will do; you can leave us now."As Paul listened to this brief conversation, he wondered if he wasawake or asleep. Tantaine stood at the door and watched the woman downstairs; then he closed it carefully, and coming up to Paul, said,--"Well, what do you think of all this?"At first Paul was so astounded that he could hardly find words inwhich to express himself; but he remembered the words that Dr.

Hortebise had so often dinned into his ears during the last fivedays,--"Let nothing astonish you.""I suppose," said he at last, "that you had taught this old woman herlesson beforehand.""Merciful powers!" exclaimed Tantaine in tones of extreme disgust. "Ifthese are all the ideas you have gained from what you have heard, ourtask will not be by any means an easy one."Paul was wounded by Tantaine's contemptuous manner.

"I understand well enough, sir," answered he sulkily, "that this ismerely a prologue to a romantic drama.""You are right, my lad," cried he, in a more satisfied voice; "and itis one that is quite indispensable. The plot of the drama will berevealed to you later on, and also the reward you will receive if youplay your part well.""But why cannot you tell me everything now?"Tantaine shook his head.

"Have patience, you rash boy!" said he. "Rome was not built in a day.

Be guided by me, and follow blindly the orders of those interested inyou. This is your first lesson; think it over seriously.""My first lesson! What do you mean?""Call it a rehearsal if you like. All that the good woman told you,"continued Tantaine, "you must look upon as true; nay, it is true, andwhen you believe this thoroughly, you are quite prepared for the fray,but until then you must remain quiescent. Remember this, you cannotimpress others unless you firmly believe yourself. The greatestimpostors of all ages have ever been their own dupes."At the word impostor, Paul seemed about to speak, but a wave ofTantaine's hand silenced him.

"You must cast aside your old skin, and enter that of another. PaulViolaine, the natural son of a woman who kept a small drapery shop atPoitiers, Paul Violaine, the youthful lover of Rose, no longer exists.

He died of cold and hunger in a garret in the Hotel de Perou, as M. deLoupins will testify when necessary."The tone in which Tantaine spoke showed his intense earnestness, andwith emphatic gestures he drove each successive idea into Paul'sbrain.

"You will rid yourself of your former recollections as you do of anold coat, which you throw aside, and forget the very existence of. Andnot only that, but you must lose your memory, and that so entirely,that if any one in the street calls out Violaine, you will never evendream of turning round."Paul's brain seemed to tremble beneath the crime that his companionwas teaching him.

"Who am I then?" asked he.

A sardonic smile crossed Tantaine's face.

"You are just what the portress told you, Paul, and nothing more. Yourfirst recollections are of a Foundling Hospital, and you never knewyour parents. You have lived here fifteen months, and before that youresided in the Rue Jacob. The portress knows no more; but if you willcome with me to the Rue Jacob, the people there can tell you moreabout your life when you were a lodger in the house. Perhaps, if youare careful, we may take you back to your more childish days, and evenfind you a father.""But," said Paul, "I might be questioned regarding my past life: whatthen? M. Rigal or Mademoiselle Flavia might interrogate me at anymoment?""I see; but do not disquiet yourself. You will be furnished with allnecessary papers, so that you can account for all your life during thetwenty-five years you spent in this world.""Then I presume that the person into whose shoes I have crept was acomposer and a musician like myself?"Again Tantaine's patience gave way, and it was with an oath that heexclaimed,--"Are you acting the part of a fool, or are you one in reality? No onehas ever been here except you. Did you not hear what the old womansaid? She told you that you are a musician, a self-made one, and whilewaiting until your talents are appreciated, you give lessons inmusic.""And to whom do I /give/ them?"Tantaine took three visiting cards from a china ornament on themantelshelf.

"Here are three pupils of yours," said he, "who can pay you onehundred francs per month for two lessons a week, and two of them willassure you that you have taught them for some time. The third, MadameGrandorge, a widow, will vow that she owes all her success, which isvery great, to your lessons. You will go and give these pupils theirlessons at the hours noted on their cards, and you will be received asif you had often been to the house before; and remember to beperfectly at your ease.""I will do my best to follow your instructions.""One last piece of information. In addition to your lessons, you arein the habit of copying for certain wealthy amateurs the fragments ofold and almost obsolete operas, and on the piano lies the work thatyou are engaged on for the Marquis de Croisenois, a charmingcomposition by Valserra. You see," continued Tantaine, taking Paul bythe arm, and showing him round the room, "that nothing has beenforgotten, and that you have lived here for years past. You havealways been a steady young man, and have saved up a little money. Inthis drawer you will find eight certificates of scrip from the Bank ofFrance."Paul would have put many more questions, but the visitor was alreadyon the threshold, and only paused to add these words,--"I will call here to-morrow with Dr. Hortebise." Then, with a strangesmile playing on his lips, he added, as Mascarin had before, "You willbe a duke yet."The old portress was waiting for Tantaine, and as soon as she saw himcoming down the stairs immersed in deep thought, out she ran towardhim with as much alacrity as her corpulency would admit.

"Did I do it all right?" asked she.

"Hush!" answered he, pushing her quickly into her lodge, the door ofwhich stood open. "Hush! are you mad or drunk, to talk like this, whenyou do not know who is listening?""I hope you were pleased with my success," continued the woman, aghastat his sudden anger.

"You did well--very well; you piled up the evidence perfectly. I shallhave an excellent report to make of you to M. Mascarin.""I am so glad; and now my husband and I are quite safe?"The old man shook his head with an air of doubt.

"Well, I can hardly say that yet; the master's arm is long and strong;but you have numerous enemies. All the servants in the house hate you,and would be glad to see you come to grief.""Is that really so, sir? How can that be, for both I and my husbandhave been very kind to all of them?""Yes, perhaps you have been lately, but how about the times before?

You and your husband both acted very foolishly. Article 386 cannot begot now, and two women can swear that they saw you and your husband,with a bunch of keys in your hand, on the second floor."The fat woman's face turned a sickly yellow, she clasped her hands,and whined in tones of piteous entreaty,--"Don't speak so loud, sir, I beg of you.""You made a terrible mistake in not coming to my master earlier, forthere had been then so much talk that the matter had reached the earsof the police.""But for all that, if M. Mascarin pleased----""He does please, my good woman, and is quite willing to serve you. Iam sure that he will manage to break the inquiry; or if it must go on,he has several witnesses who will depose in your favor; but, you know,he gives nothing for nothing, and must have implicit obedience.""Good, kind man that he is, my husband and I would go through fire andwater for him, while my daughter, Euphenice, would do anything in theworld for him."Tantaine recoiled uneasily, for the old woman's gratitude was sodemonstrative that he feared she was about to embrace him.

"All you have to do is to stick firmly to what you have said aboutPaul," continued he, when he found himself at a safe distance; "and ifever you breathe a word of what you have been doing, he will hand youover to the law, and then take care of Article 386."It was evident that this portion of the Code, that had reference tothe robbery of masters by servants, struck terror into the woman'ssoul.

"If I stood on the scaffold," said she, "I would tell the story aboutM. Paul exactly as I have been taught."Her tone was so sincere, that Tantaine addressed her in a kindliervoice.

"Stick to that," said he, "and I can say to you, 'Hope.' Upon the dayon which the young man's business is settled you will get a paper fromme, which will prove your complete innocence, and enable you to say,'I have been grossly maligned.' ""May the dear young man's business be settled sharp," said she.

"It will not be long before it is so; but, remember, in the meantimeyou must keep an eye upon him.""I will do so.""And, remember, report to me whoever comes to see him, no matter whoit may be.""Not a soul can go upstairs without my seeing or hearing him.""Well, if any one, save the master, Dr. Hortebise, or myself comes, donot lose a moment, but come and report.""You shall know in five minutes.""I wonder if that is all I have to say?" mused Tantaine. "Ah! Iremember: note exactly the hour at which this young man comes andgoes. Do not have any conversation with him; answer all questions headdresses you with a simple 'Yes,' or 'No,' and, as I said before,watch his every movement."And Tantaine turned to go away, paying no attention to the woman'seager protestations.

"Keep a strict watch," were his last words, "and, above all, see thatthe lad gets into no scrape."In Tantaine's presence Paul had endeavored to assume an air ofbravado, but as soon as he was left alone he was seized with suchmortal terror, that he sank in a half fainting condition into an easy-chair. He felt that he was not going to put on a disguise for a briefperiod, but for life, and that now, though he rose in life, wealth,title, even a wife would all have been obtained by a shameful andskilfully planned deception, and this deception he must keep up untilthe day of his death. He shuddered as he recalled Tantaine's words,"Paul Violaine is dead." He recalled the incidents in the life of theescaped galley-slave Coignard, who, under the name of Pontis de St.

Helene, absolutely assumed the rank of a general officer, and tookcommand of a domain. Coignard was recognized and betrayed by an oldfellow-prisoner, and this was exactly the risk that Paul knew he mustrun, for any of his old companions might recognize and denounce him.

Had he on such an occasion sufficient presence of mind to turnlaughingly to his accuser, and say, "Really, my good fellow, you arein error, for I never set eyes on you before?"He felt that he could not do it, and had he any means of existence, hewould have solved the difficulty by taking to flight. But he knew thatmen like Mascarin, Hortebise, and Tantaine were not easily eluded, andhis heart sank within him as he remembered the various crumbs ofinformation that each of these men had dropped before him. To agree totheir sordid proposals, and to remain in the position in which he was,was certainly to incur a risk, but it was one that was a long way off,and might never eventually come to pass; while to change his mindwould be as sure to bring down swift and condign punishment upon hishead; and the weak young man naturally chose the more remotecontingency, and with this determination the last qualms of hisconscience expired.

The first night he slept badly in his new abode, for it seemed to himas if the spectre of the man whose place he was to usurp was hoveringover his couch. But with the dawn of day, and especially when the hourarrived for him to go out and give his lessons, he felt his couragereturn to him, though rashness perhaps would be the more correct word.

And with a mien of perfect confidence he repaired to the house ofMademoiselle Grandorge, the oldest of his pupils. Impelled by the samefeeling of curiosity as to how Paul would comport himself, both Dr.

Hortebise and Father Tantaine had been hanging about the RueMontmartre, and taking advantage of a heavy dray that was passing,caught a good glimpse of the young man.

"Aha," chuckled Tantaine, delighted at seeing Paul look so brisk andjoyous, "our young cock is in full feather; last night he wasdecidedly rather nervous.""Yes," answered the doctor, "he is on the right road, and I think thatwe shall have no further trouble with him."They then thought it would be as well to see Mother Brigaut, and werereceived by the old woman with slavish deference.

"No one has been near the dear young gentleman," said she, in reply totheir questions. "Last night he came down about seven o'clock, andasked where the nearest eating-house was. I directed him to Du Val's,and he was back by eight, and by eleven I saw that he had put out hislight.""How about to-day?""I went up stairs at nine, and he had just finished dressing. He toldme to get his breakfast ready, which I did. He ate well, and I said tomyself, 'Good; the bird is getting used to its cage.' ""And then?""Then he commenced singing like a very bird, the dear fellow. Hisvoice is as sweet as his face; any woman would fall in love with him.

I'm precious glad that my girl, Euphenice is nowhere near.""And after that he went out?" continued Tantaine. "Did he say how longhe would be away?""Only to give his lessons. I suppose he expected that you would call.""Very good," remarked the old man; then, addressing Dr. Hortebise, hesaid, "Perhaps, sir, you are going to the Registry Office?""Yes; I want to see Mascarin.""He is not there; but if you want to see him on any special matter,you had better come to our young friend's apartment, and await hisarrival.""Very well, I will do so," answered the doctor.

Hortebise was much more impressed than Paul with the skill of the handwhich had imparted such a look of long occupation to the rooms.

"On my word, the quiet simplicity of these rooms would induce anyfather to give his daughter to this young fellow."The old man's silence surprised him, and turning sharply round, he wasstruck by the gloomy look upon his features.

"What is the matter?" asked Hortebise, with some anxiety. "What istroubling you?"Tantaine had thrown himself into a chair, and for a moment made noreply; then, springing to his feet, he gave the expiring embers afurious kick, and faced the doctor with folded arms.

"I see much trouble before us," said he at last.

The doctor's face grew as gloomy as that of his companion.

"Is it Perpignan who interferes?" asked he.

"No, Perpignan is only a fool; but he will do what I tell him.""Then I really do not see--""Do not see," exclaimed Tantaine; "but luckily for us all, I am not soblind. Have you forgotten this marriage of De Croisenois? There liesthe danger. All had gone so smoothly, every combination had beenarranged, and every difficulty foreseen, and now----""Well, you had made too sure, that was all; and you were unpreparedfor the slightest check.""Not so, but I had made no attempt to guard against the impossible.""Of course, there are limits to all human intelligence, but prayexplain yourself.""This is it, then, doctor. The most adroit energy could never have putin our way such an obstacle as now threatens us. Have you in yourexperience of society ever come across a wealthy heiress who isindifferent to all the allurements of luxury, and is capable ofdisinterested love?"The doctor smiled an expressive denial.

"But such an heiress does exist," said Tantaine, "and her name isSabine de Mussidan. She loves--and whom do you think?--why a merepainter, who has crossed my path three times already. He is full, too,of energy and perseverance, and for these qualities I have never methis equal.""What, a man without friends, money, or position, what can--"A rapid gesture of Tantaine's checked his companion's speech.

"Unfortunately he is not without friends," remarked the genialTantaine. "He has one friend at least; can you guess who it is? Noless a personage than the man who was to have married Sabine, M. deBreulh-Faverlay."At this unexpected news Hortebise remained silent and aghast.

"How on earth those two met I cannot imagine. It must have been Sabinethat brought them together, but the facts remain the same. They areclose friends anyhow. And these two men have in their interests thevery woman that I had selected to push De Croisenois' suit.""Is it possible?""That is my present belief. At any rate, these three had a longinterview last night, and doubtless came to a decision hostile to theinterests of the Marquis.""What do you mean?" asked Hortebise, his lips tightly compressed withanxiety. "Do you mean that they are aware of the manner by which DeCroisenois hopes to succeed?""Look here?" answered Tantaine. "A general, on the eve of a battle,takes every precaution, but among his subordinates there are alwaysfools, if not traitors. I had arranged a pretty little scene betweenCroisenois and Van Klopen, by which the Viscountess would be securelytrapped. Unfortunately, though the rehearsal was excellent, therepresentation was simply idiotic. Neither of the actors took theleast trouble to enter into the spirit of his part. I had arranged ascene full of delicacy and /finesse/, and they simply made a low,coarse exhibition of it and themselves. Fools! they thought it was theeasiest thing in the world to deceive a woman; and finally theMarquis, to whom I had recommended the most perfect discretion, openedfire, and actually spoke of Sabine and his desire to press his suit.

The Viscountess found, with a woman's keen perceptions, that there wassomething arranged between Van Klopen and her visitor, and hurried offto her cousin, M. de Breulh-Faverlay for advice and assistance."The doctor listened to this recital, pallid and trembling.

"Who told you all this?" gasped he.

"No one; I discovered it; and it was easy to do so. When we have aresult, it is easy to trace it back to the cause. Yes, this is whattook place.""Why don't you say at once that the whole scheme is knocked on thehead?" asked the doctor.

"Because I do not think that it is; I know that we have sustained avery severe check; but when you are playing /ecarte/ and youradversary has made five points to your one, you do not necessarilythrow down the cards and give up the game? Not a bit; you hold on andstrive to better your luck."The worthy Dr. Hortebise did not know whether the most to admire theperseverance or deplore the obstinacy of the old man, and exclaimed,--"Why, this is utter madness; it is like plunging headlong into a deeppit, which you can easily see in your path."Tantaine gave a long, low whistle.

"My friend," said he, "what in your opinion would be the best courseto pursue?""I should say, without a moment's hesitation, turn up the wholescheme, and look out for another one, which, if less lucrative, wouldnot be so full of danger. You had hoped to win the game, and with goodreason too. Now throw aside all feelings of wounded vanity, and acceptyour defeat. After all, it does not matter to us who Mademoiselle deMussidan marries. The great enterprise fortunately does not lie inthis alliance. We have still the idea of the Company to which all oldpeople must subscribe remaining to us, and we can work it up at once."He stopped short, abashed by the look on Tantaine's face.

"It strikes me," resumed the doctor, a little mortified, "that myproposal is not utterly ridiculous, and certainly deserves someconsideration.""Perhaps so; but is it a practical one?""I see o reason why it should not be.""Indeed, then, you look at the thing in a very different manner tomyself. We are too far advanced, my dear doctor, to be our ownmasters. We must go on, and have no option to do otherwise. To beat aretreat would simply be to invite our enemies to fall upon ourdisorganized battalions. We must give battle; and as the first tostrike has always the best chance of victory, we must strive to takethe initiative.""The idea is good, but these are mere words.""Was the secret that we confided to De Croisenois only words?"This thrust went home.

"Do you mean that you think he would betray us?" said he.

"Why should he not if it were to his interests to do so? Reflect,Croisenois is almost at the end of his tether. We have dangled theline of a princely fortune before his eyes. Do you think he would donothing if we were to say, 'Excuse us, but we made a mistake; poor asyou are, so you must remain, for we do not intend to help you?' ""But is it necessary to say that at all?""Well, at any rate, whatever we choose to say, what limit do you thinkhe will place upon his extortions now that he holds our secret? Wehave taught him his music, and he will make us do our part in thechorus, and can blackmail us as well as we can others.""We played a foolish game," answered Dr. Hortebise moodily.

"No; we had to confide in some one. Besides, the two affairs, that ofMadame de Mussidan and the Duke de Champdoce, ran so well together.

They were the simultaneous emanations of my brain. I worked them uptogether, and together they must stand or fall.""Then you are determined to go on?""Yes; more determined than ever."The doctor had been playing with his locket for some time, and thecontact of the cold metal seemed to have affected his nerves; for itwas in a trembling voice that he replied,--"I vowed long ago that we should sink or swim together." He paused,and then, with a melancholy smile upon his face, continued,--"I haveno intention of breaking my oath, you see; but I repeat, that yourroad seems to be a most perilous one, and I will add that I consideryou headstrong and self-opinionated; but for all that I will followyou, even though the path you have chosen leads to the grave. I haveat this moment a something between my fingers that will save me fromshame and disgrace--a little pill to be swallowed, a gasp, a littledizziness, and all is over."Tantaine did not seem to care for the doctor's explanation.

"There, that will do," said he. "If things come to the worst, you canuse the contents of your locket as much as you like, but in themeantime leave it alone, and do not keep jingling it in thatdistracting manner. For people of our stamp a danger well known is acomparatively slight peril, for threats furnish us with means ofdefence. Woe, I say, woe to the man who crosses my path, for I willhold my hand from nothing!" He stopped for a little, opened everydoor, and assured himself that there were no eavesdroppers, and then,in a low whisper, he said to Hortebise, "Do you not see that there isbut one obstacle to our success, and that is Andre? Remove him, andthe whole of our machinery will work as smoothly as ever."Hortebise winced, as if suffering from a sudden pain.

"Do you mean----?" asked he.

But Tantaine interrupted him with a low laugh, terrible to listen to.

"And why not?" said he. "Is it not better to kill than to be killed?"Hortebise trembled from head to foot. He had no objection to extortingmoney by the basest threats, but he drew the line at murder.

"And suppose we were found out?" muttered he.

"Nonsense! How could we be discovered? Justice always looks for amotive; how, then could they bring it home to us? They could only findout that a young lady adored by De Breulh had thrown him over in orderto marry Andre.""Horrible!" murmured the doctor, much shocked.

"I daresay that it is horrible, and I have no wish to proceed toextremities. I only wish to speak of it as a remote possibility, andone that we may be compelled to adopt. I hate violence just as much asyou do, and trust that it may not be necessary."Just then the door opened, and Paul entered, a letter in his hand. Heseemed in excellent spirits, and shook hands with both his visitors.

Tantaine smiled sarcastically as he contrasted Paul's high spiritswith the state of depression in which he had left him not many hoursago.

"Things are evidently going well with you," remarked the doctor,forcing a smile.

"Yes; I cannot find any reason for complaint.""Have you given your lesson?""Yes; what a delightful woman Madame Grandorge is! she has treated meso kindly.""That is a good reason for your being so happy," remarked the doctor,with a tinge of irony in his voice.

"Ah, that is not the only reason," returned Paul.

"Shall I be indiscreet if I ask the real cause, then?""I am not quite sure whether I ought to speak on this matter," said hefatuously.

"What! a love adventure already?" laughed the doctor.

The vanity of Paul's nature beamed out in a smile.

"Keep your secret, my boy," said Tantaine, in louder accents.

This, of course, was enough to loosen Paul's tongue.

"Do you think, sir," said he, "that I would keep anything from you?"He opened the letter he held in his hand, continuing: "The portresshanded this to me as I came in; she said it was left by a bankmessenger. Can you guess where it came from? Let me tell you--it isfrom Mademoiselle Flavia Rigal, and leaves no room to doubt of hersentiments toward me.""Is that a fact?""It is so; and whenever I choose, Mademoiselle Flavia will be only tooready to become Madame Paul."For an instant a bright flush crimsoned old Tantaine's wrinkled face,but it faded away almost as soon as it appeared.

"Then you feel happy?" asked he, with a slight quiver in his voice.

Paul threw back his coat, and, placing his fingers in the armholes ofhis waistcoat, remarked carelessly,--"Yes, of course, I am happy, as you may suppose; but the news is notparticularly startling to me. On my third visit to M. Rigal's, thegirl let me know that I need not sigh in vain."Tantaine covered his face with his hands as Paul passed his fingersthrough his hair, and, striking what he considered an imposingattitude, read as follows:--"MY DEAR PAUL,--"I was very naughty, and I repent of it. I could not sleep allnight, for I was haunted by the look of sorrow I saw in your facewhen you took leave of me. Paul, I did it to try you. Can youforgive me? You might, for I suffered much more than you couldhave done. Some one who loves me--perhaps more than you do--hastold me that when a girl shows all the depths of her heart to aman she runs the risk of his despising her. Can this be true? Ihope not, Paul, for never--no, never--can I conceal my feelings;and the proof of my faith in you is that I am going now to tellyou all. I am sure that if your good friend and mine, Dr.

Hortebise, came to my father with a certain request from you, itwould not be rejected.

"Your own"FLAVIA.""Did not this letter go straight to your heart?" asked Tantaine.

"Of course it did. Why, she will have a million for her weddingportion!"On hearing these words, Tantaine started up with so threatening anaspect that Paul recoiled a step, but a warning look from the doctorrestrained the old man's indignation.

"He is a perfect sham!" muttered he; "even his vices are merepretence.""He is our pupil, and is what we have made him," whispered Tantaine.

Meanwhile Tantaine had gone up to Paul, and, placing his handcaressingly on his shoulder, said,--"My boy, you will never know how much you owe to Mademoiselle Flavia."Paul could not understand the meaning of this scene. These men haddone their best to pervert his morals, and to deaden the voice of hisconscience, and now that he had hoped to earn their praise by anaffectation of cynicism they were displeased with him. Before,however, he could ask a question, Tantaine had completely recoveredhis self-command.

"My dear boy," said he, "I am quite satisfied with you. I came hereto-day expecting to find you still undecided, and I am pleased withthe change.""But, sir--" said Paul.

"On the contrary, you are firm and strong.""Yes, he has got on so well," said the doctor, "that we should nowtreat him as one of ourselves, and confide more in him. To-night, myyoung friend, M. Mascarin will get from Caroline Schimmel the solutionof the riddle that has for so long perplexed us. Be at the officeto-morrow at ten o'clock, and you shall be told everything."Paul would have asked more questions, but Tantaine cut him short witha brief good-morning, and went off hurriedly, taking the doctor withhim, and seemingly wishing to avoid a hazardous and unpleasantexplanation.

"Let us get out of this," whispered he. "In another moment I shouldhave knocked the conceited ass down. Oh, my Flavia! my poor Flavia!

your weakness of to-day will yet cost you very dear!"Paul remained rooted to the ground, with an expression of surprise andconfusion upon every line of his face. All his pride and vanity hadgone. "I wonder," muttered he, "what these disagreeable persons aresaying about me? Perhaps laughing at my inexperience and ridiculing myaspirations." The idea made him grind his teeth with rage; but he wasmistaken, for neither Tantaine nor the doctor mentioned his name afterthey had left his apartment. As they walked up the Rue Montmartre, alltheir ideas were turning upon how it would be easiest to checkmateAndre.

"I have not yet got sufficient information to act on," remarkedTantaine meditatively. "My present plan is to remain perfectlyquiescent, and I have told Croisenois not to make a move of any kind.

I have an eye and ear watching and listening when they thinkthemselves in perfect privacy. Very soon I shall fathom their plans,and then--, but in the meantime have faith in me, and do not let thematter worry you."On the boulevard Tantaine took leave of his friend.

"I shall very likely not see you to-night, for I have an appointmentat the Grand Turk with that precious young rascal, Toto Chupin. I/must/ find Caroline, for I am sure that with her lies the Champdocesecret. She is very cunning, but has a weakness for drink, and, withSatan's help, I hope to find out the special liquor which will makeher open her lips freely."
Chapter 26 AT THE GRAND TURK.
　　26Tantaine took a cab, and, promising the cabman a handsome gratuity ifhe would drive fast, stopped at the spot where the Rue Blancheintersects the Rue de Douai, and told the coachman to wait for him,and entered the house where the younger Gandelu had installed the fairMadame de Chantemille. It was some time before his ring at the doorwas answered, but at last the door was opened by a stout, red-facedgirl, with an untidy cap. Upon seeing Tantaine, she uttered anexclamation of delight, for it was the cook that had been placed inZora's employment by M. Mascarin's agency.

"Ah, Daddy Tantaine," said she, "you are as welcome as the sun inwinter.""Hush, hush," returned the old man, gazing cautiously round him.

"Don't be frightened," returned the girl. "Madame has gone to a placefrom when there is no return ticket, at least, for some time. You knowthe greater the value of an article the closer we keep it under lockand key."Tantaine gathered from this that Rose had been arrested, and hisastonishment appeared to be unmeasured.

"Surely you don't mean that she has gone to quod?" said he.

"It is as I tell you," answered she; "but come in, and have a glass ofwine, while you hear all about it."She led the old man into the dining-room, round the table in which ahalf dozen guests were seated, just concluding a late breakfast.

Tantaine at once recognized four of the several guests as servantswhom he knew from their having applied for situations at the office,and there were two men of a very unprepossessing exterior.

"We are having a regular spree to-day," observed the cook, handing abottle to Tantaine; "but yesterday there was not much of ajollification here, for just as I was setting about getting the dinnertwo fellows came in and asked for my mistress, and as soon as they sawher they clapped their hands on her and said that she must come to thestone jug. When madame heard this she shrieked so loud as to have beenheard in the next street. She would not go a foot with them, clung tothe furniture and banisters, so they just took her up by the head andfeet, and carried her down to a cab that was standing at the door. Iseem to bring ill luck wherever I go, for this is the fourth mistressI have seen taken off in this way; but come, you are taking nothing atall."But Tantaine had had enough, and making an excuse, retired from adebauch which he saw would continue as long as the wine held out.

"All is going well," muttered he, as he climbed into the cab; "and nowfor the next one."He drove straight to the house that the elder Gandelu was building inthe Champs Elysees, and putting his head out of the window, heaccosted a light, active young fellow who was warning the footpassengers not to pass under the scaffolding.

"Anything new, La Cordille?" enquired the old man.

"No, nothing; but tell the master I am keeping a good watch."From there Tantaine visited a footman in De Breulh's employment, and awoman in the service of Madame de Bois Arden. Then, paying his fare,he started on foot for Father Canon's wine shop, in the Rue St.

Honore, where he met Florestan, who was as saucy and supercilious toTantaine as he was obsequious to Mascarin. But although he paid forFlorestan's dinner, all that he could extort from him was, that Sabinewas terribly depressed. It was fully eight o'clock before Tantaine hadgot rid of Florestan, and hailing another cab, he ordered the driverto take him to the Grand Turk, in the Rue des Poissonniers.

The magnificent sign of the Grand Turk dances in the breeze, andinvites such youths as Toto Chupin and his companions. The wholeaspect of the exterior seemed to invite the passers-by to step in andtry the good cheer provided within,--a good /table d'hote/ at sixp.m., coffee, tea, liquors, and a grand ball to complete the work ofdigestion. A long corridor leads to this earthly Eden, and the twodoors at the end of it open, the one into the dining, and the otherinto the ball-room. A motley crew collected there for the eveningmeal, and on Sundays it is next to impossible to procure a seat. Butthe dining-room is the Grand Turk's greatest attraction, for as soonas the dessert is over the head waiter makes a sign, and dishes andtablecloths are cleared away in a moment. The dining-room becomes a/café/, and the click of dominoes gives way to the rattle of forks,while beer flows freely. This, however, is nothing, for, at a secondsignal, huge folding doors are thrown open, and the strains of anorchestra ring out as an invitation to the ball, to which all dinersare allowed free entrance. Nothing is danced but round dances, polkas,mazurkas, and waltzes.

The German element was very strong at the Grand Turk, and if agentleman wished to make himself agreeable to his fair partners, itwas necessary for him, at any rate, to be well up in the Alsatiandialect. The master of the ceremonies had already called upon thevotaries of Terpsichore to take their places for the waltz as DaddyTantaine entered the hall. The scene was a most animated one, and theair heavy with the scent of beer and tobacco, and would haveasphyxiated any one not used to venture into such places.

It was the first time that he had ever visited the Grand Turk, and yetany one observing would have sworn that he was one of the regularfrequenters as he marched idly through the rooms, making constantpauses at the bar. But glance around him as he might, he could seeneither Toto Chupin nor Caroline Schimmel.

"Have I come here for nothing," muttered he, "or is the hour tooearly?"It was hard to waste time thus, but at last he sat down and orderedsome beer. His eyes wandered to a large picture on the wall,representing a fat, eastern-looking man, with a white turban andloose, blue garments, seated in a crimson chair, with his feet restingupon a yellow carpet. One hand was caressing his protuberant paunch,while the other was extended toward a glass of beer. Evidently this isthe Grand Turk. And finally by an odalisque, who fills his goblet withthe foaming infusion of malt and hops. This odalisque is very fair andstout, and some fair Alsatian damsel has evidently sat as the model.

As Tantaine was gazing upon this wondrous work of art he heard asqueaking voice just behind him.

"That is certainly that young rogue Chupin," muttered he.

He turned sharply round, and two tables off, in a dark corner, hediscovered the young gentleman that he had been looking for. As hegazed on the lad, he was not surprised that he had not recognized himat first, for Toto had been strangely transmogrified, and in no degreeresembled the boy who had shivered in a tattered blouse in the archwaynear the Servants' Registry Office. He was now gorgeous to behold.

From the moment that he had got his hundred francs he had chalked outa new line of life for himself, and was busy pursuing it. He had foundthat he could make all his friends merry, and he had succeeded. He hadmade a selection from the most astounding wares that the Parisiantailor keeps on hand. He had sneered at young Gaston de Gandelu, andcalled him an ape; but he had aped the ape. He wore a very short,light coat, a waistcoat that was hideous from its cut and brilliancy,and trousers strapped tightly under his feet. His collar was so talland stiff, that he had the greatest difficulty in turning his head. Hehad gone to a barber, and his lank hair had been artistically curled.

The table in front of him was covered with glasses and bottles. Twoshocking looking scamps of the true barrier bully type, with loosecravats and shiny-peaked caps, were seated by him, and were evidentlyhis guests. Tantaine's first impulse was to catch the debauched youthby the ear, but he hesitated for an instant and reflection conqueredthe impulse. With the utmost caution so that he might not attractToto's attention, he crept down to him, concealing himself as best hecould behind one of the pillars that supported the gallery, and bythis manoeuvre found himself so close to the lad that he could catchevery word he said.

Chupin was talking volubly.

"Don't you call me a swell, nor yet say that I brag," said he. "Ishall always make this kind of appearance, for to work in the manner Ipropose, a man must pay some attention to dress."At this his companions roared with laughter.

"All right," returned Toto. "I'm precious sharp, though you may notthink so, and shall go in for all kinds of elegant accomplishments,and come out a regular masher.""Wonders will never cease," answered one of the men. "When you go onyour trip for action in the Bois among the toffs, will you take mewith you?""Any one can go to the Bois who has money: and just tell me who arethose who make money. Why, those who have plenty of cheek and a goodsound business. Well, I have learned my business from some real downycards, who made it pay well. Why should I not do the same?"With a sickening feeling of terror, Tantaine saw that the lad was halfdrunk. What could he be going to say? and how much did he know? Toto'sguests evidently saw that he had taken too much; but as he seemedready to let them into a secret, they paid great attention, andexchanged a look of intelligence. The young rogue's new clothes andhis liberality all proved that he had found a means of gaining money;the only questions was what the plan could be. To induce him to talkthey passed the bottle rapidly and flattered him up. The younger manof the two shook his head with a smile.

"I don't believe you have any business at all," said he.

"Nor have I, if by business you mean some low handicraft. It is brainwork I mean, my boy; and that's what I do.""I don't doubt that a bit," answered the elder guest coaxingly.

"Come on! Tell us what it is," broke in the other. "You don't expectus to take your word.""It is as easy as lying," replied Toto. "Listen a bit, and you shallhave the whole bag of tricks. Suppose I saw Polyte steal a couple ofpairs of boots from a trotter-case seller's stall----"Polyte interrupted the narrator, protesting so strongly that he wouldnot commit such an act, that Tantaine perceived at once that some suchtrifling act of larceny weighed heavily on his conscience.

"You needn't kick up such a row," returned Toto. "I am only justputting it as a thing that might happen. We will say you had done thetrick, and that I had twigged you. Do you know what I should go? Well,I would hunt up Polyte, and say quietly, 'Halves, old man, or I willsplit.' ""And I should give you a crack in the jaw," returned Polyte angrily.

Forgetting his fine dress, Toto playfully put his thumb to his noseand extended his fingers.

"You would not be such an ass," said he. "You would say to yourself,'If I punch this chap, he will kick up no end of a row, and I shall betaken up, and perhaps sent to the mill.' No; you would be beastlycivil, and would end by doing just as I wished.""And this is what you call your business, is it?""Isn't it a good one--the mugs stand the racket, and the downy cardsprofit by it?"But there is no novelty in this; it is only blackmail after all.""I never said it wasn't; but it is blackmailing perfected into asystem."As Toto made this reply he hammered on the table, calling for moredrink.

"But," remarked Polyte, with an air of disappointment, "you don't getchances every day, and the business is often a precious poor one. Youcan't always be seeing chaps prigging boots.""Pooh! pooh!" answered Toto, "if you want to make money in thisbusiness, you must keep your eyes about you. Our customers don't cometo you, but there is nothing to prevent you going to them. You canhunt until you find them.""And where are you to hunt, if you please?""Ah, that's tellings."A long silence ensued, during which Tantaine was half tempted to comeforward. By doing so he would assuredly nip all explanations in thebud; but, on the other hand, he wanted to hear all the young rascalhad to say. He therefore only moved a little nearer, and listened moreintently.

Forgetting his curls, Toto was abstractedly passing his fingersthrough his hair, and reflecting with all the wisdom of a muddledbrain. Finally, he came to the conclusion that he might speak, and,leaning forward, he whispered,--"You won't peach if I tell you the dodge?"His companions assured him that he might have every confidence inthem.

"Very well; I make my money in the Champs Elysees, and sometimes get aharvest twice a day.""But there are no shoemakers' shops there.""You are a fool," answered Toto contemptuously. "Do you think Iblackmail thieves? That wouldn't be half good enough. Honest people,or at least people who call themselves honest, are my game. These arethe ones who can be made to pay up."Tantaine shuddered; he remembered that Mascarin had made use of thesame expression, and at once surmised that Toto must have had anoccasional ear to the keyhole.

"But," objected Polyte, "honest people have no occasion to pay up."Toto struck his glass so heavily on the table that it flew to shivers.

"Will you let me speak?" said he.

"Go on, go on, my boy," returned his friend.

"Well, when I'm hard up for cash, I go into the Champs Elysees, andtake a seat on one of the benches. From there I keep an eye on thecats, and see who get out of them. If a respectable woman does so, Iam sure of my bird.""Do you think you know a respectable woman when you see her?""I should think that I did. Well, when a respectable woman gets out ofa cab where she ought not to have been, she looks about her on allsides, first to the right and then to the left, settles her veil, and,as soon as she is sure that no one is watching her, sets off as if oldNick was behind her.""Well, what do you do then?""Why, I take the number of the cab, and follow the lady home. Then Iwait until she has had time to get to her own rooms, and go to theporter and say, 'Will you give me the name of the lady who has justcome in?' ""And do you think the porter is fool enough to do so?""Not a bit; I always take the precaution of having a delicate littlepurse in my pocket; and when the man says, as he always does, 'I don'tknow,' I pull out the purse, and say, 'I am sorry for that, for shedropped this as she came in, and I wanted to return it to her.' Theporter at once becomes awfully civil; he gives the name and number,and up I go. The first time I content myself with finding out if sheis married or single. If she is single, it is no go; but if thereverse, I go on with the job.""Why, what do you do next?""Next morning I go there, and hang about until I see the husband goout. Then I go upstairs, and ask for the wife. It is ticklish workthen, my lads; but I say, 'Yesterday, madame, I was unlucky enough toleave my pocketbook in cab number so-and-so. Now, as I saw you hailthe vehicle immediately after I had left it, I have come to ask you ifyou saw my pocketbook.' The lady flies into a rage, denies allknowledge of the book, and threatens to have me turned out. Then, withthe utmost politeness, I say, 'I see, madame, that there is nothing tobe done but to communicate the matter to your husband.' Then she getsalarmed, and--she pays.""And you don't see any more of her?""Not that day; but when the funds are low, I call and say, 'It is Iagain, madame; I am the poor young man who lost his money in such andsuch a cab on a certain day of the month.' And so the game goes on. Adozen such clients give a fellow a very fair income. Now, perhaps, youunderstand why I am always so well dressed, and always have money inmy pocket. When I was shabbily attired, they offered me a five-francpiece, but now they come down with a flimsy."The young wretch spoke the truth; for to many women, who in a madmoment of passion may have forgotten themselves, and been tracked totheir homes by some prowling blackmailer, life has been an endlessjourney of agony. Every knock at the door makes them start, and everyfootfall on the staircase causes a tremor as they think that thevillain has come to betray their guilty secret.

"That is all talk," said Polyte; "such things are never done.""They /are/ done," returned Toto sulkily.

"Have you ever tried the dodge yourself, then?" sneered Polyte.

At another time Chupin would have lied, but the fumes of the drink hehad taken, added to his natural self-conceit, had deprived him of alljudgment.

"Well," muttered he, "if I have not done it myself exactly, I haveseen others practise it often enough--on a much larger scale, it istrue; but one can always do things in a more miniature fashion withperhaps a better chance of success.""What! /you/ have seen this done?""Of course I have.""And had you a share in the swag?""To a certain extent. I have followed the cabs times without number,and have watched the goings on of these fine ladies and gentlemen;only I was working for others, like the dog that catches the hare, andnever has a bit of it to eat. No, all I got was dry bread, with a kickor a cuff for dessert. I sha'n't put up with it any longer, and havemade up my mind to open on my own account.""And who has been employing you?"A flash of sense passed through Chupin's muddled brain. He had neverwished to injure Mascarin, but merely to increase his own importanceby extolling the greatness of his employer.

"I worked for people who have no equal in Paris," said he proudly.

"They don't mince matters either, I can tell you; and they have moremoney than you could count in six months. There is not a thing theycannot do if they desire; and if I were to tell you----"He stopped short, his mouth wide open, and his eyes dilated withterror, for before him stood old Daddy Tantaine.

Tantaine's face had a most benign expression upon it, and in a mostpaternal voice he exclaimed,--"And so here you are at last, my lad; and, bless me, how fine! why,you look like a real swell."But Toto was terribly disconcerted. The mere appearance of Tantainedissipated the fumes of liquor which had hitherto clouded the boy'sbrain, and by degrees he recollected all that he had said, and,becoming conscious of his folly, had a vague idea of some swift-comingretribution. Toto was a sharp lad, and he was by no means deceived byTantaine's outward semblance of friendliness, and he almost felt as ifhis life depended on the promptness of his decision. The question was,had the old man heard anything of the preceding conversation?

"If the old rogue has been listening," said he to himself, "I am in ahole, and no mistake."It was, therefore, with a simulated air of ease that he answered,--"I was waiting for you, sir, and it was out of respect to you that Iput on my very best togs.""That was very nice of you; I ought to thank you very much. And now,will you--"Toto's courage was coming back to him rapidly.

"Will you take a glass of beer, or a liquor of brandy, sir?" said he.

But Daddy Tantaine excused himself on the plea that he had just beendrinking.

"That is all the more reason for being thirsty," remarked Toto. "Myfriends and I have drunk the contents of all these bottles sincedinner."Tantaine raised his shabby hat at this semi-introduction, and the tworoughs bowed smoothly. They were not entirely satisfied with theappearance of the new-comer, and thought that this would be a goodmoment for taking leave of their host. The waltz had just concluded,and the master of the ceremonies was repeating his eternal refrainof--"Take your places, ladies and gentlemen;" and taking advantage ofthe noise, Toto's friends shook hands with their host and adroitlymixed with the crowd.

"Good fellows! jolly fellows;" muttered Toto, striving to catch a lastglimpse of them.

Tantaine gave a low, derisive whistle. "My lad," said he, "you keepexecrable company, and one day you will repent it.""I can look after myself, sir.""Do as you like, my lad; it is no business of mine. But, take my wordfor it, you will come to grief some day. I have told you that oftenenough.""If the old rascal suspected anything," thought Toto, "he would nottalk in this way."Wretched Toto! he did not know that when his spirits were rising thedanger was terribly near, for Tantaine was just then saying tohimself,--"Ah! this lad is much too clever--too clever by half. If I were goingon with the business, and could make it worth his while, how useful hewould be to me! but just now it would be most imprudent to allow himto wander about and jabber when he gets drunk."Meanwhile Toto had called a waiter, and, flinging a ten-franc piece onthe table, said haughtily: "Take your bill out of that." But Tantainepushed the money back toward the lad, and, drawing another ten-francpiece from his pocket, gave it to the waiter.

This unexpected act of generosity put the lad in the best possiblehumor. "All the better for me," exclaimed he; "and now let us hunt upCaroline Schimmel.""Is she here? I could not find her.""Because you did not know where to look for her. She is at cards inthe coffee-room. Come along, sir."But Tantaine laid his hand upon the boy's arm.

"One moment," said he. "Did you tell the woman just what I ordered youto say?""I did not omit a single word.""Tell me what you said, then.""For five days," began the lad solemnly, "your Toto has been yourCaroline's shadow. We have played cards until all sorts of hours, andI took care that she should always win. I confided to her that I had ajolly old uncle,--a man not without means, a widower, and crazy to bemarried again,--who had seen her and had fallen in love with her.""Good! my lad, good! and what did she say?""Why, she grinned like half a dozen cats; only she is a bit artful,and I saw at once that she thought I was after her cards, but themention of my uncle's property soon chucked her off that idea.""Did you give my name?""Yes, at the end, I did. I knew that she had seen you, and so I keptit back as long as I could; but as soon as I mentioned it she lookedrather confused, and cried out: 'I know him quite well.' So you see,sir, all you have now is to settle a day for the marriage. Come on;she expects you."Toto was right. The late domestic of the Duke de Champdoce was playingcards; but as soon as she caught sight of Toto and his pretendeduncle, in spite of her holding an excellent hand, she threw up hercards, and received him with the utmost civility. Toto looked on withdelight. Never had he seen the old rascal (as he inwardly called himin his heart) so polite, agreeable, and talkative. It was easy to seethat Caroline Schimmel was yielding to his fascinations, for she hadnever had such extravagant compliments whispered in her ear in sopersuasive a tone. But Tantaine did not confine his attentions to wineonly: he first ordered a bowl of punch, and then followed that up by abottle of the best brandy. All the old man's lost youth seemed to havecome back to him: he sang, he drank, and he danced. Toto watched themin utter surprise, as the old man whirled the clumsy figure of thewoman round the room.

And he was rewarded for this tremendous exertion, for by ten o'clockshe had consented, and Caroline left the Grand Turk on the arm of herfuture husband, having promised to take supper with him.

Next morning, when the scavengers came down from Montmartre to plytheir matutinal avocations, they found the body of a woman lying onher face on the pavement. They raised her up and carried her to anhospital. She was not dead, as had been at first supposed; and whenthe unhappy creature came to her senses, she said that her name wasCaroline Schimmel, that she had been to supper at a restaurant withher betrothed, and that from that instant she remembered nothing. Ather request, the surgeon had her conveyed to her home in the RueMercadet.
Chapter 27 THE LAST LINK.
　　27For some days M. Mascarin had not shown himself at the office, andBeaumarchef was terribly harassed with inquiries regarding his absentmaster. Mascarin, on the day after the evening on which Tantaine hadmet Caroline Schimmel at the Grand Turk, was carefully shut up in hisprivate room; his face and eyes were red and inflamed, and heoccasionally sipped a glass of some cooling beverage which stoodbefore him, and his compressed lips and corrugated brow showed howdeeply he was meditating. Suddenly the door opened, and Dr. Hortebiseentered the room.

"Well!" exclaimed Mascarin, "have you seen the Mussidans, as I toldyou to do.""Certainly," answered Hortebise briskly; "I saw the Countess, and toldher how pressing the holders of her letters were growing, and urged onher the necessity for immediate action. She told me that both she andher husband had determined to yield, and that Sabine, though evidentlybroken-hearted, would not oppose the marriage.""Good," said Mascarin; "and now, if Croisenois only follows out theorders that I have given him, the marriage will take place without theknowledge of either De Breulh or Andre. Then we need fear them nolonger. The prospectus of the new Company is ready, and can be issuedalmost immediately; but we meet to-day to discuss not that matter, butthe more important one of the heir to the Champdoce title."A timid knock at the door announced the arrival of Paul who came inhesitatingly, as if doubtful what sort of a reception he mightreceive; but Mascarin gave him the warmest possible welcome.

"Permit me," said he, "to offer you my congratulations on having wonthe affections of so estimable and wealthy a young lady asMademoiselle Flavia. I may tell you that a friend of mine has informedme of the very flattering terms in which her father, M. Rigal, spokeof you, and I can assure you that if our mutual friend Dr. Hortebisewere to go to the banker with an offer of marriage on your part, youhave no cause to dread a refusal."Paul blushed with pleasure, and as he was stammering out a few words,the door opened for the third time, and Catenac made his appearance.

To cover the lateness of his arrival, he had clothed his face insmiles, and advanced with outstretched hands toward his confederates;but Mascarin's look and manner were so menacing, that he recoiled afew steps and gazed on him with an expression of the utmost wonder andsurprise.

"What is the meaning of this reception?" asked he.

"Can you not guess?" returned Mascarin, his manner growing more andmore threatening. "I have sounded the lowest depths of your infamy. Iwas sure the other day that you meant to turn traitor, but you sworeto the contrary, and you--""On my honor--""It is useless. One word from Perpignan set us on the right track.

Were you or were you not ignorant that the Duke de Champdoce had acertain way of recognizing his son, and that was by a certainineffaceable scar?""It had escaped my memory----"The words faded from his lips, for even his great self-command failedhim under Mascarin's disdainful glance.

"Let me tell you what I think of you," said the latter. "I knew thatyou were a coward and a traitor. Even convicts keep faith with eachother, and I had not thought you so utterly infamous.""Then why have you forced me to act contrary to my wishes?"This reply exasperated Mascarin so much that he grasped Catenac by thethroat, and shook him violently.

"I made use of you, you viper," said he, "because I had placed you insuch a position that you could not harm us. And now you will serve mebecause I will show you that I can take everything from you--name,money, liberty, and /life/. All depends upon our success. If we fail,you fall into an abyss of the depth and horrors of which you can haveno conception. I knew with whom I had to deal, and took my measuresaccordingly. The most crushing proofs of your crime are in the handsof a person who has precise orders how to act. When I give the signal,he moves; and when he moves, you are utterly lost."There was something so threatening in the silence that followed thisspeech that Paul grew faint with apprehension.

"And," went on Mascarin, "it would be an evil day for you if anythingwere to happen to Hortebise, Paul, or myself; for if one of us were todie suddenly, your fate would be sealed. You cannot say that you havenot been warned."Catenac stood with his head bent upon his breast, rooted to the groundwith terror. He felt that he was bound, and gagged, and fettered handand foot. Mascarin swallowed some of the cooling draught that stoodbefore him, and tranquilly commenced,--"Suppose, Catenac, that I were to tell you that I know far more of theChampdoce matter than you do; for, after all, your knowledge is onlyderived from what the Duke has told you. You think that you have hitupon the truth; you were never more mistaken in your life. I, perhapsyou are unaware, have been many years engaged in this matter. Perhapsyou would like to know how I first thought of the affair. Do youremember that solicitor who had an office near the Law Courts, and dida great deal of blackmail business? If you do, you must remember thathe got two years' hard labor.""Yes, I remember the man," returned Catenac in a humble voice.

"He used," continued Mascarin, "to buy up waste paper, and searchthrough the piles he had collected for any matters that might beconcealed in the heterogeneous mass. And many things he must havefound. In what sensational case have not letters played a prominentpart? What man is there who has not at one time or other regrettedthat he has had pen and ink ready to his hand? If men were wise, theywould use those patent inks, which fade from the paper in a few days.

I followed his example, and, among other strange discoveries, I madethis one."He took from his desk a piece of paper--ragged, dirty, and creased--and, handing it to Hortebise and Paul, said,--"Read!"They did so, and read the following strange word:

"TNAFNEERTONIOMZEDNEREITIPZEYAETNECONNISIUSEJECARG;"while underneath was written in another hand the word, "Never.""It was evident that I had in my hands a letter written in cipher, andI concluded that the paper contained some important secret.

Catenac listened to this narrative with an air of contempt, for he wasone of those foolish men who never know when it is best for them toyield.

"I daresay you are right," answered he with a slight sneer.

"Thank you," returned Mascarin coolly. "At any rate, I was deeplyinterested in solving this riddle, the more as I belonged to anassociation which owes its being and position to its skill inpenetrating the secrets of others. I shut myself up in my room, andvowed that I would not leave it until I had worked out the cipher."Paul, Hortebise, and Catenac examined the letter curiously, but couldmake nothing of it.

"I can't make head or tail of it," said the doctor impatiently.

Mascarin smiled as he took back the paper, and remarked,--"At first I was as much puzzled as you were, and more than once wastempted to throw the document into the waste-paper basket, but asecret feeling that it opened a way to all our fortunes restrained me.

Of course there was the chance that I might only decipher some foolishjest, and no secret at all, but still I went on. If the commencementof the word was written in a woman's hand, the last word had evidentlybeen added by a man. But why should a cryptogram have been used? Wasit because the demand was of so dangerous and compromising a characterthat it was impossible to put it in plain language? If so, why was thelast word not in cipher? Simply because the mere rejection of what wascertainly a demand would in no manner compromise the writer. You willask how it happens that demand and rejection are both on the samesheet of paper. I thought this over, and came to the conclusion thatthe letter had once been meant for the post, but had been sent byhand. Perhaps the writers may have occupied rooms in the same house.

The woman, in the anguish of her soul, may have sent the letter by aservant to her husband, and he, transported by rage, may havehurriedly scrawled this word across it, and returned it again: 'Takethis to your mistress.' Having settled this point, I attacked thecipher, and, after fourteen hours' hard work, hit upon its meaning.

"Accidentally I held the piece of paper between myself and the light,with the side on which the writing was turned from me, and read it atonce. It was a cryptogram of the simplest kind, as the letters formingthe words were simply reversed. I divided the letters into words, andmade out this sentence: '/Grace, je suis innocente. Ayez pitie;rendez-moi notre enfant/ (Mercy, I am innocent. Give me back ourson).' "Hortebise snatched up the paper and glanced at it.

"You are right," said he; "it is the art of cipher writing in itsinfancy.""I had succeeded in reading it,--but how to make use of it! The massof waste paper in which I found it had been purchased from a servantin a country house near Vendome. A friend of mine, who was accustomedto drawing plans and maps, came to my aid, and discovered some faintsigns of a crest in one corner of the paper. With the aid of apowerful magnifying glass, I discovered it to be the cognizance of theducal house of Champdoce. The light that guided me was faint anduncertain, and many another man would have given up the quest. But thethought was with me in my waking hours, and was the companion of mypillow during the dark hours of the night. Six months later I knewthat it was the Duchess who had addressed this missive to her husband,and why she had done so. By degrees I learned all the secret to whichthis scrap of paper gave me the clue; and if I have been a long whileover it, it is because one link was wanting which I only discoveredyesterday.""Ah," said the doctor, "then Caroline Schimmel has spoken.""Yes; drink was the magician that disclosed the secret that for twentyyears she had guarded with unswerving fidelity."As Mascarin uttered these words he opened a drawer, and drew from it alarge pile of manuscript, which he waved over his head with an air oftriumph.

"This is the greatest work that I have ever done," exclaimed he.

"Listen to it, Hortebise, and you shall see how it is that I holdfirmly, at the same time, both the Duke and Duchess of Champdoce, andDiana the Countess of Mussidan. Listen to me, Catenac,--you whodistrusted me, and were ready to play the traitor, and tell me if I donot grasp success in my strong right hand." Then, holding out the rollof papers to Paul, he cried, "And do you, my dear boy, take this andread it carefully. Let nothing escape you, for there is not one item,however trivial it may seem to you, that has not its importance. It isthe history of a great and noble house, and one in which you are moreinterested than you may think."Paul opened the manuscript, and, in a voice which quivered withemotion, he read the facts announced by Mascarin, which he hadentitled "The Mystery of Champdoce."The conclusion of this exciting narrative will be found in the volumecalled "The Mystery of Champdoce."

End