■'id' 
 
 II 
 
 
 
 mm 
 
m MEMOREAM 
 GEORGE HOLMES HOWISON 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2008 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/fileno11300gaborich 
 
" ' VViiat do yoii wauL here?'" 
 
FILE No. 113 
 
 By Emile Gaboriau- 
 
 Author of -THE GILDED CLIQUE," -IN 
 PERIL OF HIS LIFE," -THE LEROUGE 
 CASE," -MONSIEUR LECOQ," Etc. 
 
 1 1 1 u s t r a t e d 
 
 w ^ ■> 5 , > J -I 
 
 H. M. CALDWELL COMPANY 
 
 Publishers, New York ^ Boston 
 

 - *■ * '• 
 
 
« ■> • . ' , • • 
 
 FILE No. 113. 
 
 1. 
 
 In the Paris journals of February 28, 186 — , there ap- i 
 peared the following intelligence : — 
 
 "A daring robbery, committed during the night at one 
 of our principal bankers', M. Andre Fauvel, has created 
 great excitement this morning in the neighborhood of 
 the Rue de Provence. The thieves, who were as skilful 
 as they were daring, succeeded in effecting an entrance 
 to the bank, in forcing the lock of a safe that has hereto- 
 fore been considered impregnable, and in possessing them- 
 selves of bank-notes, of the value of three hundred and 
 fifty thousand francs. The police, immediately informed 
 of the robbery, displayed their accustomed zeal, and their 
 efforts have been crowned with success. Already, it is 
 said, P. B., a clerk in the bank, has been arrested, and 
 there is every reason to hope that his accomplices will be 
 speedily overtaken by the hand of justice." 
 
 For four days this robbery was the talk of Paris. Then 
 public attention was engrossed by later and equally inter- 
 esting events ; an acrobat broke his leg at the circus ; an 
 actress made her d3i/^ at a minor theatre ; and news of 
 the 28th was soon forgotten. 
 
 But for once the newspapers were — perhaps designedly 
 — wrong, or at least inaccurate in their information. The 
 sum of three hundred and fifty thousand francs had cer- , 
 tainly been stolen from M. Andre Fauvel's bank, but not / 
 in the manner described. A clerk had also been arrested 
 on suspicion, but no conclusive proof had been forthcom- 
 ing against him. This robbery of unusual importance re- 
 mained, if not inexplicable, at least unexplained. 
 
 The following are the facts of the case as related with 
 scrupulous exactitude in the official police report. 
 
 849323 
 
FILE NO, 113. 
 
 IT. 
 
 1'he banking-house of M. Andr^ Fauvel, No. 87 Rue de 
 Provence, is a noted establishment, and, owing to its large 
 staff of clerks, presents very much the appearance of a 
 government department. On the ground-floor are the 
 offices, with windows opening on the street, protected by 
 iron bars sufficiently strong and close together to discour- 
 age all attempts at effecting an entrance. A large glass 
 door opens into a spacious vestibule, where three or four 
 messengers are always in waiting. On the right are the 
 rooms to which the public is admitted, and from which a 
 narrow passage-way leads to the head cashier's office. 
 The offices of the corresponding clerks, the ledger-keeper 
 and general accounts are on the left. At the farther end 
 is a small glazed court with which seven or eight small 
 wickets communicate. These are kept closed, except only 
 on particular days when a considerable number of pay- 
 ments have to be made, and then they are indispensable. 
 M. Fauvel's private office is on the first floor over the gen- 
 eral offices, and leads into his handsome private apart- 
 ments. This office communicates directly with the bank 
 by means of a dark, narrow staircase, which opens into the 
 room occupied by the head cashier. This latter room is 
 completely proof against all burglarious attacks, no mat- 
 ter how ingeniously planned ; indeed it could almost with- 
 stand a regular siege, sheeted as it is like a monitor. The 
 doors, and the partition in which the wicket is where pay- 
 ments are made, are covered with thick iron plates ; and 
 a heavy grating protects the fireplace. Fastened in the 
 wall by enormous iron clamps is a safe, a formidable and 
 fantastic piece of furniture, calculated to fill with envy the 
 poor devil who carries his fortune easily enough in a 
 pocket-book. This safe, considered the masterpiece of 
 the well-known house of Becquet, is six feet in height and 
 four and a half in width, and is made entirely of wrought 
 iron, with triple sides, and divided into isolated compart- 
 ments in case of fire. 
 
 The safe is opened by a curious little key, which is, 
 however, the least important part of the mechanism. Fiv^ 
 "aavable steel buttons, upon which are engraved all tfi-S 
 letters of the alphabet, constitute the real power of the 
 
\ 
 
 FILE NO. 113. 5 
 
 ingenious lock. To open the safe it is requisite, before in- 
 serting tiie key, to replace the letters on the buttons in 
 the same order in which they were when the door was 
 locked. In M. Fauvel's bank, as elsewhere, it was always 
 closed with a word that was changed from time to time. 
 This word was known only to the head of the bank and 
 the chief cashier, each of whom had a key to the safe 
 In such a stronghold, a person might deposit more dia- 
 monds than the Duke of Brunswick possessed, and sleep 
 well assured, as he would be, of their safety. But one 
 danger seemed to threaten — that of forgetting the secret 
 word which was the " Open, sesame " of the iron barrier. • 
 
 About half-past nine o'clock on the mornmg ot tne 2^th 
 of February, the bank clerks were all busy at their various 
 desks, when a middle-aged man of dark complexion and 
 military air, clad in deep mourning, appeared in the office 
 adjoining that of the head cashier, and expressed a desire 
 to see him. 
 
 He was told that the cashier had not arrived, and his 
 attention was called to a placard in the entry, whith stated 
 that the cashier's office opened at ten o'clock. 
 
 This reply seemed to disconcert the new-comer. " I 
 expected," he said, in a tone of cool impertinence, " to 
 find some one here ready to attend to my business. I ex- 
 plained the matter to M. Fauvel yesterday. I am Count 
 Louis de Ciameran, owner of iron-works at Oloron, and have 
 come to receive three hundred thousand francs deposited in 
 this bank by my late brother, whose heir I am. It is sur- 
 prising that no instructions have been given about it." 
 
 Neither the title of the noble manufacturer nor his re- 
 marks appeared to have the slightest effect upon the clerks. 
 "The head cashier has not yet arrived," the}'- repeated, 
 " and we can do nothing for you." 
 
 " Then conduct me to M. Fauvel." 
 
 There was a moment's hesitancy; then a clerk, named 
 Cavaillon, who was writing by the window, said : " The 
 chief is always out at this hour." 
 
 " I will call again, then," replied M. de Ciameran. And 
 he walked out, as he had entered, without saying " Good- 
 morning," or even raising his hat. 
 
 " Not over polite, that customer," said little Cavaillon ; 
 " but he is unlucky, for here comes Prosper." 
 
 Prosper Bertomy, head cashier of Fauvel's banking. 
 
6 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 house, was a tall, handsome man, of about thirty, with fail 
 hair and large dark-blue eyes, fastidiously neat in appear- 
 ance, and dressed in the height of fashion. He would 
 have been very prepossessing but for a cold, reserved Eng- 
 lish-like manner, and a certain air of self-sufficiency, which 
 spoiled his naturally bright and open countenance. 
 
 " Ah, here you are ! " cried Cavaillon. " Some one has 
 just been inquiring for you." 
 
 " Who t An ironmaster, was it not ? " 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 *' Well, he will come again. Knowing that I should be 
 late this morning, I made all my arrangements yesterday." 
 Prosper had unlocked his office-door, and, as he finished 
 speaking, entered, and closed it behind him. 
 
 " Good ! " exclaimed one of the clerks ; " there is a man 
 who never lets anything disturb him. The chief has 
 quarrelled with him twenty times for always coming late, 
 and his remonstrances have no more effect upon him than 
 a breath of wind." 
 
 " And quite right too ; he knows he can get anything he 
 wants out of the chief." 
 
 " Besides, how could he come any sooner ? A man who 
 sits up all night, and leads a fast life, doesn't feel inclined 
 for work early in the morning. Did you notice how pale 
 he looked when he came in ? " 
 
 '' He must have been playing heavily again. Couturier 
 says he lost fifteen hundred francs at a sitting last week." 
 
 " His work is none the worse done for all that," inter- 
 rupted Cavaillon. " If you were in his place — " 
 
 He stopped short. The door of the cashier's office sud- 
 denly opened, and the cashier appeared before them with 
 tottering step, and a wild, haggard look on his ashy 
 pale face. " Robbed i " he gasped out ; " I have been 
 robbed ! " 
 
 Prosper's horrified expression, his hollow voice and 
 trembling limbs, so alarmed the clerks that they jumped 
 off their stools and ran towards him. He almost dropped 
 into their arms ; he was sick and faint, and sank into a 
 chair. His companions surrounded him, and begged him 
 to explain himself. " Robbed 1 " they said ; " where, how, 
 by whom ? " 
 
 Gradually, Prosper recovered himself. 'All the monej 
 that was in the safe/' he said, " has been stolen." 
 
FILE NO. 113. 7 
 
 "All?" 
 
 " Yes, all ; three rolls, each containing one hundred 
 notes of a thousand francs, and one roll of fifty thousand. 
 The four rolls were wrapped in a sheet of paper and tied 
 together." 
 
 With the rapidity of lightning, the news of the robbery 
 spread throughout the banking-house, and the room was 
 soon filled with curious inquirers. 
 
 " Tell us, Prosper," said young Cavaillon, " has the 
 safe been broken open t " 
 
 " No ; it is just as I left it." 
 
 " Well, then, how could — " 
 
 "All I know is that yesterday T placed three hundred 
 and fifty thousand francs ni the safe, and this morning they 
 are gone." 
 
 A deep silence ensued, which was at length broken by 
 an old clerk, who did not seem to share the general affright. 
 " Don't distress yourself, M. Bertomy," he said ; " no 
 doubt the chief has disposed of the money." 
 
 The unhappy cashier started up with a look of relief ; he 
 eagerly caught at the suggestion. " Yes ! " he exclaimed, 
 " It must be as you say ; the chief must have taken it." 
 But, after thinking a few minutes, he remarked in a ton^ 
 of deep, depression : " No, that is impossible. During the 
 five years I have had charge of the safe, M. Fauvel has 
 never opened it excepting in my presence. Whenever he 
 has needed money, he has either waited until I came, or 
 has sent for me, rather than take it in my absence." 
 
 " Well," said Cavaillon, " before despairing, let us as- 
 certain the truth." 
 
 But a messenger had already informed M. Fauvel of 
 the robbery, and as Cavaillon was about to go in search 
 of him, he entered the office. 
 
 M. Andre Fauvel appeared to be a man of fifty, inclined 
 to corpulency, of medium height, with iron-gray hair; and, 
 like all hard workers, he had a slight stoop. NeV " did 
 he by a single action belie the kindly expression or his 
 face. He had a frank air, a lively, intelligent eye, and 
 full, red lips. Born in the neighborhood of Aix, he be- 
 trayed, when animated, a slight Provencal accent that gave 
 a peculiar flavor to his genial humor. The news of the 
 robbery had extremely agitated him, for his usually florid 
 face was now quite pale. " What is this I hear ? what 
 
8 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 has happened ? " he said to the clerks, who respectfully 
 stood aside when he entered the office. 
 
 The sound of M. Fauvel's voice inspired the cashier 
 with the factitious energy called forth by a great crisis. 
 The dreaded and decisive moment had come ; he arose, 
 and advanced towards his chief. " Sir," he said, " having, 
 as you know, a payment to make this morning, I yesterday 
 drew from the Bank of France three hundred and fifty 
 thousand francs." 
 
 " Why yesterday ? " interrupted the banker. ** I think 
 I have a hundred times desired you to wait until the day 
 payment has to be made." 
 
 *' I know it, sir, and I did wrong to disobey you. But 
 the mischief is done. Yesterday evening I locked the 
 money up : it has disappeared, and yet the safe has not 
 been broken open." 
 
 " You must be mad ! " exclaimed M. Fauvel ; " you are 
 dreaming ! " 
 
 These few words crushed all hope ; but the horror of 
 the situation imparted to Prosper, not the coolness of a 
 steadied resolution, but that sort of stupid, stolid indiffer- 
 ence which often results from unexpected catastrophes. 
 It was with apparent calmness that he replied, " I am not 
 mad; neither, unfortunately, am I dreaming: I am sim- 
 ply telling the truth." 
 
 This tranquillity at such a moment appeared to exasper- 
 ate M. Fauvel. He seized Prosper by the arm, and shook 
 him roughly. " Speak ! " he exclaimed ; " speak ! who 
 can have opened the safe ? " 
 
 "I cannot say." 
 
 *' No one but you and I know the secret word. No one 
 but you and I possess keys." 
 
 This Was a formal accusation ; at least, all the auditors 
 present so understood it. Yet Prosper's strange calmness 
 never left him for an instant. He quietly released him- 
 self from M. Fauvel's grasp, and slowly said : " In other 
 words, sir, it is only I who could have taken this money — " 
 
 " Miserable man," exclaimed M. Fauvel. 
 
 Prosper drew himself up to his full height, and, looking 
 M. Fauvel full in the face, added : " Or you ! " 
 
 The banker made a threatening gesture ; and there is 
 no knowing what would have happened if he had r\(X been 
 interrupted by loud and angry voices in the hall. A man 
 
FILE NO. 113. I 
 
 insisted upon entering despite the protestations of the 
 messengers, and succeeded in forcing his way in. It was 
 M. de Clameran. 
 
 The clerks stood looking on, bewildered and inert. 
 The silence was profound and solemn. It was easy to 
 perceive that some terrible issue was being anxiously 
 weighed by all these men. 
 
 " The ironmaster did not appear to observe anything 
 unusual. He advanced, and without lifting his hat said, 
 in his former impertinent tone, " It is after ten o'clock, 
 gentlemen." 
 
 No one answered ; and M. de Clameran was about to 
 continue, when turning round, he for the first time saw 
 the banker, and walking up to him exclaimed, " Well, sir, 
 I, congratulate myself upon finding you in at last. I have 
 been here once before this morning, and found the 
 cashier's office not opened, the cashier not arrived, and 
 you absent." 
 
 " You are mistaken, sir, I was in my office." 
 
 " At any rate, I was told you were out ; that gentleman 
 there assured me of the fact." And the ironmaster 
 pointed out Cavaillon. " However, that is of little impor- 
 tance," he went on to say. " I return, and this time not 
 only the cashier's office is closed, but I am refused admit- 
 tance to the banking-house, and find myself compelled to 
 force my way in. Be so good as to tell me whether I 
 can have my money." 
 
 M. Fauvel's pale face turned red with anger as he lis- 
 tened to this harangue; yet he controlled himself. "I 
 should be obliged to you, sir," he said in a low voice, 
 *' for a short delay." 
 
 " I thought you told me — " 
 
 " Yes, yesterday. But this morning — this very instant 
 — I find I have been robbed of three hundred and fifty 
 thousand francs." 
 
 M. de Clameran bowed ironically, and asked : " Shall 
 I have to wait long ? " 
 
 " Long enough for me to send to the Bank of 
 France." 
 
 Then, turning his back on the iron-founder, M, Fauvel 
 said to his cashier : " Write a check and send to the 
 Bank at once to draw out all the available money. Let 
 the messenger take a cab." Prosper remained motion* 
 
lo ' FILE NO. 113. 
 
 less. " Do you hear me ? " inquired the banker in an an^ 
 gry voice. 
 
 The cashier started ; he seemed as if awakening from a 
 dream. "It is useless to send," he said in a slow, meas-' 
 ured tone : " this gentleman requires three hundred thou- 
 sand francs, and there is less than one hundred thousand 
 at the bank." 
 
 M. de Clameran appeared to expect this answer, for 
 he muttered : " Of course." Although he only pronounced 
 these words, his voice, his manner, his countenance clearly 
 said : '' This comedy is well acted ; but nevertheless it is 
 a comedy, and I don't intend to be duped by it." 
 
 Alas ! After Prosper's answer, and the ironmaster's 
 coarsely expressed opinion, the clerks knew not what to 
 think. The fact was, that Paris had just been startled by 
 several financial crashes. The thirst for speculation had 
 caused the oldest and staunchest houses to totter. Men 
 of the most unimpeachable honor had to sacrifice their 
 pride, and go from door to door imploring aid. Credit, 
 tnat rare bird of security and peace, rested with none, but 
 stood, with upraised wings, ready to fly off at the first sug- 
 gestion of suspicion. 
 
 This idea of a comedy arranged beforehand between 
 the banker and his cashier might therefore readily occur 
 to the minds of people who, if not suspicious, were at 
 least aware of all the expedients resorted to by specula- 
 tors in order to gain time, which with them often meant 
 salvation. 
 
 M. Fauvel had had too much knowledge of mankind 
 not to instantly divine the impression produced by Pros- 
 per's answer ; he read the most mortifying doubt on the 
 faces around him. " Oh ! don't be alarmed, sir," said he 
 to M. de Clameran, " this house has other resources. 
 Be kind enough to await my return." 
 
 He left the office, went up to his private room, and in a 
 few minutes returned, holding in his hand a letter and a 
 bundle of securities. " Here, quick. Couturier ! " he said 
 to one of his clerks, " take my carriage, which is waiting 
 at the door, and go with this gentleman to M. de Roths- 
 child. Hand the latter this letter and these securities', 
 in exchange, you will receive three hundred thousand 
 francs, which give to M. de Clameran." 
 
 The ironmaster was visibly disappointed ; he seemed 
 
FILE A^a 113. II 
 
 desirous of apologizing for his rudeness. " I assure 
 you," said he to M. Fauvel, " that I had no intention of 
 giving offence. Our relations, for some years, have b^en 
 such that I hope — " 
 
 " Enough, sir," interrupted tl^e banker, " I desire no 
 apologies. In business, friendship counts for nothing. I 
 owe you money : I am not ready to pay : you are press- 
 ing : you have a perfect right to demand what is your own. 
 Accompany my messenger : he will pay you your money." 
 Then he turned to his clerks, who stood curiously gazing 
 on, and said: " As for you, gentlemen, be good enough to 
 resume your places at your desks." 
 
 In an instant the office was cleared of every one ex- 
 cepting the clerks who habitually occupied it ; and they 
 resumed their seats at their desks with their noses almost 
 touching the paper before them, as if they \vere too en- 
 grossed in their work to think of anything else. 
 
 Still excited by the events which had rapidly succeeded 
 each other, M. Andre Fauvel walked up and down the 
 room with quick, nervous steps, occasionally uttering some 
 half-stifled exclamation. Prosper had remained leaning 
 against the partition, with pale face and fixed eyes, looking 
 as if he had lost the faculty of thinking or of acting. Pres- 
 ently the banker, after a long silence, stopped short be- 
 fore him ; he had determined upon the line of conduct he 
 would pursue. " We must have an explanation," he said. 
 " Go into your office." 
 
 The cashier mechanically obeyed ; and his chief fol- 
 lowed him, taking the precaution to close the door after 
 them. The room bore no evidences of a successful bur- 
 glary. Everything was in perfect order ; not even a paper 
 was disturbed. The safe was open, and on the top shelf 
 lay several rouleaus of gold, overlooked or disdained by 
 the thieves. 
 
 M. Fauvel, without troubling himself to examine any- 
 thing, took a seat, and ordered his cashier to do the same. 
 He had quite recovered his equanimity, and his count- 
 enance wore its usual kind expression. " Now that we 
 are alone, Prosper," h& said, " have vou nothing to tell 
 me ? " 
 
 The cashier started, as if surprised at the question. 
 " Nothing, sir, that I iiava not already told you," he re- 
 plied 
 
12 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 " What ! nothing ? Do you persist in maintaining an 
 attitude so absurd and ridiculous that no one can possibly 
 give you credence ? It is sheer folly ? Confide in me : 
 it is your only chance of salvation. I am your employer. 
 it is true ; but I am before and above all your friend 
 ■ — your best and truest friend. I cannot forget that in 
 this very room, fifteen years ago, you were intrusted to me 
 by your father ; and ever since that day I have had cause 
 to congratulate myself on possessing so faithful and ef- 
 ficient a clerk. Yes, it is fifteen years since you came to 
 me. I was then just commencing the foundation of my 
 fortune. You have seen it gradually grow, step by step, 
 from almost nothing to its present magnitude. As my 
 wealth increased, I endeavored to better your condition ; 
 yoU; who, although so young, are the oldest of my clerks. 
 At each augmentation of my fortune I increased your 
 salary." 
 
 Never had the cashier heard M. Fauvel express himself 
 in so feeling and paternal a manner. Prosper was silent 
 with astonishment. 
 
 " Answer," pursued M. Fauvel, " have I not always been 
 like a father to you ? From the first day, my house has 
 been open to you ; you were treated as a member of my 
 family ; my niece Madeleine and my sons looked upon you 
 as a brother. But you grew weary of this peaceful life. 
 One day, a year ago, you suddenly began to shun us ; and 
 since then — " 
 
 The memories of the past thus called up by the banker 
 seemed too much for the unhappy cashier; he buried his 
 face in his hands, and wept bitterly. 
 
 " A man can confide everything to his father," resumed 
 M. Fauvel, also deeply affected. " Fear nothing. A 
 father not only pardons, he forgets. Do I not know the 
 temptations that beset a young man in a city like Paris ? 
 There are some inordinate desires before which the firmest 
 principles will give way, and which so pervert our moral 
 sense as to render us incapable of judging between right 
 and wrong. Speak, Prosper, speak ! " 
 
 " What do you wish me to say ? " 
 
 " The truth. When an honorable man yields, in an 
 hour of weakness, to temptation, his first step towards 
 atonement is confession, Say to me, Yes, I have bee» 
 
FILE NO. 113. 13 
 
 tempted, dazzled : the sight of these piles of gold turned 
 my brain. I am young : I have passions." 
 
 " I ! " murmured Prosper, " I ! " 
 
 "Poor boy," said the banker sadly; "do you think I 
 am ignorant of the life you have been leading since you 
 left my roof a year ago ? Can you not understand that 
 all j'our fellow-clerks are jealous of you ? that they do not 
 forgive you for earning twelve thousand francs a year ? 
 Never have you committed a piece of folly without my 
 being immediately informed of it by an anonymous letter. 
 I oould tell you the exact number of nights you have spent 
 at the gaming-table, and the money you have squandered. 
 01.1, envy has keen eyes and a quick ear ! I have great 
 contempt for these cowardly denunciations, but was forced, 
 not only to heed them, but to make inquiries myself. It 
 is cvnly proper that I should know what sort of a life is 
 led by the man to whom I intrust my fortune and my 
 honor." 
 
 Prosper seemed about to protest against this last speech. 
 
 " Yes, my honor," insisted M, Fauvel, in a voice that 
 r2 sense of humiliation made unsteady ; " yes, my credit, 
 which might have been compromised to-day by this M. de 
 Clameran. Do you know how much I shall lose by pay- 
 ing him this money? And suppose I had not had the se- 
 curities which I have sacrificed ? you did not know I pos- 
 sessed them." 
 
 Tht banker paused, as if hoping for a confession, which, 
 however, did not come. 
 
 " Come, Prosper, have courage, be frank ! I will go 
 up stairs. You will look again in the safe ; I am sure that 
 in youi agitation you did not search it thoroughly. This 
 evenin^f I will return, and I am confident that, during the 
 day, you will have found, if not the three hundred and 
 fifty thousand francs, at least the greater portion of the 
 amount ; and to-morrow neither you nor I will remembei 
 anything about this false alarm." 
 
 M. Fauvel had risen, and was about to leave the room 
 when PixDsper arose, and seized him by the arm. " Your 
 generosity is useless, sir," he said bitterly ; " having taken 
 nothing, I can restore nothing. I have made a scrupulous 
 search ; the bank-notes have been stolen." 
 
 " But by whom, poor fool 1 by whom ? " 
 
 ** By all that is sacred, I swear that it was not by me." 
 
14 PILE NO. 113. 
 
 The banker's face turned crimson. " Miserable wretch 1 " 
 cried he, " do you mean to say that I took the money ? " 
 
 Prosper bowed his head, and did not answer. 
 
 " Ah ! it is thus, then," said M. Fauvel, unable to con- 
 tain himself any longer, "you dare — Then between you 
 and me, M. Prosper Bertomy, justice shall decide. God 
 is my witness that I have done all I could to save you. 
 You will have yourself to thank for what follows. I have 
 sent for the commissary of police ; he must be waiting ir 
 my room. Shall I call him down ? " 
 
 Prosper, with the fearful resignation of a man who en- 
 tirely abandons himself, replied in a stifled voice : " Do 
 as you will." 
 
 The banker was near the door, which he opened, and, 
 after giving the cashier a last searching look, called to an 
 oflice-boy : " Anselme, bid the commissary of police to 
 step down." 
 
 III. 
 
 If there is one man in the world whom no event should 
 move -or surprise, always on his guard against deceptive 
 appearances, capable of admitting everything and explain- 
 ing everything, it certainly is a Parisian commissary of 
 police. 
 
 While the judge, from his lofty seat, applies the Code 
 to the facts submitted to him, the commissary of police 
 observes and watches all the odious circumstances the law 
 cannot reach. He is, in spite of himself, the confidant of 
 disgraceful details, domestic crimes, and tolerated vices. 
 
 If, when he entered upon his office, he had any illusions, 
 before the end of a year they would all be dissipated. If 
 he does not absolutely despise the human race, it is be- 
 cause often, side by side with abominations indulged in 
 with impunity, he discovers sublime generosities which 
 remain unrewarded. He sees impudent villains filching 
 the public respect ; and he consoles himself by thinking 
 of the modest, obscure heroes whom he has also encount- 
 ered. 
 
 So often have his forecasts been deceived, that he has 
 reached a state of complete scepticism. He believes in 
 nothmg, neither in evil nor in absolute good ; not more in 
 virtue than in vice. His experience has forced him to 
 
FILE NO. 113. 15 
 
 come to the drear conclusion, that not men, but events, 
 are worth considering. 
 
 The commissary sent for by M. Fauvel soon made his 
 appearance. It was with a cahn air, if not one of perfect 
 indifference, that he entered the office. He was followed 
 by a short man dressed in a full suit of black, which was 
 slightly relieved by a ruffled collar. 
 
 The banker, scarcely bowing, said to the commissary 
 "Doubtless, sir, you have been apprised of the painf:i. 
 circumstance which compels me to have recourse to you* 
 assistance ? " 
 
 " It is about a robbery, I believe." 
 
 " Yes ; an infamous and mysterious robbery committed 
 in this office, from the safe you see open there, of which 
 my cashier" (he pointed to Prosper) " alone possesses the 
 key and the word." 
 
 This declaration seemed to arouse the unfortunate cash- 
 ier from his dull stupor. " Excuse me, sir," he said to the 
 commissary in a low tone. " My chief also has the word 
 and the key." 
 
 " Of course, that is understood." 
 
 The commissary at once drew his own conclusions. 
 Evidently these two men accused each other. From their 
 own statements, one or the other was guilty. One was 
 the head of an important bank ; the other was simply the 
 cashier. One was the chief ; the other the clerk. But the 
 commissary of police was too well skilled in concealing 
 his impressions to betray his thoughts by any visible sign. 
 Not a muscle of his face moved. Yet he became more 
 grave, and alternately watched the cashier and M, Fauvel, 
 as if trying to draw some satisfactory conclusion from 
 their behavior. 
 
 Prosper was very pale and dejected. He had dropped 
 into a seat, and his arms hung inert on either side of the 
 chair. The banker, on the contrary, remained standing 
 with flashing eyes and crimson face, expressing himself 
 with extraordinary vehemence. "The importance of ths 
 theft is immense," continued he; "there is missing :i 
 fortune, three hundred and fifty thousand francs ! This 
 robbery might have had the most disastrous consequences. 
 In times like these, the want of this sum might compro- 
 mise the credit of the wealthiest banking-house in Paris.^ 
 
 " I believe so, if bills were falling due." 
 
i6 FILE NO. i\% 
 
 " Well, sir, I have this very day a heavy payment to 
 make." 
 
 *' Ah, really ! " There was no mistaking the commis- 
 sary's tone ; a suspicion, the first, had evidently entered 
 his mind. 
 
 The banker understood it ; he started, and added 
 quickly : " I met my engagements, but at the cost of a dis^ 
 agreeable sacrifice. I ought to add further, that if my or- 
 ders had been obeyed, the three hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand francs would not have been here." 
 
 " How is that ? " 
 
 " I desire never to have large sums of money in my 
 house over night. My cashier had positive orders invaria- 
 bly to wait until the last moment before drawing money 
 from the Bank of France. I forbade him, above all, to 
 leave large sums of money in the safe over night." 
 
 " You hear this 1 " said the commissary to Prosper 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the cashier, '' M. Fauvel's statement 
 is quite correct." 
 
 After this explanation, the suspicions of the comm.issary. 
 instead of being strengthened, were dissipated. " Well," 
 he said, " a robbery has been perpetrated, but by whom ? 
 Did the robber enter from without 1 " 
 
 The banker hesitated a moment. *' I think not," he 
 said at last. 
 
 " And I am certain he did not," said Prosper. 
 
 The commissary expected and was prepared for these 
 answers ; but it did not suit his purpose to follow them 
 up immediately. " However," said he, " we must make 
 ourselves sure of it." Turning towards his companion, — 
 *' M. Fanferlot," he said, " go and see if you can discover 
 any traces that may have escaped the attention of these 
 gentlemen." 
 
 M. Fanferlot, nicknamed "the squirrel," was indebted 
 to his prodigious agility for his title, of which he was not 
 a little proud. Slim and insignificant in appearance, in 
 spite of his iron muscles, he might be taken for the under 
 clerk of a bailiff as he walked along buttoned up to the 
 chin in his thin black overcoat. He had one of those 
 faces that impress one disagreeably — an odiously turned- 
 up nose, thin lips^ and little restless black eyes. 
 
 Fanferlot, who had been in the detective force for five 
 years, burned to distinguish himself. He was ambitious. 
 
FILE NO. 113. 17 
 
 Alas \ he was unsuccessful, lacking opportunity — or genius. 
 Already, before the commissary spoke to him, he had fer- 
 reted everywhere ; studied the doors, sounded the parti- 
 tions, examined the wicket, and stirred up the ashes in the 
 grate. " I cannot imagine," said he, " how a stranger 
 could have effected an entrance here." He walked round 
 the office. " Is this door closed at night ? " he in- 
 quired. 
 
 " It is always locked." 
 
 " And who keeps the key ? " 
 
 '• The watchman," said Prosper, " to whom I always gave 
 it in charge before leaving the bank." 
 
 " And who," said M. Fauvel, '' sleeps in the outer room 
 on a folding-bedstead, which he unfolds at night, ana folds 
 up in the morning." 
 
 ** Is he here now ? " inquired the commissary. 
 
 "Yes," replied the banker, and he opened the door, 
 and called : " Anselme ! " 
 
 This man was the favorite servant of M. Fauvel, and 
 had lived with him for ten years. He knew that he would 
 not be suspected ; but the idea of being connected in any 
 way with a robbery was too much for him, and he entered 
 the room trembling like a leaf. 
 
 " Did you sleep in the next room last night ? " asked 
 the commissary. 
 
 "Yes, sir, as usual." 
 
 " At what hour did you go to bed .'* " 
 
 " About half-past ten ; I had spent the evening at a cafd 
 near by, with master's valet." 
 
 " Did you hear no noise during the night ? " 
 
 " Not a sound ; and still I sleep so lightly, that if M. 
 Fauvel comes down to the cashier's office when I am 
 asleep, I am instantly aroused by the sound of his foot- 
 steps." 
 
 " M. Fauvel often comes to the cashier's office at night, 
 does he "i " 
 
 " No sir ; very seldom." 
 
 " Did he come last night .^ " 
 
 " No sir, I am very certain he did not : for I was kept 
 awake nearly all night by the strong coffee I had drunk 
 with the valet." 
 
 " That will do ; you can retire," said the commissary. 
 
 When Anselme had left the room, Fanferlot resumed 
 
ffi FILE NO. 113. 
 
 his search. He opened the door of the private staircase. 
 " Where do these stairs lead to ? " he asked. 
 
 *' To my private office," replied M. Fauvel. 
 
 " Is not that the room whither I was conducted whea 
 I first arrived ? ' inquired the commissary. 
 
 " The same." 
 
 " I should like to see it," said Fanferlot, " and ex- 
 amine the entrance to it." 
 
 " Nothing is easier," said M. Fauvel eagerly ; " follow 
 me, gentlemen. And you too, Prosper." 
 
 M. Fauvel's private office consisted of two rooms, the 
 waiiing-room, sumptuously furnished and elaborately dec- 
 orated, and the inner one where he transacted business. 
 The furniture in this room was composed of a large office- 
 table, several leather-covered chairs, and on either side 
 of the fireplace a secretary and a bookshelf. 
 
 These two rooms had only three doors ; one opened on 
 the private staircase, another into the banker's bedroom, 
 and the third on to the landing. It was through this lat- 
 ter door that the banker's clients and visitors were ad- 
 mitted. 
 
 M. Fanferlot examined the room at a glance. He 
 seemed puzzled, like a man who had flattered himself 
 with the hope of discovering some clew and had found 
 nothing. " Let us see the other side," he said. He 
 passed into the waiting-room, followed by the banker and 
 the commissary of police. 
 
 Prosper remained behind. Despite the confused state 
 of his mind, he could not but notice that the situation was 
 for him momentarily becoming more serious. He had de- 
 manded and accepted the contest with his chief; the 
 struggle had commenced, and now it no longer depended 
 upon his own will to arrest the consequences of his action. 
 They were about to engage In a bitter conflict, utilizing all 
 weapons, until one of the two should succumb, the loss of 
 honor being the price of defeat. 
 
 In the eyes of justice who would be the innocent man ? 
 Alas 1 the unfortunate cashier saw only too clearly that 
 the chances were terribly unequal, and he was overwhelmed 
 with the sense of his own inferiority. Never had he thought 
 that his chief would carry out his threats ; for in a contest 
 of this nature, M. Fauvel would have as much at stake as 
 his cashier, and more to lose. 
 
FILE NO. 113. 19 
 
 Prosper was sitting near the fireplace, absorbed in the 
 most gloomy forebodings, when the banker's bedroom- 
 door suddenly opened, and a lovely girl appeared upon 
 the threshold. She was tall and slender ; a loose morning 
 robe, confined at the waist by a simple black ribbon, be- 
 trayed to advantage the graceful elegance of her figure. 
 Her dark eyes were large and soft ; her complexion had 
 the creamy pallor of a white camellia ; and her beautiuil 
 black hair, carelessly held together by a tortoiseshell comb, 
 fell in a profusion of soft curls upon her finely shaped 
 neck. She was Madeleine, M. Fauvel's niece, of whom 
 he had spoken not long before. Seeing Prosper in the 
 room, where probably she had expected to find her uncle 
 alone, she could not refrain from an exclamation of sur- 
 prise: "Ah!" 
 
 Prosper started up as if he had received an electric 
 shock. His eyes, a moment before so dull and heavy, 
 now sparkled with jo}^, as if he had caught a glimpse of 
 an angel of hope. " Madeleine ! " he cried, " Madeleine ! " 
 
 The young girl was blushing crimson. She seemed 
 about to hastily retreat, and stepped back ; but. Prosper 
 having advanced tow^ards her, she was overcome by a 
 sentiment stronger than her will, and extended her hand, 
 which he took and pressed with great respect. They stood 
 thus face to face, but with averted looks, as if they dared 
 not let their eyes meet for fear of betraying their feelings ; 
 having much to say, and not know^ing how to begin, they 
 stood silent. Finally Madeleine murmured in a scarcely 
 audible voice : " You, Prosper — you ! " 
 
 These words broke the spell. The cashier dropped the 
 white hand which he held, and answ^ered bitterly: "Yes, 
 I am Prosper, the companion of your childhood — suspected, 
 accused of the most disgraceful theft ; Prosper, whom 
 your uncle has just delivered up to justice, and who, be- 
 fore the day has gone by, will be arrested and thrown into 
 prison." 
 
 Madeleine, with a terrified gesture, cried in a tone of 
 anguish : " Good heavens ! Prosper, what are you say- 
 ing?" 
 
 " What ! mademoiselle, do you not know what has 
 happened ? Have not your aunt and cousins told you ? " 
 
 " They have told me nothing. I have scarcely seen 
 my cousins this morning ; and my aunt is so ill that I feU 
 
20 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 uneasy, and came to tell my uncle. But for heaven's sake, 
 speak : tell me the cause of your distress." 
 
 Prosper hesitated. Perhaps it occurred to him to open 
 his heart to Madeleine, of revealing to her his most secret 
 thoughts. A remembrance of the past checked his con- 
 fidence. He sadly shook his head, and replied : " Thanks, 
 mademoiselle, for this proof of interest, the last, doubtless, 
 that I shall ever receive from you ; but allow me, by being 
 silent, to spare you distress, and myself the mortification 
 of blushing before you." 
 
 Madeleine interrupted him imperiously : " I insist upon 
 knowing," she said. 
 
 " Alas ! mademoiselle," answered Prosper, " you will 
 only too soon learn my misfortune and disgrace ; then, 
 yes then, you will applaud yourself for what you have done." 
 
 She became more urgent ; instead of commanding she 
 entreated ; but Prosper was inflexible. " Your uncle is 
 in the adjoining room, with the commissary of police and 
 a detective," said he. " They will soon return. I entreat 
 you to retire that they may not find you here." As he 
 spoke he gently pushed her through the door, and closed 
 it upon her. 
 
 It was time, for the next moment the commissary and 
 M. Fauvel entered. They had visited the main entrance 
 and the waiting-room, and had heard nothing of what had 
 passed. But Fanferlot had heard for them. This ex- 
 cellent bloodhound had not lost sight of the cashier. He 
 said to himself, " Now that my young gentleman believeg 
 himself to be alone, his face will betray him. I shall de- 
 tect a smile or a gesture that will enlighten me." 
 
 Leaving M. Fauvel and the commissary to pursue their 
 investigations, he posted himself to watch. He saw the 
 door open, and Madeleine appear upon the threshold ; he 
 lost not a single word or gesture of the rapid scene which 
 had passed. It mattered little that every word of this 
 scene was an enigma. M. Fanferlot was skilful enough 
 to complete the sentences he did not understand. As 
 yet he only had a suspicion ; but a mere suspicion is bet- 
 than nothing ; it is a point to start from. So ready was 
 he in building a plan upon the slightest incident, that he 
 thought he saw in the past of these people, who were utter 
 strangers to him, glimpses of a domestic drama. If the 
 commissary of police is a sceptic, the detective has faith, 
 
/ 
 
 FILE NO. 113. 21 
 
 he believes in evil. " I understand the case now," said he 
 to himself. " This man loves the young lady, who is really 
 very pretty; and, as he is handsome,! suppose his love is 
 reciprocated. This love affair vexes the banker, who, not 
 knowing how to get rid of the importunate lover by fair means 
 has to resort to foul, and plans this imaginary robbery, 
 which is very ingenious." 
 
 Thus, to M. Fanferlot's mind, the banker had simply 
 robbed himself, and the innocent cashier was the victim 
 of a vile machination. But this conviction was at present 
 of little service to Prosper. Fanferlot, the ambitious man, 
 who had determined to obtain renown in his profession, 
 decided to keep his conjectures to himself. " I will let the 
 others go their way, and I'll go mine," he said. "When, 
 by dint of close watching and patient investigation, I shall 
 have collected proof sufficient to insure certain conviction, 
 I will unmask the scoundrel." 
 
 He was radiant. He had at last found the crime, so 
 long looked for, which would make him celebrated. Nothing 
 was wanting, neither the odious circumstances, nor the 
 mystery, nor even the romantic and sentimental element 
 represented by Prosper and Madeleine, Success seemed 
 difficult, almost impossible ; but Fanferlot, "the squirrel," 
 had great confidence in his own genius for investiga- 
 tion. 
 
 Meanwhile, the search up stairs was completed, and 
 every one had returned to Prosper's office. The commis- 
 sary, who had seemed so calm when he first came, now 
 looked grave and perplexed. The moment for taking a 
 decisive part had come, yet it was evident that he hesitated. 
 ^' You see, gentlemen," he began, " our search has only 
 confirmed our first opinion." M. Fauvel and Prosper 
 bowed assentingly. 
 
 " And what do you think, M. Fanferlot ? " continued 
 the commissary. Fanferlot did not answer. Occupied in 
 studying the lock of the safe, he manifested signs of a 
 lively surprise. Evidently he had just made an important 
 discovery. M. Fauvel, Prosper, and the commissary rose, 
 and surrounded him. 
 
 " Have you discovered any trace ? " asked the banker 
 eagerly. 
 
 Fanferlot turned round with a vexed air. He re- 
 proached himself for not having concealed his imprea- 
 
22 FILE NO. \\y 
 
 sions. " Oh ! " said he carelessly, " I have discovered 
 nothing of importance." 
 
 " But we should like to know," said Prosper. 
 
 " I have merely convinced myself that this safe has 
 been recently opened or shut, I know not w^hich, with 
 some violence and haste." 
 
 " How so ? " asked the commissary, becoming attentive. 
 
 " Look, sir, at this scratch near the lock." 
 
 The commissary stooped down, and carefully examined 
 the safe ; he saw a slight scratch several inches long that 
 had removed the outer coat of varnish. " I see the 
 scratch," said he, " but what does it prove t " 
 
 " Oh, nothing at all ! " said Fanferlot. " I just now 
 told you it was of no importance." 
 
 Fanferlot said this, but it was not his real opinion. 
 This scratch, undeniably fresh, had for him a signification 
 that escaped the others. He said to himself : "This con- 
 firms my supicions. If the cashier had stolen millions, 
 there was no occasion for his being in a hurry ; whereas 
 the banker creeping down in the dead of the night with 
 furtive footsteps, for fear of awakening the man in the 
 outer room, in order to rifle his own safe, had every reason 
 to tremble, to hurry, to hastily withdraw the key, which, 
 slipping out of the lock, scratched off the varnish." 
 
 Resolved to unravel alone the tangled thread of this 
 mystery, the detective determined to keep his conjectures 
 to himself ; for the same reason he was silent as to the 
 interview which he had witnessed between Madeleine and 
 Prosper. He hastened to withdraw attention from the 
 scratch upon the lock. " To conclude," he said, ad- 
 dressing the commissary, " I am convinced that no one 
 outside of the bank could have obtained access to this 
 room. The safe, moreover, is intact. No suspicious press- 
 ure has been used on the movable buttons. I can assert 
 that the lock has not been tampered with by burglars' 
 tools or false keys. Those who opened the safe knew the 
 word, and possessed the key." 
 
 This formal affirmation of a man whom he knew to be 
 skilful ended the hesitation of the commissary. " That 
 being the case," he replied, " I must request a few mo« 
 ments conversation with M. Fauvel." 
 
 " I am at your service," said the banker. 
 
 Prosper foresaw the result of this conversation, Ha 
 
F/LE NO. 113. 23 
 
 quietly placed his hat on the table to show that he had no 
 intention of attempting to escape, and passed into the ad 
 joining office. Fanferlot also went out, but not before 
 the •^.ommissary had made him a sign, and received one 
 in return. This sign signified, " You are responsible for 
 this rt:an." 
 
 The detective needed no hint to make him keep a strict 
 watch. His suspicions were too vague, his desire for suc- 
 cess was too ardent, for him to lose sight of Prosper an 
 instant. Closely following the cashier, he seated himself 
 in a dark corner of the office, and, pretending to be sleepy, 
 he fixeJ himself in a comfortable position for taking a nap, 
 gaped antil his jawbone seemed about to be dislocated, 
 then closed his eyes and kept perfectly quiet. 
 
 Prosper took a seat at the desk of an absent clerk. 
 The others were burning to know the result of the inves- 
 tigation ; their eyes shone with curiosity, but they dared 
 not asK a question. Unable to restrain himself any longer, 
 little Cavaillon, Prosper's defender, ventured to say « 
 " Weli^ who stole the money .'' " 
 
 Prosper shrugged his shoulders. " Nobody knows," he 
 replied!. 
 
 Was this conscious innocence or hardened reckless- 
 ness ? The clerks observed with bewildered surprise 
 that Prosper had resumed his usual manner — that sort 
 of icy haughtiness that kept people at a distance, and 
 made him so unpopular in the bank. Save the death-like 
 pallor of his face, and the dark circles around his swollen 
 eyes, he bore no traces of the pitiable agitation he had 
 exhibited not long before. Never would a stranger en- 
 tering the office have supposed that this young man, idly 
 lounging in a chair and toying with a pencil, was resting 
 under an accusation of robbery, and was about to be ar- 
 rested. He soon stopped playing with the pencil, and 
 drew towards him a sheet of paper upon which he hastily 
 wrote a few lines. 
 
 " Ah, ha ! " thought Fanferlot, the squirrel, whose hear* 
 mg and sight were wonderfully good in spite of his pro* 
 found sleep ; " eh ! eh ! he makes his little confidential 
 communication on paper, I see ; now we will discover 
 something positive." 
 
 His note written, Prosper folded it carefully into the 
 gniallest possible size, and after furtively glancing towarcjg 
 
24 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 the detective, who remained motionless in his cornerj 
 threw it across the desk to little Cavaillon with this one 
 word — " Gipsy ! " 
 
 All this was so quickly and cleverly done that Fanfer- 
 lot was confounded, and began to feel a little uneasy. 
 *' The devil take him ! " said he to himself ; " for a suffer- 
 ing innocent this young dandy has more pluck and nerve 
 than many of my oldest customers. This, however, shows 
 the result of education ! " 
 
 Yes, innocent or guilty. Prosper must have been en- 
 dowed with great self-control and power of dissimulation to 
 affect this presence of mind at a time when his honor, 
 his future happiness, all that he held dear in life, were at 
 stake. And he was not more than thirty years old. 
 
 Either from natural deference, or from the hope of gain- 
 ing some ray of light by a private conversation, the com- 
 missary determined to speak to the banker before acting 
 decisively. " There is not a shadow of doubt," said he, 
 as soon as they were alone ; " this young man has robbed 
 you. It would be a gross neglect of duty if I did not se- 
 cure his person. The law will decide whether he shall be 
 released, or sent to prison." 
 
 This declaration seemed to distress the banker. He 
 sank into a chair, and murmured : " Poor Prosper ! " See- 
 ing the astonished look of his listener, he added : " Until to- 
 day, I have always had the most implicit faith in my cash- 
 ier's honesty, and would have unhesitatingly confided my 
 fortune to his keeping. Almost on my knees have I be- 
 sought and implored him to confess that in a moment of 
 desperation he had taken the money, promising him par- 
 don and forgetfulness ; but I could not move him. I 
 loved him ; and even now, in spite of the trouble and hu- 
 miliation that he is heaping upon me, I cannot bring my- 
 self to feel harshly towards him." 
 
 The commissary looked as if he did not understand, 
 "What do you mean by humiliation ? " he asked. 
 
 " What ! " said M. Fauvel excitedly, " is not justice the 
 same for all ? Because I am the head of a bank, and 
 he only a clerk, does it follow that my word is more to be 
 relied upon than his ? Why could I not have robbed my- 
 self ? Such things have been done. They will ask me 
 fgr f^ct§ ; and I shall be compelled to expose the exact 
 
FILE NO. 113. 27 
 
 situation of my house, explain my affairs, disclose the se- 
 cret and method of my operations." 
 
 " It is possible that you will be called upon for some ex- 
 planation ; but your well-known integrity — " 
 
 " Alas ! He was honest too. His integrity has never 
 been doubted. Who would have been suspected this 
 morning if I had not been able to instantly produce a hun- 
 dred thousand crowns ? Who would be suspected if I 
 could not prove that my assets exceed my liabilities by 
 more than three millions ? " 
 
 To a strictly honorable man, the thought, the possi- 
 bility of suspicion tarnishing his fair name, is cruel suffer- 
 ing. The banker suffered, and the commissary of police 
 saw it, and felt for him. " Be calm, sir," said he ; " before 
 the end of a week, justice will have collected sufficient 
 proof to establish the guilt of this unfortunate man, whom 
 we may now recall." 
 
 Prosper entered with Fanferlot — whom they had much 
 trouble to awaken-^-and with the most stolid indifference 
 listened to the announcement of his arrest. In response 
 he calmly said : " I swear that I am guiltless." 
 
 M. Fauvel, much more disturbed and excited than his 
 cashier, made a last attempt. " It is not too late yet, poor 
 boy," he said : " for heaven's sake reflect — " 
 
 Prosper did not appear to hear him. He drew from his 
 pocket a small key, which he laid on the table, and said : 
 " Here, sir, is the key of your safe. I hope for my sake 
 that you will some day be convinced of my innocence ; and 
 I hope for your sake that the conviction will not come too 
 late." Then as every one was silent, he resumed : " Be- 
 fore leaving I hand over to you the books, papers, and ac- 
 counts necessary for my successor. I must at the same 
 time inform you that, w^ithout speaking of the stolen three 
 hundred and fifty thousand francs, I leave a deficit in 
 cash." 
 
 A deficit ! This ominous word frOm the lips of the cash- 
 ier fell like a bombshell upon the ears of Prosper's 
 hearers. His declaration was interpreted irr-divers ways. 
 " A deficit ! " thought the commissary ; " how, after this, 
 can his guilt be doubted ? Before stealing the whole con- 
 tfiODits of the safe, he has kept his hand in by occasional 
 small ihefts." " A deficit ! " said the detective to himself, 
 " now, no doubt, the very innocence of tiiis poor wretch 
 
26 PILE NO. 113. 
 
 gives his conduct an appearance of great depravity ; were 
 he guilty, he would have replaced the first money by a 
 portion of the second." 
 
 The grave importance of Prosper's statement was con- 
 siderably lessened by the explanation he proceeded to 
 make : " There is a deficit of three thousand five kundred 
 francs on my cash account, which has been disposed of in 
 the following manner : two thousand taken by myself in 
 advance on my salary ; fifteen hundred advanced to sev- 
 eral of my fellow clerks. This is the last day of the month : 
 to-morrow the salaries will be paid, consequently — " 
 
 The commissary interrupted him — "Were you author* 
 ized to draw money whenever you wished for yourself or 
 the clerks ? " 
 
 " No ; but I knew that M. Fauvel would not have re- 
 fused me permission to oblige my friends in the bank. 
 What I did is done everywhere ; I have simply followed 
 my predecessor's example." The banker made a sign of 
 assent. " As regards that spent by myself," continued 
 the cashier, " I had a sort of right to it, all of my savings 
 being deposited in this bank ; about fifteen thousand 
 francs." 
 
 " That is true," said M. Fauvel , " M. Bertomy has at 
 least that amount on deposit." 
 
 This last question settled, the commissary's errand was 
 at an end, and his report might now be made. He an- 
 nounced his intention of leaving, and ordered the cashier 
 to prepare to follow him. 
 
 Usually, the moment — when stern reality stares us in 
 the face, when our individuality is lost, and we feel that 
 we are being deprived of our liberty — is terrible. At the 
 fatal command, " Follow me," which brings before our 
 eyes the yawning prison gates, the most hardened sinner 
 feels his courage fail, and abjectly begs for mercy. But 
 Prosper lost none of that studied stoicism which the com- 
 missary of police secretly pronounced consummate impu- 
 dence. Slowly, with as much careless ease as if going to 
 lunch with a friend, he smoothed his hair, drew on his 
 overcoat and gloves, and said politely : " I am ready, sir, 
 to accompany you." 
 
 The commissary folded up his note-book, and bowing to 
 M. Fauvel, said to Prosper, " Come with me ! " 
 
 They left the room, and with a distressed face, and eyes 
 
FILE NO. 113, fjr 
 
 filled with tears that he could not restrain, the banker 
 stood watching their retreating forms. 
 
 " Good heavens ! " he exclaimed : " gladly would I give 
 twice that sum to regain my old confidence in poor Pros- 
 per, and be able to keep him with me ! " 
 
 The quick-eared Fanferlot overheard these words, and 
 prompt to suspicion, and ever disposed to impute to others 
 the deep astuteness peculiar to himself, was convinced 
 they had beei uttered for his benefit. He had remained 
 behind the others, under pretext of looking for an imagin- 
 ary umbrella, and, as he reluctantly departed, said he 
 would call in again to see if it had been found. 
 
 It was Fanfc^rlot's task to escort Prosper to prison ; but, 
 as they were about starting, he asked the commissary to 
 leave him at liberty to pursue another course, a request 
 which liis superior granted. Fanferlot h~ad resolved to 
 obtain possession of Prosper's note, which he knew to be 
 in Cavaillon's pocket. To obtain this written proof, which 
 must be an important one, appeared the easiest thing in 
 the world. He had simply to arrest Cavaillon, frighten 
 him, demand the letter, and, if necessary, take it by force. 
 But to what would this lead ? To nothing but an incom- 
 plete and doubtful result. 
 
 Fanferlot was convinced that the note was int ;nded, 
 not for the young clerk, but for a third person. If exas- 
 perated, Cavaillon might refuse to divulge who this person 
 was, who after all might not bear the name " Gipsy " pro- 
 nounced by the cashier. And, even if he did answer his 
 questions, would he not lie } After mature reflection, Fan 
 ferlot decided that it would be superfluous to ask for a se- 
 cret when it could be surprised. To quietly follow Cavail- 
 lon, and keep close watch on him until he caught him in the 
 very act of handing over the letter, was but play for the de- 
 tective. This method of proceeding, moreover, was much 
 more in keeping with the character of Fanferlot, who, being 
 naturally soft and stealthy, deemed it due to his profession 
 to avoid all disturbance or anything resembling violence. 
 
 Fanfe riot's plan was settled when he reached the vesti- 
 bule. He began talking with an office-boy, and, after a few 
 apparently idle questions, discovered that Fauvel's bank 
 had no outlet on the Rue de la Victoire, and that con- 
 sequently all the clerks were obliged to pass in and out 
 through the main entrance in the Rue de Provence, Froni 
 
28 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 this moment the task he had undertaken no longer pre- 
 sented a shadow of difficulty. He rapidly crossed the street, 
 and took up his position under a gateway. His post of ob- 
 servation was admirably chosen ; not only could he see 
 every one who entered and came out of the bank, but he 
 also commanded a view of all the windows, and by stand= 
 ing on tiptoe could look through the grating and see Ca- 
 vaillon bending over his desk. 
 
 Fanferlot waited a long time, but did not get impatient, 
 for he had often remained on watch entire days and nights 
 at a time, with much less important objects in view than 
 the present one. Besides, his mind was busily occupied in 
 estimating the value of his discoveries, weighing his chances, 
 and, like Perrette with her pot of milk, building the foun- 
 dation of his fortune upon present success. Finally, about 
 one o'clock, he saw Cavaillon rise from his desk, change 
 his coatj and take down his hat. " Very good ! " he ex- 
 claimed, " my man is coming out ; I must keep my eyes 
 open." 
 
 The next moment Cavaillon appeared at the door of the 
 bank ; but before stepping on the pavement he looked up 
 and down the street in an undecided manner. 
 
 " Can he suspect anything ? " thought Fanferlot. 
 
 No, the young clerk suspected nothing; only having a 
 commission to execute, and fearing his absence would be ob- 
 served, he was debating with himself which would be the 
 shortest road for him to take. He soon decided, entered 
 the Faubourg Montmartre, and walked up the Rue Notre 
 Dame de Lorette so rapidly, utterly regardless of the 
 grumbling passers-by whom he elbowed out of his way, 
 that Fanferlot found it difficult to keep him in sight. 
 Reaching the Rue Chaptal, Cavaillon suddenly stopped, 
 and entered the house numbered 39. He had scarcely 
 taken three steps in the narrow hall when he felt a touch 
 on his shoulder, and turning abruptly found himself face 
 to face with Fanferlot. He recognized him at once, and turn- 
 ing very pale he shrank back, and looked around for means 
 of escape. But the detective, anticipating the attempt, 
 barred the way. Cavaillon saw that he was fairly caught. 
 " What do you want with me .^ " he asked in a voice 
 tremulous with fright. 
 
 Fanferlot was distinguished among his colleagues for 
 his exquisite suavity and unequalled urbanity. Evei^ 
 
FILE NO. 113. 29 
 
 with his prisoners he was the perfection of courtesy, and 
 never was known to handcuff a man without first apologiz- 
 ing for being compelled to do so. " You will be kind 
 enough, my dear sir," he said, " to excuse the great lib> 
 ert-y I take ; but I really am under the necessity of ask- 
 ing you for a little information." 
 
 " Information ! From me, sir "i " 
 
 " From you, my dear sir ; from M. Eugbne Cavail 
 Ion." 
 
 " But I do not know you." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you must remember seeing me this morning. 
 It is only about a trifling matter, and you will overwhelm 
 me with obligations if you will do me the honor to accept 
 my arm, and step outside for a moment." What could 
 Cavaillon do .'* He took Fanferlot's arm, and went out 
 with him. 
 
 The Rue Chaptal is not one of those noisy thorough- 
 fares where foot-passengers are in perpetual danger of 
 being run over by numberless vehicles dashing to and fro ; 
 there are but two or three shops, and from the corner of 
 the Rue Fontaine, occupied by an apothecar}'-, to the 
 entrance of the Rue Le'onie. extends a high, gloomy wall, 
 broken here and there by some small windows which light 
 the carpenters' shops behind. It is one of those streets 
 where you can talk at your ease, without having to step 
 from the sidewalk every moment. So Fanferlot and Ca- 
 vaillon were in no danger of being disturbed by passers- 
 
 by- 
 
 " What I wished to say, my dear sir," began the detec- 
 tive, " is that M. Prosper Bertomy threw you a note this 
 morning." 
 
 Cavaillon vaguely foresaw that he was to be questioned 
 about this note and instantly put himself on his guard 
 " You are mistaken," he said, blushing to his ears. 
 
 '' Excuse me for presuming to contradict you, but I am 
 quite certain of what I say." 
 
 " I assure you that Prosper never gave me anything." 
 
 "Pray, sir, do not persist in a denial; you will compel 
 me to prove that four clerks saw him throw you a note 
 written in pencil and closely folded." 
 
 Cavaillon saw the folly of further contradicting a man 
 so well informed; so he changed his tactics, and said : 
 ** IX is true Prosper gave me a note this morning ; but as 
 
30 FILE NO. \i%. 
 
 it was intended for me alone, after reading it, I tore it up, 
 and threw the pieces in the fire." 
 
 This might be the truth. Fanferlot feared so ; but how 
 could he assure himself of the fact : He remembered that 
 the most palpable tricks often succeed the best, and, trust- 
 ing to his star, he said at hazard : " Permit me to observe 
 that this statement is not correct ; the note was entrusted 
 to you to give to Gipsy." 
 
 A despairing gesture from Cavaillon apprised the de- 
 tective that he was not mistaken ; he breathed again. " I 
 swear to you, sir — " began the young man. 
 
 " Do not swear," interrupted Fanferlot : " all the oaths 
 in the world would be useless. You not only preserved 
 the note, but you came to this house for the purpose of 
 giving it to Gipsy, and it is in your pocket now." 
 
 " No, sir, no ! " 
 
 Fanferlot paid no attention to this denial, but continued 
 in his gentlest tone : " And I am sure you will be kind 
 enough to give it to me ; believe me, nothing but the 
 most absolute necessity — " 
 
 " Never ! " exclaimed Cavaillon ; and, believing the 
 moment favorable, he suddenly attempted to jerk his arm 
 from under Fanferlot's and escape. But his efforts v.ere 
 vain ; the detective's strength was equal to his suavity. 
 
 "Don't hurt yourself, young man," he said," but take 
 *>iy advice, and quietly give up the letter." 
 
 " I have not got it." 
 
 " Very well ; see, you reduce me to painful extremities. 
 If you persist in being so obstinate, I shall call two po- 
 licemen, who will take you by each arm, and escort you 
 to the commissary of police ; and, once there, I shall be 
 under the painful necessity of searching your pockets, 
 whether you will or not." 
 
 Cavaillon was devoted to Prosper, and willing to make 
 any sacrifice in his behalf ; but he clearly saw that it was 
 worse than useless to struggle any longer, as he would 
 have no time to destroy the note. To deliver it under 
 force was no betrayal ; but he cursed his powerlessness, 
 and almost wept with rage. " I am in your power," he 
 said, and then suddenly drew from his pocket-book the 
 unlucky note, and gave it to the detective. 
 
 Fanferlot trembled with pleasure as he unfolded the 
 paper; y^t, faithful to his habits of fastidious politene^Si 
 
FILE NO. 113. 31 
 
 before reading it, he bowed to Cavaillon and said : " You 
 will peimit me, will you not, sir ? " Then he read as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 " Dear Nina — If you love me, follow my instructions 
 instantly, without a moment's hesitation, without asking 
 any questions. On the receipt of this note, take every- 
 thing you have in the house, absolutely everytJmig^ and es- 
 tablish yourself in furnished rooms at the other end of 
 Paris. Do not appear in public, but conceal yourself as 
 much as possible. My life may depend on your obedi- 
 ence. I am accused of an outrageous robbery, and am 
 about to be arrested. Take with you five hundred francs, 
 which you will find in the secretary. Leave your address 
 with Cavaillon, who will explain what I have not time to 
 tell. Be . hopeful, whatever happens. Good-by ! — Pros- 
 per." 
 
 Had Cavaillon been less bewildered, he would have 
 seen blank disappointment depicted upon the detective's 
 face after the perusal of the note. Fanferlot had cher- 
 ished the hope that he was about to possess a very im- 
 portant document which would clearly prove the guilt or 
 innocence of Prosper ; whereas he had only seized a love- 
 letter written by a man who was evic. ..ntly more anxious 
 about the welfare of the woman he loved than about his 
 own. Vainly did he puzzle over the letter, hoping to dis- 
 cover some hidden meaning : twist the words as he would, 
 tliey proved nothing for or against the writer. The two 
 words "absolutely everything" were underscored, it is 
 true ; but they could be interpreted in so many ways. 
 The detective, however, determined not to drop the mat- 
 ter here. "This Madame Nina Gipsy is doubtless a 
 friend of M. Prosper Bertomy ? " 
 
 "She is \\\?> paj'ticular ix\Q.ViAr 
 
 " Ah, I understand ; and she lives here at No. 39 ? " 
 
 " You know it well enough, as you saw me go in 
 there " 
 
 " I suspected it to be the house, but now tell me whethej 
 the apartments she occupies are rented in her name." 
 
 "No. Prosper rents them." 
 
 " Exactly ; and on which floor, if you please ? " 
 
 " On the first." 
 
 During this colloquy, Fanferlot had folded up the ote, 
 and slipped it into his pocket. " A thousand thanks," 
 
3t FILE NO. 113. 
 
 said he, " for the information ; and, in return, I will re 
 lieve you of the trouble of executing your commission." 
 
 ."Sir!" 
 
 " Yes ; with your permission, I will myself take this 
 note to Madame Nina Gipsy." 
 
 Cavaillon began to remonstrate, but Fanferlot cut him 
 short by saying, " I will also venture to give you a piece 
 of advice. Return quietly to your business and have 
 nothing more to do with this affair." 
 
 " But Prosper is a good friend of mine, and has saved 
 me from ruin more than once." 
 
 " Only the more reason for 3^our keeping quiet. You 
 cannot be of the slightest assistance to him, and I can 
 tell you that you may be of great injury. As you are 
 known to be his devoted friend, of course your absence 
 at this time will be remarked upon. Any steps that you 
 take in this matter will receive the worst interpretation." 
 
 " Prosper is innocent, I am sure." 
 
 Fanferlot was of the same opinion, but he had no idea 
 of betraying his private thoughts ; and yet for the success 
 of his investigations it was necessary to impress the im- 
 portance of prudence and discretion upon the young man. 
 He would have told him to keep silent concerning what 
 had passed between them, but he dared not. 
 
 " What you say may be true," he said. " I hope it is 
 for the sake of M. Bertomy, and on your own account 
 too ; for, if he is guilty, you will certainly be very much 
 annoyed, and perhaps suspected of complicity, as you are 
 well known to be intimate with him." 
 
 Cavaillon was overcome. 
 
 " Now, you had better take my advice, and return to 
 the bank, and — Good morning, sir." 
 
 The poor fellow obeyed. Slowly and with swelling 
 heart he returned to the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette. 
 He asked himself how he could serve Prosper, warn Mad- 
 ame Gipsy, and above all, have his revenge upon this 
 odious detective, who had just made him suffer such hu' 
 miliation. He had no sooner turned the corner of the 
 street than Fanferlot entered No. 39, mentioned the 
 name of Prosper Bertomy to the concierge, went up stairs, 
 and knocked at the first door he came to. It was opened 
 by a youthful footman, dressed in the most fanciful livery, 
 
 ** Is Madame Gipsy at home ? " inquired Fanlerlot. 
 
FILE NO. 113 i-}, 
 
 The servant hesitated ; seeing this, Fanferlot showed 
 his note and said • " M. Prosper told me to hand this note 
 to madame and wait for an answer." 
 
 " Walk in, and I will let madame know you are here." 
 
 The name of Prosper produced its effect. Fanferlot 
 was ushered into a little room furnished in blue and gold 
 silk damask. Heavy curtains darkened the windows, and 
 hung in front of the doors. The floor was covered with a 
 blue velvet pile carpet. 
 
 " Our cashier was certainly well lodged," murmured the 
 detective. But he had no time to pursue his inventory. 
 One of the curtains was pushed aside, and Madame Nina 
 Gipsy stood before him. She was quite young, small, 
 and graceful, with a brown or rather gold-colored quad- 
 roon complexion, and the hands and feet of a child. 
 Long curling silk lashes softened the piercing brilliancy 
 of her large black eyes ; her lips were full, and her teeth 
 were very white. She had not yet made her toilet, but 
 wore a velvet dressing-gown, which did not conceal the 
 lace ruffles beneath. But she had already been under the 
 hands of a hairdresser. Her hair was curled and frizzed 
 high on her forehead, and confined by narrow bands of 
 red velvet ; her back hair was rolled in an immense coil, 
 and held by a beautiful gold comb. She was ravishing. 
 Her beauty was so startling that the dazzlea detective 
 was speechless with admiration. 
 
 " Well," he said to himself, as he remembered the 
 noble, severe beauty of Madeleine, whom he had seen a 
 few hours previous, " Our young gentleman certainly has 
 good taste — very good taste — two perfect beauties ! " 
 
 While he thus reflected, perfectly bewildered, and won' 
 dering how he could begin the conversation, Madame 
 Gipsy eyed him with the most disd:;uifiil surprise : she 
 was waiting for this shabby little man in a threadbare 
 coat and greasy hat to explain hi:, presence in her dainty 
 drawing-room. She had many creditors, and was recall- 
 ing them, and wondering which one had dared send this 
 man to wipe his dusty boots on her velvet-pile carpets. 
 After scrutinizing him from head to foot with undisguised 
 contempt, she said haughtily, " What is it that you 
 want ? " 
 
 Any one but Fanferlot would have been offended at 
 her insolent manner ; but he only noticed it to gain some 
 ^ 
 
34 PILE NO. 113. 
 
 notion of the young woman's disposition. *' She is bad- 
 tempered," he thought, " and is uneducated." 
 
 While he was speculating upon her merits, Madame Nina 
 hnpatiently stamped her little foot and waited for an an- 
 swer ; finally she said : " Why don't you speak ? What do 
 you want here ? " 
 
 " I am charged, my dear madame," he answered in his 
 blandest tone, " by M. Bertomy, to give you this note." 
 
 " From Prosper ! You know him then ? " 
 
 " I have that honor, madame ; indeed, I may be so 
 bold as to claim him as a friend." 
 
 "What, sir! You a friend of Prosper!" exclaimed 
 Madame Gipsy in a scornful tone, as if her pride were 
 wounded." 
 
 Fanferlot did not condescend to notice this offensive ex- 
 clamation. He was ambitious, and contempt failed to ir- 
 ritate him. " I said a friend of his, madame, and there 
 are few people who would have the courage to claim friend- 
 ship for him now." 
 
 Madame Gipsy was struck by the words and manner 
 of Fanferlot. " I never could guess riddles," she said 
 tartly ; " will you be kind enough to explain what you 
 mean .-' " 
 
 The detective slowly drew Prosper's note from his pocket, 
 and, with a bow, presented it to Madame Gipsy. " Read 
 madame," he said. 
 
 She certainly anticipated no misfortune ; although her 
 sight was excellent, she stopped to fasten a tiny gold eye- 
 glass on her nose, then carelessly opened the note. At a 
 glance she read its contents. She turned very pale, then 
 very red ; she trembled as if with a nervous chill ; her 
 limbs seemed to give way, and she tottered so that Fan- 
 ferlot. thinking she was about to fall, extended his arms 
 to catch her. 
 
 Useless precaution ! Madame Gipsy was one of those 
 women whose inert listlessness conceals indomitable en- 
 ergy; fragile-looking creatures whose powers of endurance 
 and resistance are unlimited ; cat-like in their soft grace 
 and delicacy, especially cat-like in their nerves and mus- 
 cles of steel. The dizziness caused by the shock she hac?. 
 received quickly passed off. She tottered, but did not 
 fall, and stood up looking stronger than ever ; seizing the 
 wrist of the detective she held it as if her delicate little 
 
FILE NO. 113. 35 
 
 hand were a vice, and cried out : " Explain yoursf^lf \ 
 what does all this mean ? Do you know anything about 
 the contents of this note ? " 
 
 Although Fanferlot showed plenty of courage in daily 
 contending with the most dangerous rascals, he was almost 
 terrified by the action of Madame Gipsy. " Alas ! " was 
 all he murmured. 
 
 '"^ Prosper is to be arrested, accused of being a thief ? " 
 
 *' Yes, madame, he is accused of taking three hundred 
 and fifty thousand francs from the bank-safe." 
 
 " It is false, infamous, absurd ! " she cried. She had 
 dropped Fanferlot's hand ; and her fury, like that of a 
 spoiled child, found vent in violent actions. She tore her 
 web-like handkerchief, and the magnificent lace on her 
 gown, to shreds. " Prosper steal ! " she cried ; " what a 
 stupid idea ! Why should he steal t Is he not rich ? " 
 
 *' M. Bertomy is not rich, madame ; he has nothing but 
 his salary." 
 
 This answer seemed to confound Madame Gipsy. 
 " But," she insisted, " I have always seen him with plenty 
 of money; not rich — then — " She dared not finish ; but 
 her eye met Fanferlot's, and they understood each 
 other. 
 
 Madame Nina's look meant : " He committed this rob- 
 bery in order to gratify my extravagant whims." Fanfer- 
 lot's glance signified • " Very likely, madame." 
 
 A few moment's reflection restored Nina's original as- 
 surance. Doubt fled after hovering for an instant over 
 her agitated mind. " No ! " she cried. " I regret to say 
 that Prosper would never have stolen a single sou for me. 
 One can understand a man robbing a bank to obtain the 
 means of bestowing pleasure and luxury upon the woman 
 he loves ; but Prosper does not love me ; he never has 
 loved me." 
 
 " Oh, my dear lady ! " protested the gallant and insin- 
 • uating Fanferlot, "you surely cannot mean what you say." 
 
 Her beautiful eyes filled with tears, as she sadly shook 
 (ler head and replied : " I mean exactly what I say. It 
 is only too true. He is ready to gratify my every wish, 
 you may say ; what does that prove t Nothing. I am too 
 well convinced that he does not. love me. I know what 
 love is. Once I was beloved by an affectionate, true- 
 hearted man ; and my own sufferings of the last year make 
 
o 
 
 6 FILE NO. 113 
 
 ine know how miserable I must have made him by iT>y 
 cold return. Alas ! we must suffer ourselves before we 
 can feel for others. No, I am nothing to Prosper ; he 
 would not care if — " 
 
 " But then, madame, why — " 
 
 " Ah, yes," interrupted Nina, " why ? You will be very 
 wise if you can answer me. For a year have I vainly 
 sought an answer to this question, so sad to me. I, a 
 woman, cannot answer it ; and I defy you to do so. You 
 cannot discover the thoughts of a man who is so thoroughly 
 master of himself that he never permits a single idea that 
 is passing through his mind to be detected upon his count- 
 enance. I have watched him as only a woman can watch 
 the man upon whom her fate depends, but it has always 
 been in vain. He is kind and indulgent ; but he does not 
 betray himself, never will commit himself. Ignorant peo- 
 ple call him weak, yielding : I tell you that fair-haired man 
 is a rod of iron painted like a reed ! " 
 
 Carried away by the violence of her feelings, Madame 
 Nina betrayed her inmost thoughts. She was without dis- 
 trust, never suspecting that the stranger listening to her 
 was other than a friend of Prosper. As for Fanferlot, he 
 congratulated himself upon his success. No one but a 
 woman could have drawn him so excellent a portrait ; in 
 a moment of excitement she had given him the most val- 
 uable information ; he now knew the nature of the man 
 with whom he had to deal, which, in an investigation like 
 that he was pursuing, is the principal point. " You know 
 that M. Bertomy gambles," he ventured to say, " and 
 gambling is apt to lead a m.an — " 
 
 Madame Gipsy shrugged her shoulders, and interrupted 
 him. " Yes, he plays," she said, " but he is not a gambler. 
 I have seen him lose and gain large sums without betray- 
 ing the slightest agitation. He plays as he drinks, as he 
 sups, as he dissipates — without passion, without enthu- 
 siasm, without pleasure. Sometimes he frightens me ; he 
 seems to drag about a body without a soul. Ah, I am not 
 happy ! Never have I been able to overcome his mdiffer- 
 ence, an indifference so great, so reckless, that I often 
 think it must be despair ; nothing will convince me that 
 he has not some terrible secret, some great misfortiw* 
 weighing upon his mind, and making life a burden-'* 
 
 " Then he has never spoken to you of his past ? " 
 
FILE NO. 113. J' 
 
 " Why should he tell me ? Did you t\o* hear me ? / 
 tetl you he does not love me ! " 
 
 Madame Nina was overcome by thoughts of the past 
 and tears silently coursed down her cheek<5. But her de- 
 spair was only momentary. She started up, and, her eyes 
 sparkling with generous resolution, she exclaimed : " Bui 
 I love him, and I will save him ! I will see his chief, the 
 miserable wretch who dares to accuse him. I will haunt 
 the judges, and I will prove that he is innocent. Come, 
 /i.r, let us start, and I promise you that before sunset he 
 anall be free, or I shall be in prison with him." 
 
 Madame Gipsy's project was certainly laudable, and 
 prompted by the noblest sentiments ; but unfortunately it 
 was impracticable. Moreover, it would be going counter 
 to the plans of the detective. Although he had resolved 
 to reserve to himself all the difficulties as well as the ben- 
 efits of this inquiry, Fanferlot saw clearly that he could 
 not conceal the existence of Madame Nina from the inves* 
 tigating magistrate. She would necessarily be brought in- 
 to the case, and be sought after. But he did not wish her 
 to take any steps of her own accord. He proposed to let 
 her appear when and how he judged proper, so that he 
 might gain for himself the merit of having discovered 
 her. 
 
 Fanferlot's first step was to tr}^ to calm the young 
 woman's excitement. He thought it easy to prove to her 
 that the slightest interference in favor of Prosper would 
 be a piece of folly. " What will you gain by acting thus, 
 my dear madame ? " he asked. *' Nothing. I can assure 
 you that you have not the least chance of success. Re- 
 member that you will seriously compromise yourself. Who 
 knows if you will not be suspected as M. Bertomy's accom- 
 plice?" 
 
 But this alarming perspective, which had frightened Ca- 
 vaillon into foolishly giving up a letter which he might so 
 easily have retained, only stimulated Gipsy's enthusiasm. 
 Man calculates, while woman follows the inspirations ot 
 her heart. Our most devoted friend, if a man, hesitates 
 and draws back ; if a woman, rushes undauntedly forward, 
 regardless of the danger. " What matters the risk? " she 
 exclaimed. " I don't believe any danger exists ; but, if It 
 does, so much the better : it will be all the more to my 
 credit. I am sure Prosper is innocent; but, if he shou'^ 
 
yf FILE NO. 113. 
 
 be guilty, I wish to share the punishment which awaits 
 him." 
 
 Madame Gipsy's persistence was becoming alarming. 
 She hastily drew around her a cashmere shawl, put on her 
 bonnet, and, although still wearing her dressing-gown and 
 slippers, declared that she was ready to walk from one end 
 of Paris to the other, in search of this or the other magis 
 •rate. 
 
 " Come, sir," she said, with feverish impatience. " Are 
 you not coming with me 1 " 
 
 Fanferlot was perplexed. Happily he had always several 
 strings to his bow. Personal considerations having no hold 
 upon this impulsive nature, he resolved to appeal to her inter- 
 est in Prosper. 
 
 " I am at your command, my dear lady," he said ; "let 
 us go if you desire it ; only permit me, while there is yet 
 time, to say that we are very probably about to do great 
 mjury to M. Bertomy." 
 
 "In what way, if you please ? " 
 
 " Because we are taking a step that he expressly forbade 
 in his letter ; we are surprising him — giving him no warn- 
 ing." 
 
 Nina scornfully tossed her head, and replied : " There 
 are some people who must be saved without warning, and 
 against their will. I know Prosper; he is just the man to 
 let himself be murdered without a struggle, without speak- 
 ing a word — to give himself up through sheer recklessness 
 and despair." 
 
 " Excuse me, madame," interrupted the detective : " M. 
 Bertomy has by no means the appearance of a man who 
 has abandoned himself to despair. On the contrary, I 
 think he has already prepared his plan of defence. By 
 showing yourself, when he advises you to remain in con- 
 cealment, you will very likely render his most careful pre- 
 cautions useless." 
 
 Madame Gipsy was silently weighing the value of Fan- 
 ferlot's objections. Finally she said : " I cannot remain 
 here inactive, without attempting to contribute in some 
 way to his safety. Can you not understand that this floor 
 burns my feet ? " 
 
 Evidently, if she was not absolutely convinced, her reso- 
 lution was shaken. Fanferlot saw that he was gainmg 
 ground, and this certainty, patting him more at ease, gave- 
 
FILE NO. 113. 39 
 
 weight to his persuasive eloquence. "You have it in 
 your power, madame," he said, " to render a great service 
 to the man you love." 
 
 " In what way, sir ? tell me in what way." 
 
 "Obey him, my child," said Fanferlot, in a paternal 
 tone. 
 
 Madame Gipsy evidently expected very different advice. 
 " Obey," she murmured, " obey ! " 
 
 " It is your duty," said Fanferlot with grave dignity ; " it 
 is your sacred duty." 
 
 She still hesitated ; and he took from the table Prosper's 
 note, which she had laid there, and continued : " What ! 
 M. Bertomy at the most trying moment, when he is ?bout 
 to be arrested, stops to point out your line of conduct ; and 
 you would render vain this wise precaution ! What does 
 he say to you? Let us read over this note, which is like 
 the testament of his liberty. He says, ' If you love me, I 
 entreat you, obey.' And you hesitate to obey. Then you 
 do not love him. Can you not understand, unhappy child, 
 that M. Bertomy has his reasons, terrible, imperious rea- 
 sons, for your remaining in obscurity for the present .'' " 
 
 Fanferlot understood these reasons the moment he put 
 ais foot in the sumptuous apartment of the Rue Chaptal ; 
 and, if he did not expose them now, it was because he kept 
 them as a good general keeps his reserve, for the purpose 
 of deciding the victory. Madame Gipsy was intelligent 
 enough to divine these reasons. 
 
 " Reasons for my hiding ! " thought she. " Prosper 
 wishes, then, to keep everyone in ignorance of our inti- 
 macy." 
 
 She remained thoughtful for a moment ; then a ray of 
 light seemed to cross her mind, and she exclaimed : " Oh, 
 I understand now ! Fool that I was for not seeing it be- 
 fore ! My presence here, where I have been for a year, 
 would be an overwhelming charge against him. An inven- 
 tory of my possessions would be taken — of my dresses, my 
 laces, my jewels — and my luxury would be brought against 
 him as a crime. He would be asked where he obtained 
 the money requisite to lavish all these elegancies on me." 
 
 The detective bowed, and said : "That is perfectly true, 
 madame." 
 
 " Then I must fly at once ! Who knows that the police 
 are not already warned, and may appear at any moment ?" 
 
40 FILE NO, 113. 
 
 " Oh," said Fanferlot with easy assurance, " you have 
 plenty of time ; the police are not so very prompt." 
 " No matter ! " 
 
 And, leaving the detective alone in the parlor, Madame 
 Nina hastily ran into her bedroom, and calling her maid, 
 her cook, and her little footman, ordered them to empty 
 her drawers and wardrobe of their contents, and assisted 
 them to stuff her best clothing and jewels into her trunks. 
 Suddenly she rushed back to Fanferlot, and said : " Every- 
 thing will be ready for me to start in a few minutes ; but 
 where am I to go ? " 
 
 " Did not M. Bertomy say, my dear lady, to the other 
 end of Paris ? To a hotel, or furnished apartments." 
 
 " But I don't know where to find any." 
 
 Fanferlot seemed to be reflecting ; but he had great 
 difficulty in concealing his delight at a sudden idea that 
 flashed upon him ; his little black eyes fairly danced with 
 joy. " I know a hotel," he said at last, " but it might not 
 suit you. It is not elegantly furnished like this apart- 
 ment." 
 
 " Should I be comfortable there ? " 
 
 ** Upon my recommendation you would be treated like 
 a queen, and, above all, you would be kept concealed." 
 
 ''- Where is it .? " 
 
 "On the other side of the river, on the Quai Saint 
 Michel. It is called the Grand Archangel, and is kept by 
 Madame Alexandre." 
 
 Madame Nina was never long making up her mind. 
 " Here are pen and paper," said she, " write your recom- 
 mendation." 
 
 Fanferlot rapidly wrote, and handed her the letter, say- 
 ing, " With these three lines, madame, you can make 
 Madame Alexandre do anything you wish." 
 
 " Very good. Now, how am I to let Cavaillon know my 
 address .'* It was he who should have brought me Pros- 
 per's letter." 
 
 " He was unable to come, madame," interrupted the 
 detective ; " but I will give him your address." 
 
 Madame Gipsy was about to send for a carriage, but 
 Fanferlot said he was in a hurry and would procure her 
 one. He seemed to be in luck that day ; for a cab was 
 passing the door, and he hailed it. " Wait here," he said 
 to the driver, after telling him that he was a detective. 
 
FILE 'U 1 1 J. 41 
 
 " for a little brunette who is coming down with some 
 trunks. If she tells you to drive her to the Quai Saint 
 Michel, crack 3'our whip; if she gives you any other 
 address, get down from your box and arrange your harness. 
 I will keep in sight." 
 
 He stepped across the street, and stood in the door of 
 a wine-shop. He had not long to wait. In a few minutes 
 the loud cracking of a whip apprised him that Madame 
 Nina had started for the Hotel of the Grand Archangel, 
 "Aha," said he gayly, " I hold her at any rate." 
 
 IV. 
 
 At the same hour that Madame Nina Gipsywas seeking 
 refuge at the Grand Archangel, so highly recommended by 
 Fanferlot, Prosper Bertomy was being consigned to the 
 depot of the Prefecture of Police. From the moment he 
 had resumed his habitual composure, he never once fal- 
 tered. Vainly did the people around him watch for a 
 suspicious expression, or any sign of his giving way under 
 the embarrassment of his situation. His face was stolid as 
 marble, and one would have supposed him insensible to 
 the horrors of his condition, had not his heavy breathing, 
 and the beads of perspiration standing on his brow, be- 
 trayed the intense agony he was suffering. 
 
 At the police station, where Prosper had to wait for two 
 hours while the commissary went to receive orders from 
 higher authorities, he entered into conversation with the 
 two police agents w^ho had charge of him. At twelve 
 o'clock he said he was hungry, and sent to a restaurant 
 near by for his lunch, which he ate with a good appetite, 
 and also drank nearly a bottle of wine. While he was thus 
 occupied, several clerks from the Prefecture, who have to 
 transact business daily with the commissaries of police, 
 eyed him curiously. They all formed the same opinion, 
 and admiringly said to each other : " Well, he is certainly 
 made of strong stuff, that fellow ! " And again : " The 
 young gentleman doesn't seem to care much. He has 
 evidently something in reserve." 
 
 When he was told that a cab was waiting for him at the 
 door, he at once rose ; but, before going Dut, requested 
 permission to light a cigar, which was granted him. A 
 
42 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 flowef-girl stood just by the door, and he stopped and 
 bought a bunch of violets of her. The girl, seeing that he 
 was arrested, said, by way of thanks : " Good luck to you, 
 my poor gentleman ! " 
 
 Prosper appeared touched by this mark of interest, and 
 replied : " Thanks, my good girl, but 'tis a long time since 
 luck has been in my way." 
 
 It was magnificent weather, a bright spring morning. 
 As the cab went along the Rue Montmartre, Prosper kept^ 
 his head out of the window, smilingly complaining at the 
 same time at being imprisoned on such a lovely day, when 
 everything outside was so sunny and pleasant. " It is 
 singular," he said : " I never felt so great a desire to take 
 a walk." 
 
 One of the police agents, a large, jovial, red-faced man, 
 received this remark with a hearty burst of laughter, and 
 said : " I understand." 
 
 While Prosper was going through the formalities of the 
 commitment, he replied with haughty brevity to the indis- 
 pensable questions that were put to him. But after being 
 ordered to empty his pockets on the table, they began to 
 search him, his eyes flashed with indignation, and a single 
 tear coursed down his flushed cheek. In an instant he 
 had recovered his stony calmness, and stood up motionless, 
 with his arms raised in the air so that the rough creatures 
 about him could more conveniently ransack him from head 
 to foot, to assure themselves that he had no suspicious 
 object concealed under his clothes. 
 
 The search would have, perhaps, been carried to th<l 
 most ignominious lengths, but for the intervention of a 
 middle-aged man of rather distinguished appearance, who 
 wore a white cravat and gold spectacles, and was sitting 
 at his ease by the fire. He started with surprise, and 
 seemed much agitated, when he saw Prosper brought in 
 by the officers ; he stepped forward, as if about to speak 
 to him, then suddenly changed his mind, and sat down 
 again. 
 
 In spite of his own troubles. Prosper could not help 
 perceiving that this man kept his eyes fixed upon him. 
 Did he know him ? Vainly did he try to recollect having 
 met him before. This individual, treated with all the 
 deference due to a chief, was no less a personage than M. 
 Lecoq, a celebrated member of the detective police' 
 
FILE NO. 113. 43 
 
 When the men who were searching Prosper were about to 
 take off his boots, under the idea that a knife might be 
 concealed in them, M. Lecoq waved them aside with an 
 air of authority, and said : "You have done enough." 
 
 He was obeyed. All the formalities being ended, the 
 unfortunate cashier was taken to a narrow cell ; the 
 heavily-barred door was swung to and locked upon him ; he 
 breathed freely ; at last he was alone. Yes, he believed 
 himself to be alone. He was ignorant that a prison is 
 made of glass, that the prisoner is like a miserable insect 
 under the microscope of an entomologist. He knew not 
 that the walls have listening ears and watchful eyes. He 
 felt so certain of being alone that he at once gave vent to 
 his suppressed feelings, and, dropping his mask of impas- 
 sibility, burst into a flood of tears. His long-restrained 
 anger now flashed out like a smouldering fire. In a 
 paroxysm of rage he uttered imprecations and curses. He 
 dashed himself against the prison-walls like a wild beast 
 in a cage. 
 
 Prosper Bertomy was not the man he appeared to be. 
 This haughty, correct gentleman had ardent passions and 
 a fiery temperament. One day, when he was about twenty- 
 four years of age, he had become suddenly fired by ambi- 
 tion. While all of his desires were repressed — imprisoned in 
 his low estate, like an athlete in a straight-waistcoat, see- 
 ing around him all those rich people with whom money 
 served the purpose of the wand in the fairy-tale, he envied 
 them their lot. 
 
 He studied the beginnings of these financial princes, 
 and found that at the starting-point they possessed far less 
 than himself. How, then, had they succeeded.^ By the 
 force of energy, industry, and assurance. He determined 
 to imitate and excel them. 
 
 From that day, with a force of will much less rare than 
 we think, he imposed silence upon his instincts. He re- 
 formed not his character, but the outside of his character ; 
 and his efforts were not without success. Those who 
 knew him had faith in his character; and his capabilities 
 and ambition inspired the prophecy that he would be suc- 
 cessful in attaining eminence and wealth. 
 
 And the end of all was this — to be imprisoned for rob- 
 bery ; that is ruined ! 
 
 For he did not attempt to deceive himiSeli. He knew 
 
44 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 that, guilty or innocent, a man once suspected is as ineffac* 
 bly branded as the shoulder of a galley-slave. Therefore, 
 what was the use of struggling ? What benefit was a 
 triumph which could not wash out the stain ? 
 
 When the prison attendant brought him his supper, he 
 found him lying on his mattress, with his face buried in 
 the pillow, weeping bitterly. Ah, he was not hungry now ! 
 Now that he was alone, he fed upon his own bitter 
 thoughts. He sank from a state of frenzy into one of 
 stupefying despair, and vainly did he endeavor to clear 
 his confused mind, and account for the dark cloud gather- 
 ing about him ; no loop-hole for escape could he discover. 
 
 The night was long and terrible, and for the first time 
 he had nothing to count the hours by, as they slowly 
 dragged on, but the measured tread of the patrol who 
 came to relieve the sentinels. He was now thoroughly 
 wretched. 
 
 At dawn he dropped into a sleep, a heavy, oppressive 
 sleep, which was more wearisome. than refreshing; from 
 which he was startled by the rough voice of the jailer. 
 
 " Come, sir ! " said he, " it is time for you to appear be- 
 fore the investigating magistrate." 
 
 Prosper jumped up at once, and, without stopping to set 
 right his disordered toilet, said : " I am ready, lead the 
 way." 
 
 The jailer remarked as they walked along: "You are 
 very fortunate in having your case brought before a very 
 worthy man." He was right. 
 
 Endowed with remarkable penetration, firm, unbiased, 
 equally free from false pity and excessive severity, M. 
 Patrigent possessed in an eminent degree all the qualities 
 necessary for the delicate and arduous office of investiga- 
 ting magistrate. Perhaps he was wanting in the feverish 
 activity which is sometimes necessary for coming to a quick 
 and just decision ; but he possessed unwearying patience, 
 which nothing could discourage. He would cheerfully 
 devote years to the examination of a case ; he was even 
 now engaged in an affair of Belgian bank-notes, of which 
 he did not collect all the threads, and solve the mystery, 
 until after four years investigation. Thus it was always to 
 him that they brought the endless proceedings, the half- 
 finished inquiries, and the incomplete processes. 
 
 This was the man before whom Prosper was being coiy 
 
BILE NO. 113. 45 
 
 ducted, and he was certainly taken by a difficult road. He 
 was escorted along a corridor, through a room full of po- 
 lice agents, down a narrow flight of steps, across a kind of 
 vault, and then up a steep staircase which seemed to have 
 no end. Finally, he reached a long narrow gallery, on 
 which opened numerous doors, bearing different numbers. 
 The custodian of the unhappy cashier stopped before one 
 of these doers, and said : " Here we are, and here your 
 fate will be decided." 
 
 At this remark, uttered in a tone of deep commiseration, 
 Prosper could not refrain from shuddering. It was only 
 too true, that on the other side of the door was a man who 
 would interrogate him, and according to his answers would 
 either release him from custody or commit him for trial. 
 Summoning all his courage, he turned to the door-handle, 
 and was about to enter, when the jailer stopped him. 
 " Don't be in such haste," he said ; " you must sit down 
 here and wait till your turn comes ; then you will be 
 called." The wretched man obeyed, and his keeper took 
 a seat beside him. 
 
 Nothing is more doleful and terrible than having to wait 
 ~'X\ this gloomy gallery of the investigating magistrates. 
 Occupying the entire length of the wall is a wooden bench 
 blackened by constant use. This bench has for the last 
 ten years been daily occupied by the m.urderers, thieves, 
 and suspicious characters of the department of the Seine. 
 Sooner or later, as filth rushes to a sewer, does crime reach 
 this dreadful gallery with one door opening on the galleys, 
 the other on the scaffold. This place was bitterly though 
 vulgarly denominated by a certain magistrate as the great 
 public wash-house of all the foul linen in Paris. When 
 Prosper reached the gallery it was full of people. The 
 bench was almost entirely occupied. Close beside him, 
 so as to touch his shoulder, sat a man with a sinister count- 
 enance, dressed in rags. 
 
 Before each door, giving access to the offices of the in* 
 vestigating magistrates, stood groups of witnesses convers- 
 ing in an undertone. Gendarmes were constantly arriving 
 and departing with prisoners. Sometimes, above the noise 
 of their heavy tramping along the flagstones, a woman's 
 stifled sob might be heard, when, looking around, you 
 would see some poor mother or wife with her face buried 
 in her handkerchief, weeping bitterly. At short intervals 
 
46 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 a door would open and shut, when an officer would call out 
 a name or number. 
 
 The stifling atmosphere, and the sight of so much 
 misery made Prosper feel ill and faint; he felt as if 
 another five minutes' stay among these wretched creatures 
 would make him deathly sick, when a little old man 
 dressed in black, wearing a steel chain, the insignia of his 
 office, cried out : " Prosper Bertomy ! " 
 
 The unhappy man rose, and, without knowing how, 
 found himself in the room of the investigating magistrate. 
 For a moment he was blinded. He had come out of a 
 dark passage ; and the room in which he now found him- 
 self had a window directly opposite the door, so that a 
 flood of light streamed suddenly upon him. This room, 
 ■dke all the others in the gallery, was of very ordinary ap- 
 pearance, and small and dingy. The wall was covered 
 with a cheap dark paper, and on the floor was a hideous 
 brown carpet, very much worn. Opposite the door was a 
 large writing-table strewn with bundles of papers, furnish- 
 ing the antecedents of those persons who were subjected 
 to examinations, and behind was seated the magistrate, 
 immediately facing those who entered, so that his counte- 
 nance remained in the shade, while that of the prisoner 
 or witness whom he questioned was in a glare of light. 
 
 ' Before a little table, on the right, sat a clerk, the indis- 
 pensable auxiliary of the magistrate, engaged in writing. 
 
 But Prosper observed none of these details : his whole 
 attention was concentrated upon the arbiter of his fate, 
 and as he closely examined his face he was convinced that 
 the jailer was right in styling him an honorable man. 
 M. Patrigent's homely face, with its irregular outline and 
 short red whiskers, lit up by a pair of bright, intelligent 
 eyes, and a kindly expression, was calculated to impress 
 one favorably at first sight. " Take a chair," he said to 
 Prosper. 
 
 This little attention was gratefully welcomed by the pris= 
 oner, for he had expected to be treated with harsh con- 
 tempt. He looked upon it as a good sign, and his mind 
 felt a slight relief. M. Patrigent turned towards the clerk, 
 and said : " We will begin now, Sigault ; pay attention." 
 
 Looking at Prosper, he then asked him his name. 
 
 " Auguste Prosper Bertomy," replied the cashier. 
 
 ** How old are you ? " 
 
FILE NO. 113. Ap 
 
 " I shall be thirty on the fifth of next May." 
 
 "What is your profession ? " 
 
 " I am — that is, I was — chief cashier in M. Andre Fau- 
 vel's bank." 
 
 The magistrate stopped to consult a little memorandum 
 book lying on his desk. Prosper, who followed closely 
 his every movement, began to be hopeful, saying to hi—,- 
 self that never would a man seemingly so unprejudiced be 
 cruel enough to send him to prison again. After finding 
 what he looked for, M. Patrigent resumed the examina- 
 tion. " Where do you live ? " he asked. 
 
 " At No. 39, Rue Chaptal, for the last four years. Be- 
 fore that time I lived at No. 7. Boulevard des BatignoUes." 
 
 " Where were you born ? " 
 
 "At Beaucaire, in the department of Le Gard." 
 
 " Are your parents living ? " 
 
 " My mother died two years ago ; my father is still liv- 
 ing." 
 
 " Does he reside in Paris ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; he lives at Beaucaire with my sister, who mar- 
 ried one of the en2:ineers of the Southern canal." It was 
 in broken accents that Prosper answered these last ques- 
 tions. Though there are moments in the life of a man 
 when home memories encourage and console him, there 
 are also moments when he would be thankful to be with- 
 out a single tie, when he bitterly regrets that he is not 
 alone in the world. 
 
 M. Patrigent observed the prisoner's emotion when he 
 spoke of his parents. " What is your father's calling ? " 
 he continued. 
 
 " He was formerly a superintendent of roads and 
 bridges ; then he was employed on the Southern canal like 
 my brother-in-law ; now he has retired on a pension." 
 
 There was a moment's silence. The magistrate had 
 turned his chair round, so that, although his head was ap- 
 parently averted, he had a good view of the workings of 
 Prosper's countenance. " Well," he said abruptly, " you 
 are accused of having robbed M. Fauvel of three hundred 
 and fifty thousand francs." 
 
 During the last twenty-four hours the wretched young 
 man had had time to familiarize himself with the terrible 
 idea of this accusation ; and yet, uttered as it was now in 
 this formal brief tone, it seemed to strike him with a hor« 
 
4$ FILE NO. 113. 
 
 ror which rendered him incapable of opening his lips. 
 " What have you to answer ? " asked the investigating mag< 
 istrate. 
 
 " That I am innocent, sir ; I swear that I am innocent ! " 
 
 "I hope you are," said M. Patrigent, "and you may 
 count upon me to assist you, to the extent of my ability, 
 in proving your innocence. You must have some facts to 
 allege in your defence, some proofs you can furnish me 
 with." 
 
 *' Ah, sir, what can I say when I a«n myself unable to 
 understand this dreadful business ? I can only refer you 
 to my past life." 
 
 The magistrate interrupted him : " Let us be specific ; 
 the robbery was committed under circumstances that pre- 
 vent suspicion from falling upon any one but M. Fauvel 
 and yourself. Do you suspect any one else ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " You declare yourself to be innocent, therefore the 
 guilty party must be M. Fauvel." Prosper remained si- 
 lent. " Have you," persisted the magistrate, " any cause 
 for believing that M. Fauvel robbed himself ? " The pris- 
 oner preserved a rigid silence. 
 
 " I see," said the magistrate, " that you need time for 
 reflection. Listen to the reading of your examination, and 
 after signing it you will return to prison." 
 
 The unhappy man was overcome. The last ray of hope 
 was gone. He heard nothing of what Sigault read, and 
 he signed the paper without looking at it. He tottered as 
 he left the magistrate's room, so that the agent who had 
 him in charge was forced to support him. ** I fear your 
 case looks bad," said the man, " but don't be disheartened ; 
 keep up your courage." 
 
 Courage ! Prosper had not a spark of it when he re- 
 turned to his cell ; but his heart was filled with anger and 
 resentment. He had determined that he would defend 
 himself before the magistrate, that he would prove his in^ 
 nocence ; and he had not had time to do so. He re- 
 proached himself bitterly for having trusted to the magis- 
 trate's benevolent face. " What a farce," he angrily ex- 
 claimed, " to call that an examination ! " 
 
 It was not really an examination that Prosper had been 
 subjected to, but a mere formality. In summoning him, 
 M» Patrigent obeyed Article 93 of the Criminal Code, which 
 
FILE NO. 113. 49 
 
 says, " Every suspected person under arrest must be ex- 
 amined within twenty-four hours." But it is not in twenty- 
 four hours, especially in a case like this, with no evidence 
 or material proof, that a magistrate can collect the mate- 
 rials for an examination. To triumph over the obstinate 
 defence of a prisoner who shuts himself up in absolute de- 
 nial as though in a fortress, valid proofs are needed. 
 These weapons M. Patrigent was busily preparing. 
 
 If Prosper had remained a little longer in the gallery, 
 he would have seen the same official who had called him 
 come from the magistrate's room, and cry out, No. 3. The 
 witness who was awaiting his turn, and answered the call 
 for No. 3, was M. Fauvel. 
 
 The banker was no longer the same man. Yesterday he 
 was kind and affable in his manner ; now, as he entered 
 the magistrate's room, he seemed irritated against his cash- 
 ier. Reflection, which usually brings calmness and a de- 
 sire to pardon, had in his case led to anger and a thirst 
 for vengeance. The inevitable questions which commence 
 every examination had scarcely been addressed to him be- 
 fore his impetuous temper gained the mastery, and he 
 burst forth in invectives against Prosper. 
 
 M. Patrigent was obliged to impose silence upon the 
 banker, reminding him of what was due to himself, no 
 matter what wrongs he had suffered at the hands of his 
 clerk. Although he had very slightly examined Prosper, 
 the magistrate was now scrupulously attentive and partic- 
 ular in having every question answered. Prosper's exam- 
 ination had been a m.ere formality, the verifying of a pos- 
 itive fact. M. Patrigent now occupied himself in ferreting 
 out all the attendant circumstances and the most trifling 
 particulars, in order to group them together, and arrive at 
 a just conclusion. 
 
 " Let us proceed with regularity," said the magistrate 
 to M. Fauvel, " and pray confine yourself to answering my 
 questions. Did you ever suspect your cashier of being 
 dishonest? " 
 
 " Certainly not. Yet there were reasons which should 
 have made me hesitate to trust him." 
 
 *' What reasons ? " 
 
 " M. Bertomy gambled. I have known of his spending 
 whole nights at the card-table, and losing large sums of 
 money. He was intimate with an unprincipled set. Once 
 4 
 
50 FILE J^O, 113. 
 
 he was mixed up with one of my customers, M. de Cia« 
 meran, in a scandalous gambling affair at the house of some 
 disreputable woman, and which ended in an investigation 
 at the police court." 
 
 For some minutes the banker continued to revile Pros- 
 per. " You must confess, sir," interrupted the magistrate, 
 " that you were very imprudent, if not culpable, to have 
 entrusted the contents of your safe to such a man." 
 
 " Ah, sir. Prosper was not always thus. Until the past year 
 he was a perfect model for men of his age. He frequented 
 my house as one of my family ; he spent all of his even- 
 ings with us, and was the bosom friend of my eldest son 
 Lucien. One day he suddenly left us, and never came to 
 the house again. Yet I had every reason to believe him 
 to be attached to my niece Madeleine." 
 
 M. Patrigent had an odd way of contracting his brows 
 when he thought he had discovered some new proof. He 
 now did this, and said : ' Might not this admiration for 
 the young lady have been the cause of M. Bertomy's es- 
 trangement .-* " 
 
 " How so ? " asked the banker with surprise. " I was 
 willing to bestow Madeleine's hand upon him, and to be 
 frank, was astonishing that he did not ask for her in 
 marriage. My niece would be a good match for any man, 
 and he should have considered himself fortunate in obtain- 
 ing her. She is very handsome, and her dowry will be 
 half a million." 
 
 " Then you can discover no motive for your cashier's 
 conduct ? " 
 
 " It is impossible for me to account for it. I have, 
 however, always supposed that Prosper was led astray by 
 a young man whom he met at my house about that time, 
 M. Raoul de Lagors." 
 
 " Ah ! and who is this young man ? " 
 
 " A relative of my wife's ; a very attractive, intelligent 
 young man, somewhat wild, but rich enough to pay for his 
 follies." 
 
 The magistrate wrote the name Lagors at the bottom of 
 an already long list on his memoranda. " Now," he said, 
 " let us come to the point. You are sure that the theft 
 was not committed by any one of your household ? " 
 
 " Quite sure, sir." 
 
 *' You always kept your key ? " 
 
FILE NO. 113. 51 
 
 " I generally carried it about on my person ; and when- 
 ever I left it at home, I placed it in the drawer of the secre- 
 tary in my bedroom." 
 
 " Where was it on the evening of the robbery ? " 
 
 " In my secretary." 
 
 * But then — " 
 
 " Excuse me for interrupting you," said M. Fauvel, 
 " and permit me to tell you that, to a safe like mine, the 
 key is of no importance. To open it, one must know the 
 word upon which the five movable buttons turn. With 
 the word one can even open it without the key ; but with- 
 out the word — " 
 
 " And you never told this word to any one ? " 
 
 "To no one, sir, and sometimes I should have been 
 puzzled to know myself with what word the safe had been 
 closed. Prosper would change it when he chose, and then 
 inform me of the change, but I often forgot it." 
 
 " Had you forgotten it on the day of the theft ? " 
 
 " No ; the word had been changed the day before ; and 
 its peculiarity struck me." 
 
 " What was it ? " 
 
 " Gipsy — g, i, p, s, y," said the banker, spelling the 
 name. 
 
 M. Patrigent wrote down this name. " One more ques- 
 tion, sir," said he, " were you at home the evening before 
 the robbery ? " 
 
 " No ; I dined and spent the evening with a friend ; 
 when I returned home, about one o'clock, my wife had re- 
 tired, and I went to bed immediately." 
 
 " And you were not aware of the amount of money in 
 the safe ? " 
 
 " Absolutely. In conformity with my positive orders, I 
 could only suppose that a small sum had been left there 
 over night ; I stated this fact to the commissary in M. 
 Bertomy's presence, and he acknowledged it to be the 
 case." 
 
 " It is perfectly correct, sir : the commissary's report 
 proves it." M. Patrigent was for a time silent. To him 
 everything depended upon this one fact, <"hat the banker 
 was unaware of the three hundred and fifty thousand 
 francs being in the safe, and Prosper had disobeyed orders 
 by placing them there over night ; hence the conclusion 
 was very easily drawn. 
 
ij2 FILE NO. i\%. 
 
 Seeing that his examination was over, -the bankei 
 thought he would relieve his mind of what was weighing 
 upon it. "I believe myself above suspicion, sir," he be- 
 gan, " and yet I can never rest easy until Bertomy's guilt 
 has been clearly proved. Calumny prefers attacking a 
 successful man, and I may be calumniated : three hundred 
 and fifty thousand francs is a fortune capable of tempting 
 even a rich man. I should be obliged if you would have 
 the condition of my affairs strictly examined. This exam- 
 ination will prove that I could have had no interest in 
 robbing my own safe. The prosperous condition — " 
 
 " That is sufficient, sir." 
 
 M. Patrigent was already well informed of the high 
 standing of the banker, and knew almost as much of his 
 affairs as M. Fauvel himself. He asked him to sign his 
 testimony, and then escorted him to the door of his office, 
 a rare favor on his part. 
 
 When M. Fauvel had left the room, Sigault indulged in 
 a remark. " This seems to be a very cloudy case," he 
 said ; " if the cashier is shrewd and firm, it will be difficult 
 to convict h'im." 
 
 " Perhaps it will," said the magistrate ; " but let us hear 
 what the other witnesses have to say." 
 
 The person who answered to the call for No. 4 was 
 Lucien, M. Fauvel's eldest son. He was a tall, handsome 
 young man of twenty-two. To the magistrate's questions 
 he replied that he was very fond of Prosper, was once very 
 intimate with him, and had always regarded him as a 
 Strictly honorable man, incapable of doing anything un- 
 becoming a gentleman. He declared that he could not 
 imagine what fatal circumstances could have induced Pros- 
 per to commit a theft. He knew that he played cards, 
 but not to the extent that was reported. He had never 
 known him to indulge in expenses beyond his means. 
 In regard to his cousin Madeleine, he replied : " I always 
 thought that Prosper was in love with Madeleine, and, un- 
 til yesterday, I was certain he would marry her, knowing 
 that my father would not oppose their union. I have al- 
 ways attributed the discontinuance of Prosper's visits to a 
 quarrel with my cousin, but supposed they would ulti- 
 mately become reconciled." 
 
 This information threw more light upon Prosper's pasi 
 life, than that furnished by M. Fauvel, but did not ap* 
 
FILE NO. 113. 53 
 
 parently disclose any evidence which coiM t)e used in the 
 present state of aifaiis. Lucien signed his deposition, 
 and withdrew. 
 
 Cavailion's turn for examination came next. The poor 
 fellow was in a pitiable state of mind when he appeared 
 before the magistrate. Having confided to a friend his 
 adventure with the detective, as a great secret, and being 
 jeered at for his cowardice in giving up the note, he felt 
 great remorse, and passed the night in reproaching him- 
 self for having ruined Prosper. He endeavored to repair, 
 as well as he could, what he called his treason. He did 
 not exactly accuse M. Fauvel, but he courageously de- 
 clared that he was the cashier's friend, and that he was as 
 certain of his innocence as he was of his own. Unfortu- 
 nately, besides having no proofs to strengthen his asser- 
 tions, the latter were deprived of most of their value by 
 his violent professions of friendship for the accused. 
 
 After Cavaillon, six or eight clerks of Fauvel's bank 
 successively defiled in the magistrate's room ; but their 
 depositions were nearly all insignificant. One of them, 
 however, stated a fact which the magistrate carefully 
 noted. He said he knew that Prosper had speculated on 
 the Bourse through the medium of M. Raoul de Lagors, 
 and had gained immense sums. Five o'clock struck be- 
 fore the list of witnesses summoned for the day was 
 exhausted. But M. Patrigent's task was not yet finished. 
 He rang for his attendant, who instantly appeared, when 
 he said to him : " Go at once and bring Fanferlot." 
 
 It was some time before the detective answered the 
 summons. Having met a colleague in the galleiy, he 
 thought it his duty to treat him ; and the official had to 
 fetch him from the wine-shop at the corner. 
 
 " How is it that you keep people waiting ? " said the 
 magistrate, when the detective entered bowing and scrap- 
 ing. Fanferlot bowed more profoundly still. Despite his 
 smiling face, he was very uneasy. To unravel the Ber- 
 tomy case alone, it was requisite to play a double game 
 that might be discovered at any moment. In serving at 
 the same time the cause of justice and his own ambition, 
 he ran great risks, the least of which was the losing of his 
 place. 
 
 " I have had a great deal to do," he said, to excuse 
 himself, " and have not wasted any time." And he began 
 
54 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 to give a detailed account of his movements. He was 
 embarrassed, for he spoke with all sorts of restrictions, 
 picking out what was to be said, and avoiding what was 
 to be left unsaid. Thus he gave the history of Cavaillon's 
 letter, which he handed to the magistrate ; but he did not 
 breathe a word of Madeleine. On the other hand, he 
 furnished minute biographical details of Prosper and 
 Madame Gipsy, which he had collected from various 
 quarters during the day. 
 
 As the detective progressed, M. Patrigent's conviction 
 was strengthened. " This young man is evidently guilty," 
 he murmured. Fanferlot did not reply; his opinion was 
 different, but he was delighted that the magistrate was on 
 the wrong track, thinking that his own glorification would 
 thereby be the greater when he discovered the real culprit. 
 True, this grand discovery was as far off as it had ever 
 been. 
 
 After hearing all he had to say, the magistrate dismissed 
 Fanferlot, telling him to return the next day. "Above 
 all," he said, as Fanferlot left the room, " do not lose sight 
 of ♦the woman Gipsy ; she must know where the money is, 
 and can put us on the right scent." 
 
 Fanferlot smiled cunningly. " You may rest easy about 
 that, sir," replied he ; " the lady is in good hands." 
 
 Left to himself, although the evening was far advanced, 
 M. Patrigent continued to busy himself with the case, and 
 to arrange for the rest of the depositions being taken. 
 The affair had obtained complete possession of his mind ; 
 it was, at the same time, puzzling and attractive. It 
 seemed to be surrounded by a cloud of mystery, which he 
 determined to penetrate and dispel. 
 
 The next morning he was in his room much earlier tlian 
 usual. On this day he examined Madame Gipsy, recalled 
 Cavaillon, and sent again for M. Fauvel. For several 
 days he displayed the same activity. Of all the witnesses 
 summoned, only two failed to appear. One was the 
 messenger sent by Prosper to bring the money from the 
 Bank of France, and who was ill from a fall. The other 
 was M. Raoul de Lagors. But their absence did not pre- 
 vent the memoranda relating to Prosper's case from daily 
 increasing ; and on the ensuing Monday, five days after 
 the robbery, M. Patrigent thought he held in his hands 
 enough moral proof to crush the accused. 
 
FILE NO. 113. 55 
 
 V. 
 
 While his whole past was the object of the most minute 
 investigations, Prosper was in prison, in solitary confine- 
 ment. The two first days had not appeared very long to 
 him. He had requested, and been supplied with some 
 sheets of paper, numbered, for they had to be accounted 
 for ; and he wrote, with a sort of fury, plans of defence 
 and a narrative of justification. 
 
 The third day he began to feel uneasy at not seeing any 
 one except the condemned prisoners employed to serve 
 those undergoing solitary confinement, and the jailer who 
 brought him his food. " Am I not to be examined again ? " 
 he would ask. 
 
 "Your turn is coming," the jailer invariably answered. 
 
 Time passed ; and the wretched man, tortured by the 
 sufferings of solitary confinement which quickly breaks the 
 spirit, sank into the depths of despair. "Am I to stay 
 here forever ? " he moaned. 
 
 No, he was not forgotten ; for on the Monday mornmg, 
 at one o'clock, an hour when the jailer never came, he 
 heard the heavy bolt of his cell pushed back. He ran 
 towards the door. But the sight of a gray-headed man 
 standing there rooted him to the spot. " Father," he 
 gasped, "father !" 
 
 " Your father, yes ! " 
 
 Prosper's astonishment at seeing his father was instantly 
 succeeded by a feeling of great joy. A father is the one 
 friend upon whom we can always rely. In the hour of 
 need, when all else fails, we remember him upon whos» 
 knees we sat when children, and who soothed our sorrows j 
 and even though he may be unable to assist us, his mere 
 presence serves to comfort and strengthen us. 
 
 Without reflecting. Prosper, impelled by tender feeling, 
 was about to throw himself into his father's arms, but M. 
 Bertomy harshly repulsed him. " Do not approach me ! " 
 he exclaimed. He then advanced into the cell, and closed 
 the door. The father and son were alone together — Pros- 
 per heart-broken, crushed ; M. Bertomy angr}-, almost 
 threatening. 
 
 Cast off by this last friend, by his father, the miserable 
 vouns mcin seemed to be stupefied witK pain and disap- 
 
56 FILE NO, \\i, 
 
 pointment. " You, too ! " he bitterly cried. '' You — ^you 
 believe me guilty ? O father ! " 
 
 "Spare yourself this shameful comedy," interrupted M. 
 Beriomy : " I know all." 
 
 " But I am innocent, father ; I swear it by the sacred 
 memory of my mother." 
 
 " Unhappy wretch ! " cried M. Bertomy, " do not blas- 
 pheme ! " He seemed overcome by tender thoughts of 
 the past, and in a weak, broken voice, added : " Your 
 mother is dead. Prosper, and little did I think that the day 
 would come when I could thank God for having taken her 
 from me. Your crime would have killed her, would have 
 broken her heart ! " 
 
 After a painful silence, Prosper said : " You overwhelm 
 me, father, and at the moment when I need all my courage ; 
 when I am the victim of a hideous plot." 
 
 " Victim ! " cried M. Bertomy, " victim ! Dare you ut- 
 ter your insinuations against the honorable man who has 
 taken care of you, loaded you with benefits, and had in- 
 sured you a brilliant future ! It is enough for you to have 
 robbed him ; do not calumniate him." 
 
 " For pity's sake, father, let me explain ! " 
 
 " I suppose you would deny your benefactor's kindness, 
 Yet you were at one time so sure of his affection, that you 
 wrote me to hold myself in readiness to come to Paris and 
 ask M. Fauvel for the hand of his niece. Was that, then, 
 a lie ? " 
 
 "No," said Prosper in a choked voice, "no." 
 
 " That was a year ago ; you then loved Mademoiselle 
 Madeleine ; at least you told me so." 
 
 " Father, I love her now, more than ever ; I have never 
 ceased to love her." 
 
 M. Bertomy made a gestute of contemptuous pity, 
 " Indeed ! " he cried. " And the thought of the pure, in- 
 nocent girl whom you loved did not prevent your entering 
 upon a path of sin. You loved her ! How dared you, 
 then, without blushing, approach her presence after asso- 
 ciating with the shameless creatures with whom you were 
 so intimate ? " 
 
 "For heaven's sake, let me explain by what fatalit}! 
 Madeleine " — 
 
 " Enough, sir, enough. I told you that I know every 
 thing. I saw M. Fauvel yesterday ; this morning I saw 
 
FILE NO. 113. 57 
 
 the magistrate, and 'tis to his kindness that I ani indebted 
 for this interview. Do you know what mortification I 
 suffered before being allowed to see you ? I was searched 
 and made to empty all my pockets. They suspected I 
 was conveying some weapon to you ! " 
 
 Prosper ceased to justify himself, but in a helpless, de- 
 jected way, dropped down upon a seat. 
 
 " I have seen your apartments, and at once recognized 
 the proofs of your crime. I saw silk curtains hanging be- 
 fore all the windows and doors and the walls covered with 
 pictures. In my father's house the walls were white- 
 washed ; and there was but one arm-chair in the whole 
 place, and that was my mother's. Our luxury was our 
 honesty. You are the first member of our family who has 
 possessed Aubusson carpets ; though, to be sure, you are 
 the first thief of our blood." At this last msult Prosper's 
 face flushed crimson, but he remained silent and immova- 
 ble. 
 
 " But luxury is necessary now," continued M. Bertomy, 
 becoming more excited and angry as he went on ; " luxury 
 must be had at any price. You must have the insolent 
 opulence and display of an upstart, without the upstart's 
 wealth. You must support worthless women who wear 
 satin slippers lined with swan's down, llkt those I saw in 
 your rooms, and keep servants in livery — and to do this 
 you steal ! Bankers will no longer dare trust the keys of 
 their safes with any one, for every day honest families are 
 disgraced by the discovery of some new piece of villany." 
 
 M. Bertomy suddenly stopped. He saw for the first time 
 that his son was not in a condition to hear his reproaches. 
 *' But I will say no more," he added. " I came here not 
 to reproach you, but to save, if possible, the honor of our 
 name, to prevent it from being published in the papers 
 among the names of thieves and murderers. Stand up 
 and listen to me ! " At his father's imperious tone, Pros- 
 per arose. So many successive blows had reduced him to 
 a state of torpor. 
 
 " First of all," began M. Bertomy, " how much have you 
 remaining of the stolen three hundred and fifty thousand 
 francs ? " 
 
 " Once more, father," replied the unfortunate man in a 
 tone of hopeless resignation, " once more I swear I am 
 innocent," 
 
58 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 " So I supposed you would say. Then our family will 
 have to repair the injury you have done M. Fauvel." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " The day your brother-in-law heard of your crime he 
 brought me your sister's dowry — seventy thousand francs. 
 I succeeded in collecting a hundred and forty thousand 
 francs more. This makes two hundred and ten thousand 
 francs which I have brought with me to give to M. Fauvel." 
 
 This threat aroused Prosper from his torpor. "You 
 shall do nothing of the kind ! " he cried with unrestrained 
 indignation. 
 
 " I will do so before the sun goes down this day. M. 
 Fauvel will grant me time to pay the rest. My pension is 
 fifteen hundred francs. I can live upon five hundred ; I 
 am strong enough to go to work again ; and your brother- 
 in-law — " M. Bertomy stopped short, frightened at the 
 expression of his son's face. His features were contracted 
 with such furious rage that he was scarcely recognizable, 
 and his eyes glared like a maniac's. 
 
 " You dare not disgrace me thus ! " cried Prosper ; " you 
 have no right to do it. You are free to disbelieve me 
 yourself, but you have no right to take a step which would 
 be a confession of guilt, and ruin me forever. Who and 
 what convinces you of my guilt ? When cold justice hesi- 
 tates, you, my father, hesitate not, but, more pitiless than 
 the law, condemn me unheard ! " 
 
 '' I will do my duty." 
 
 " Which means that I stand on the edge of a precipice, 
 and you push me over ! Do you call that your duty ? 
 What i between strangers who accuse me, and myself who 
 swear that I am innocent, you do not hesitate ? Why t 
 Is it because I am your son ? Our honor is at stake, it is 
 true ; but that is only the more reason why you should 
 stand by me, and assist me to defend myself." 
 
 Prosper's earnest, truthful manner was enough to un- 
 settle the firmest convictions, and make doubt penetrate 
 the most stubborn mind. " Yet,'' said M. Bertomy in a 
 hesitating tone, " everything seems to accuse you." 
 
 " Ah, father, you do not know that I was sud^.jnly ban- 
 ished from Madeleine's presence ; that I was compelled 
 to avoid her. I became desperate, and tried to forget my 
 sorrow in dissipation. I sought oblivion, and found shame 
 Qnd disgust, Ohj Madeleine, Madeleine ! " He was over* 
 
FILE NO. 113. 59 
 
 come with emotion ; but in a few minutes he resumed 
 with renewed violence in his voice and manner : " Every- 
 thing is against me ,• but no matter. I will clear myself 
 or perish. Human justice is liable to error ; although in- 
 nocent, I may be convicted; so be it. I will undergo my 
 penalty ; but people are not kept galley-slaves for* 
 ever." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean, father, that I am now another man. My life, 
 henceforth, has an object — vengeance ! I am the victim 
 of a vile plot. As long as I have a drop of blood in my 
 veins, I will seek its author. And I will certainly find 
 him ; and then bitterly shall he expiate all of my cruel 
 suffering. The blow has come from Fauvel's, and I will 
 seek the villain there." 
 
 " Take care : your anger makes you say things that you 
 will repent hereafter." 
 
 " Yes, I see, you are going to descant upon the probity 
 of M. Andre Fauvel. You will tell me that all the virtues 
 have taken refuge in the bosom of this patriarchal family. 
 What do you know about it ? Would this be the first in- 
 stance in which the most shameful secrets are concealed 
 beneath the fairest appearances .'* Why did Madeleine 
 suddenly forbid me to think of her 1 Why has she exiled 
 me, when she suffers as much from our separation as I 
 myself, when she still loves me .'' For she does love me. I 
 am sure of it. I have proofs of it." 
 
 The jailer here came to say that the time allotted to M. 
 Bertomy had expired, and that he must leave the cell. A 
 thousand conflicting emotions seemed to rend the old 
 man's heart. Suppose Prosper were telling the truth : 
 how great would be his own remorse, if he had added to 
 the frightful weight of sorrow and trouble his son already 
 had to bear ! And who could prove that he was not sin- 
 cere in what he said ? 
 
 The voice of this son, of whom he had ever been proud, 
 had aroused all his paternal affection which he had so 
 violently repressed. Ah, were he guilty, and guilty of a 
 worse crime, still he was his son, his only son ! His count- 
 enance lost its severity, and his eyes filled with tears. 
 He wished to leave as he had entered, stern and angry, 
 but he had not the cruel courage. His heart was break- 
 ing, He opened his arms, ani pressed Prosper to his 
 
€o FILE NO. 113. 
 
 breast. " Oh, my son ! " he murmured, " God grant you 
 have spoken the truth ! " 
 
 Prosper was triumphant : he had almost convinced his 
 father of his innocence. But he had no time to rejoice 
 over this victory. The cell door again opened, and the 
 jailer's gruff voice called out. " It is time for you to ap- 
 pear before the investigating magistrate." 
 
 Prosper instantly obeyed the summons. His step was 
 ,no longer unsteady, as a few days previous : a complete 
 change had come over him. He walked firmly, with his 
 head erect, and the fire of resolution in his eye. He knew 
 the way now, and he proceeded a little ahead of the officer 
 who escorted him. As he was passing through the room 
 full of police-agents, he encountered the individual with 
 the gold spectacles, who had watched him so intently the 
 day he was searched. "Courage, M. Prosper Bertomy," 
 he said ; " if you are innocent, there are those who will 
 help you." 
 
 Prosper started with surprise, and was about to reply, 
 when the man disappeared. " Who is that gentleman ? " 
 he asked of the officer who was escorting him. 
 
 " Is it possible that you don't know him ? " replied the 
 man with surprise. "Why, it is M. Lecoq of the detective 
 service." 
 
 " You say his name is Lecoq ? " 
 
 " You might as well say ' Monsieur Lecoq,' " said the of' 
 fended official ; " it would not burn your mouth. M. 
 Lecoq is a man who knows everything that he wants to 
 know, without its ever being told to him. If your case had 
 been in his hands instead of in those of that smooth- 
 tongued, imbecile Fanferlot, it would have been settled 
 long ago. Nobody is allowed to waste time when he is in 
 command. But he seems to be a friend of yours." 
 
 " I never saw him until the first day I came here." 
 
 " You can't swear to that, because no one can boast ot 
 knowing the real face of M. Lecoq. It is one thing to-day, 
 and another to morrow ; sometimes he is a dark man, 
 sometimes a fair one, sometimes quite young, and then an 
 octogenarian. Why, at times he even deceives me. I be- 
 gin to talk to a stranger — bah ! it turns out to be M. Lecoq I 
 Anybody on the face of the earth might be he. If I were 
 told that you were he, I should say, ' Very likely it is so.' 
 Ah ! he can convert himself into any form he pleases. 
 
FILE NO. 113. 9l 
 
 He is a wonderful man ! " The speaker would have corv 
 tinued forever his praises of M. Lecoq, had not the sight 
 of the magistrate's room put an end to them. 
 
 This time, Prosper was not kept waiting on the wooden 
 bench ; on the contrary, the magistrate was waiting for 
 him. M. Patrigent, who was a profound observer of hu- 
 man-nature, had contrived the interview between M. Per- 
 tomy and his son. He was certain that between the father, 
 a man of such stubborn honor, and the son, accused of 
 theft, an affecting scene would take place, and this scene 
 would completely unman Prosper, and induce him to con- 
 fess. He determined to send for him as soon as the inter- 
 view was over, while his nerves were vibrating with terri- 
 ble emotions : he would then tell the truth, to relieve his 
 troubled, despairing mind. 
 
 The magistrate's surprise therefore was great to see the 
 cashier's bearing ; resolute without obstinacy, firm and as- 
 sured without defiance. " Well," he said to him, " have 
 you reflected ? " 
 
 " Not being guilty, sir, I had nothing to reflect upon." 
 "Ah, I see the prison has not been a good counsellor; 
 you forget that sincerity and repentance are the first things 
 necessary to obtain the indulgence of the law." 
 *' I crave no indulgence, sir." 
 
 M. Patrigent looked vexed, and said : "What would you 
 say if I told you what had become of the three hundred 
 and fifty thousand francs ? " 
 
 Prosper shook his head sadly. " If it were known, sir, 
 I should not be here, but at liberty." 
 
 This device had often been used by the magistrate, and 
 had generally succeeded ; but, with a man so thoroughly 
 master of himself as Prosper then was, there was small 
 chance of success on this occasion. It had been used at 
 a venture, and had failed. Then you persist in accusing 
 M. Fauvel t " remarked M. Patrisfent. 
 " Him, or some one else." 
 
 " Excuse me : no one else, since he alone knew the word. 
 Had he any interest in robbing himself t " 
 '' I can think of none." 
 
 " Well, now I will tell you what interest you had in rob- 
 bing him." 
 
 M. Patrigent spoke as a man who was convinced of the 
 facts he was about to state ; but his assurance was all a§. 
 
62 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 sumed. He had relied upon crushing at a blow, a de. 
 spairing, wretched man, and was nonplussed by seeing him 
 appear so determined upon resistance. " Will you be good 
 enough to tell me," he said in a vexed tone, " how much 
 you have spent during the last year ? " 
 
 Prosper did not find it necessary to stop to reflect and 
 calculate. " Yes, sir," he answered, unhesitatingly. " Cir- 
 cumstances made it necessary for me to preserve the 
 greatest order in my wild career ; I spent about fifty thou- 
 sand francs." 
 
 " Where did you obtain them ? " 
 
 " In the first place, twelve thousand francs were left to 
 me by my mother. I received from M. Fauvel fourteen 
 thousand francs for my salary, and share of the profits. 
 By speculating on the Bourse I gained eight thousand 
 francs. The rest I borrowed, and intend repaying out of 
 the fifteen thousand francs which I have deposited in M. 
 Fauvel's bank." The account was clear, exact, and could 
 be easily proved ; it must be a true one. 
 
 " Who lent you the money ? " inquired M. Patrigent. 
 
 " M. Raoul de Lagors." This witness had left Paris the 
 day of the robbery, and could not be found ; so for the 
 time being, M. Patrigent was compelled to rely upon 
 Prosper's word. 
 
 "Well," he said, " I will not press this point. Tell me 
 why, in spite of M. Fauvel's formal order, you drew the 
 money from the Bank of France the night before, instead 
 of waiting till the morning of the payment .'' " 
 
 " Because M. de Clameran had informed me that it 
 would be convenient, necessary even, for him to have his 
 money early in the morning. He will testify to that fact, 
 if you summon him ; and I knew that I should reach my 
 office late." 
 
 " Then M. de Clameran is a friend of yours ? " 
 
 ••' By tio means. I have always had an aversion to him, 
 which there was nothing whatever to justify; he is, how- 
 ever, the intimate friend of M. de Lagors." 
 
 While Sigault was writing down these answers, M. Pa- 
 trigent was racking his brain to imagine what could have 
 occurred between M. Bertomy and his son, to cause this 
 transformation in Prosper. " One thing more," said the 
 magistrate : " how did you spend your evening the night 
 of the crime ? " 
 
FILE NO. 113. 63 
 
 "When I left my office, at five o'clock, I took the St. 
 Germain train, and went to Ve'sinet to M. de Lagors's 
 country house, to return him fifteen hundred francs which 
 he had asked for ; and, not finding him at home, I left the 
 money with his servant." 
 
 " Did the latter tell you that M. de Lagors was going' 
 away ? " 
 
 '• No, sir. I did not know that he had left Paris." 
 
 "Where did you go when you left V^sinet?" 
 
 " I returned to Paris, and dined at a restaurant with a 
 friend." 
 
 " And then ? " Prosper hesitated. 
 
 " You are silent," said M. Patrigent. " I will therefore 
 tell you how you employed your time. You returned to 
 your rooms in the Rue Chaptal, dressed yourself, and went 
 to a party given by one of those women who style them- 
 selves dramatic artists, and who are a disgrace to the stage ; 
 who receive salaries of a hundred crowns a year, and yet 
 keep their carriages. You went to Mademoiselle Wil- 
 son's." 
 
 " You are right, sir." 
 
 " There is heavy playing at Wilson's ? " 
 
 " Sometimes." 
 
 " You are in the habit of visiting places of this sort. 
 Were you not connected in some way with a scandalous 
 affair which took place at the house of a woman named 
 Crescenzi ? " 
 
 " I was summoned to give evidence, having been witness 
 of a theft." 
 
 " Gambling generally leads to stealing. And did you 
 not play baccarat at Wilson's, and lose eighteen hundred 
 francs ? " 
 
 " Excuse me, sir, only eleven hundred." 
 
 " Very well. In the morning you paid a bill that fell 
 due of a thousand francs." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Moreover, there remained in your desk five hundred 
 francs, and you had four hundred in your purse when 'you 
 weie arrested. So that altogether, in twenty-four hours, 
 four thousand five hundred francs — " 
 
 Prosper was not discountenanced, but amazed. Not 
 being aware of the powerful means of investigation which 
 the law has at its command, he wondered how the magi* 
 
64 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 trate could have obtained such accurate information in so 
 short a time. " Your statement is correct, sir," he finally 
 said. 
 
 " Where did all this money come from ? The evening 
 before you had so little that you were obliged to defer the 
 payment of a small account." 
 
 ' "The day to which you allude, I sold some bonds I hadj 
 through an agent, which realized about three thousand 
 francs. In addition I took from the safe two thousand 
 francs in advance of my salary. I have nothing to con- 
 ceal." 
 
 Prosper had given clear answers to all questions put to 
 him, and M. Patrigent thought he would now attack him 
 from a new point. " You say you have no wish to conceal 
 any of your actions ; then why this note stealthily thrown 
 to one of your companions .'' " Here he held up the myste- 
 rious note. 
 
 This time the blow struck. Prosper's eyes dropped be- 
 fore the inquiring look of the magistrate. " I thought," he 
 stammered, " I wished — " 
 
 " You wished to hide your mistress ? " 
 
 " Well, yes, sir, I did. I knew that a man in my con- 
 dition, accused of a robbery, has every fault, every weak- 
 ness he has ever indulged in, charged against him as a 
 great crime." 
 
 " Which means that you knew that the presence of a 
 woman at your apartments would tell very much against 
 you, and that justice would not excuse this scandalous de- 
 fiance of public morality. A man who respects himself 
 so little as to live with a worthless woman, does not elevate 
 her to his standard, but descends to her base level." 
 
 " Sir ! " 
 
 " I suppose you know who the woman is, whom you 
 permit to bear the honest name borne by your mother? " 
 
 " Madam Gipsy was a governess when I first knew her. 
 She was born at Oporto, and came to France with a Por- 
 tuguese family." 
 
 " Her name is not Gipsy : she has never been a govern- 
 ess, and she is not a Portuguese." 
 
 Prosper began to protest against this ^statement ; but M. 
 Patrigent shrugged his shoulders, and after looking over a 
 lot of papers on his desk, said : " Ah, here it is ; listen : 
 ^almyre Chocareille, born at Paris in 1840, daughter of 
 
FILE NO. 113. 6$ 
 
 James Chocare'ille, undertaker's assistant, and of Caroline 
 Piedlent, his wife." 
 
 Prosper looked vexed and impatient ; he was not aware 
 that the magistrate was reading him this report in order 
 to convince him that nothing can escape the police. ** Pal- 
 myre Chocareille," continued M. Patrigent, " was appren- 
 ticed at twelve years of age to a shoemaker, and remained 
 with him until she was sixteen. Traces of her for one 
 year are lost. At the age of seventeen she was hired as 
 a servant by a grocer in the Rue St. Denis, named Dom- 
 bas, and remained with him three months. She entered 
 during this same year, 1857, eight different situations. 
 In 1858 she entered the service of a dealer in fans in the 
 Passage Choiseul." 
 
 As he read, the magistrate watched Prosper's face to 
 observe the effect of these revelations. "Towards the 
 close of 1858," continued he, "she w'as employed as a 
 i> '"^ant by Madame Nunes, and accompanied her to Lis- 
 bon. How long she remained in Lisbon, and what she 
 did while she remained there is not reported. But in 1861 
 she returned to Paris, and was sentenced to three months' 
 Imprisonment for assault and battery. Ah, she returned 
 from Portugal with the name of Nina Gipsy." 
 
 " But, I assure you, sir," Prosper began. 
 
 " Yes, I understand : this history is less romantic^ 
 doubtless, than the one related to you ; but then it has the 
 merit of being true. We lose sight of Palmyre Chocareille, 
 called Gipsy, upon her release from prison ; but we meet 
 her again six months later, she having made the acquaint- 
 ance of a commercial traveller named Caldas, who became 
 infatuated with her beauty, and furnished some rooms for 
 ner near the Bastile. She assumed his name for some 
 time, then she deserted him to devote herself to you. Did 
 you ever hear of this Caldas .'' " 
 
 " Never, sir." 
 
 " This foolish man so deeply loved this creature that 
 her desertion drove him almost insane through grief. He 
 was ver)' resolute, and publicly swore that he would kill 
 his rival if he ever found him. The current report after- 
 wards was, that he committed suicide. He certainly sold 
 the furniture of the house occupied by the woman Choca- 
 reille, and suddenly disappeared. All the efforts made 
 to discover him proved fruitless." 
 5 
 
66 FILE NO. ix%. 
 
 The magistrate paused a moment as if to give Prosper 
 time for reflection, and then slowly said : " And this is 
 the woman whom you made your companion, the woman 
 for whom you robbed the bank ! " 
 
 Once more M. Patrigent was on the wrong track, owing 
 to Fanferlot's incomplete information. He had hoped 
 that Prosper would betray himself by uttering some pas- 
 sionate retort when. thus wounded to the quick; but the 
 latter remained impassible. Of all that the magistrate 
 had said to him his mind dwelt upon only one v/ord — 
 " Caldas," the name of the poor commercial traveller who 
 had killed himself. 
 
 " At any rate," insisted M. Patrigent, "you will confess 
 that this girl has caused your ruin." 
 
 " I cannot confess that, sir, for it is not true." 
 
 " Yet she is the cause of your extravagance. Listen," 
 — the magistrate here drew a bill from the file of papers 
 — " During December you paid her dressmaker, Van Klo- 
 pen, for two out-door costumes, nine hundred francs ; 
 one evening dress, seven hundred francs ; one domino, 
 trimmed with lace, four hundred francs." 
 
 " I spent that money of my own free will ; but, never- 
 theless, I was not in the least attached to her." 
 
 M. Patrigent shrugged his shoulders. " You cannot 
 deny the evidence," said he. " I suppose you will also 
 say that it was not for this girl's sake you ceased spending 
 your evenings at M. Fauvel's ? " 
 
 " I assure you that she was not the cause of my ceasing 
 to visit M. Fauvel's family." 
 
 " Then why did you suddenly break off your attentions 
 to a young lady whom you confidently expected to marry, 
 and whose hand you had written to your father to ask for 
 you ? " 
 
 "I had reasons which I cannot reveal," answered Pros- 
 per with emotion. 
 
 The magistrate breathed freely ; at last he had discov- 
 ered a vulnerable point in the prisoner's armor. " Did 
 Mademoiselle Madeleine banish you from her presence ? " 
 Prosper was silent, and seemed agitated. " Speak," said 
 M. Patrigent ; " I must tell you that this is one of the 
 most important circumstances in your case." 
 
 " Whatever the cost may be, on this subject I am com* 
 pelled to keep silence." 
 
FILE NO. 113. 6j 
 
 " Beware of what you do ; justice will not be satisfied 
 with scruples of conscience," M. Patrigent waited for an 
 answer. None came. 
 
 " You persist in your obstinacy, do you? " continued he. 
 " Well, we will go on to the next question. You have, 
 during the last year, spent fifty thousand francs. Your 
 resources are at an end, and your credit is exhausted ; to 
 continue your mode of life was impossible. What did you 
 intend to do ? " 
 
 " I had no settled plan. I thought it might last as long 
 as it would, and then I — " 
 
 " And then you w^ould abstract money from the safe ; 
 was it not so ?" 
 
 " Ah, sir, if I were guilty I should not be here ! I should 
 never have been such a fool as to return to the bank ; I 
 should have fled." 
 
 M. Patrigent could not restrain a smile of satisfaction, 
 and exclaimed : " Exactly the argument I expected you to 
 use. You showed your shrewdness precisely by staying 
 to face the storm, instead of flying the country. Several 
 recent cases have taught dishonest cashiers that flight 
 abroad is dangerous. Railways travel fast, but telegrams 
 travel faster. A French thief can be arrested in London 
 within forty-eight hours after his description has been tele- 
 graphed. Even America is no longer a refuge. You re- 
 mained, prudently and wisely, saying to yourself, ' I will 
 manage to avoid suspicion ; and, even if I am found out, 
 I shall be free again after three or five years' seclusion, 
 with a large fortune to enjoy.' Many people would sacri- 
 fice five years of their lives for three hundred and fifty 
 thousand francs." 
 
 " But, sir, had I calculated in the manner you describe, 
 I should not have been content with three hundred and 
 fifty thousand francs — I should have waited for an oppor- 
 tunity to steal a million. I often had that sum in my 
 charge." 
 
 " Oh ! it is not always convenient to wait." 
 
 Prosper was buried in deep thought for some minutes. 
 " Sir," he finally said, " there is one detail I forgot to 
 oaention before, and it may be of importance." 
 
 " Explain, if you please." 
 
 " The messenger whom I sent to the Bank of France 
 for the money must have seen me tie up the bundles of 
 
68 FILE NO. uj. 
 
 notes and put them away in the safe. At any rate, he 
 knows'that I left my office before he did." 
 
 " Very well ; the man shall be examined. Now you can 
 return to your cell ; and once more I advise you to con- 
 sider the consequences of your persistent denial." M. 
 Patrigent thus abruptly dismissed Prosper because he 
 wished to act immediately upon this last piece of informa- 
 tion. 
 
 " Sigault," said he, as soon as Prosper had left the room, 
 " is not this messenger the man who was excused from 
 being examined from his having sent a doctor's certificate 
 declaring him too ill to appear ? " 
 
 " It is, sir." 
 
 " Where does he live ? " 
 
 " Fanferlot says he was so ill that he was taken to the 
 hospital — the Dubois Hospital." 
 
 " Very good. I am going to examine him to-day, this 
 very hour. Take your pen and paper, and send for a 
 cab." 
 
 It was some distance from the Palais de Justice to the 
 Dubois Hospital ; but the cabman, urged by the promise of 
 a handsome present for himself, made his sorry jades fly 
 as if they were blood horses. 
 
 Would the messenger be able to answer any questions ? 
 That was the point. The physician in charge of the hos- 
 pital said that, although the man suffered severely from a 
 broken knee, his mind was perfectly clear. " That being 
 the case," said the magistrate, " I wish to examine him, 
 and desire that no one be admitted while he makes his 
 deposition." 
 
 " Oh ! you will not be intruded upon ; his room contains 
 four beds, but with the exception of his own they are just 
 now all unoccupied." 
 
 When the messenger saw the magistrate enter, followed 
 by a tall thin young man with a portfolio under his arm, he 
 at once knew what they had come for. " Ah," he said, 
 you have come to see me about M. Bertomy's affair t " 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 M.' Patrigent remained standing by the sick-bed while 
 Sigault arranged his papers on a little table. In answer 
 to the usual questions, the messenger stated that he was 
 named Antonin Poche, was forty years old, born at C* 
 daujac in the Gironde, and was unmarried. 
 
FILE NO. 113. 69 
 
 (( 
 
 " Now," said the magistrate, " are you well enough to 
 answer clearly any questions I may put to you ? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly, sir.'' 
 
 " Did you, on the 27th of February, go to the Bank of 
 France for the three hundred and fifty thousand francs that 
 were stolen ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " At what hour did you return with the money ? '* 
 I " It must have been five o'clock when I got back." 
 
 " Do you remember what M. Bertomy did when you 
 handed him the notes ? Now, do not be in a hurry ; think 
 before you answer the question." 
 
 " Let me see : first he counted the notes, and made them 
 up into four packages ; then he put them in the safe, which 
 he afterwards locked, and then — it seems to me — yes, I am 
 not mistaken, he went out ! " 
 
 He uttered these last words with so much energy, that, 
 forgetting his knee he half started up in bed, giving \'^xi\ 
 at the same time to a cry of pain. 
 
 *' Are you sure of what you say ? " asked the magistrate. 
 
 M. Patrigent's solemn tone seemed to frighten Antonin. 
 " Sure .'' " he exclaimed with marked hesitation ; " I would 
 bet my head on it, yet I am not more sure than that ! " 
 
 It was impossible to get him to be more precise in his 
 answers. He had been frightened. He already imagined 
 himself compromised, and for a trifle would have retracted 
 everything. But the effect was none the less produced, 
 and when they retired M. Patrigentsaid to Sigault : "This 
 is a very important piece of evidence." 
 
 VI. 
 
 The hotel of the Grand Archangel, Madame Gipsy's 
 asylum, was the most elegant one on the Quai St Michel. 
 At this hotel si person who pays her fortnight's board in 
 advance is treated with marked consideration. 
 
 Madame Alexandre,who had been a handsome woman, 
 A^as now stout, laced till she could scarcely breathe, always 
 over-dressed, and fond of wearing a number of flashy gold 
 chains around her fat neck. She had bright eyes and 
 white teeth ; but, alas, a red nose. Of all her weaknesses 
 —and heaven knows she had indulged in every variety—* 
 
70 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 only one remained ; she loved a good dinner, washed down 
 v/ith plenty of good wme. But she loved her husband ; 
 and, about the time M. Patrigent was leaving the hospital, 
 she began to feel worried because her " little man " had 
 not returned to dinner. She was about to sit down with- 
 out him, when the waiter cried out : " Here is master.'* 
 And Fanferlot appeared in person. ( 
 
 Three years before, Fanferlot had kept a little private 
 inquiry office ; Madame Alexandre dealt without a license 
 in perfumery and toilet articles, and, finding it necessary 
 to have some of her doubtful customers watched, engaged 
 Fanferlot's services ; this was the origin of their acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 If they went through the marriage ceremony for the 
 good of the mayoralty and the church, it was because they 
 imagined it would, like a baptism, wash out the sins of the 
 past. Upon this momentous day, Fanferlot gave up his 
 private inquiry office, and entered the police, where he had 
 already been occasionally employed, and Madame Alex- 
 andre retired from business. 
 
 Uniting their savings, they hired and furnished the 
 Grand Archangel, which they were now carrying en pros- 
 perously, esteemed by their neighbors, who were ignorant 
 of Fanferlot's connection with the police force. 
 
 "Why, how late you are, my little man!" exclaimed 
 Madame Alexandre as she dropped her knife and fork, 
 and rushed forward to embrace her husband. 
 
 Fanferlot received her caresses with an air of abstrac- 
 tion. " My back is broken," he said. " I have been the 
 whole day playing billiards with Evariste, M. Fauvel's 
 valet, and allowed him to win as often as he wished — 
 a man who does not know what pool is ! I became 
 acquainted with him yesterday, and now I am his best 
 friend. If I wish to enter M. Fauvel's service in Antonin's 
 I^lace, I can rely upon Evariste's good word." 
 
 "What, you be an office messenger ? you ? " 
 
 " Of course I would. How else am I to get an oppor- 
 tunity of studying my characters, if I am not on the spot 
 to continually watch them ? " 
 
 " Then the valet gave you no information ? '* 
 
 " None that I could make use of, and yet I turned him 
 inside out like a glove. This banker is a remarkable man ; 
 you don't often meet with one of his sort nowadays 
 
FILE NO. 113. 71. 
 
 Evariste says he has not a single vice, not even a little 
 defect by which his valet could gain ten sous. He neither 
 smokes, drinks, nor plays ; in fact, he is a saint. He is 
 worth millions, and lives as respectably and quietly as a 
 grocer. He is devoted to his wife, adores his children, is 
 very hospitable, but seldom goes into society." 
 
 " Then his wife is young ? " 
 
 " No, she must be about fifty." 
 
 Madam Alexandre reflected a minute, then asked : *' Did 
 you inquire about the other members of the family 1 " 
 
 " Certainly. The younger son is in the army. The 
 elder son, Lucien, lives with his parents, and is altogether 
 as proper as a young lady. He is so good, indeed, that he 
 is perfectly stupid." 
 
 " And what about the niece ? " 
 
 " Evariste could tell me nothing about her." 
 
 Madam Alexandre shrugged her fat shoulders. " If you 
 have discovered nothing," she said, " it is because there 
 is nothing to be discovered. Still, do you know what I 
 would do, if I were you ? " 
 
 " Tell me." 
 
 " I would consult M. Lecoq." 
 
 Fanferlot jumped up as if he had been shot. " Now, 
 that's pretty advice ! " he exclaimed. " Do you want me 
 to lose my place ? M. Lecoq does not suspect that I 
 have anything to do with the case, excepting to obey his 
 orders." 
 
 " Nobody told you to let him know you were investiga- 
 ting it on your own account. You can consult him with an 
 air of indifference, as if you were not at all interested ; and, 
 after you have got his opinion, you can take advantage of 
 it." 
 
 The detective weighed his wife's words, and then said : 
 " Perhaps you are right ; yet M. Lecoq is so deucedly 
 shrewd, that he might see through me." 
 
 " Shrewd ! " echoed Madam Alexandre ; " shrewd ! All 
 of you at the Prefecture say that so often, that he has 
 gained his reputation by it. You are just as sharp as he 
 is." 
 
 *' Well, we will see. I will think the matter over ; but, 
 ID the mean time, what does the girl say 1 " The " girl " 
 was Madame Nina Gipsy. 
 
 In taking up her abode at the Grand Archangel, Mad 
 
72 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 ame Nina thought she was following good advice ; and, 
 as Fanferlot had never appeared in her presence since, she 
 was still under the impression that she had obeyed a friend 
 of Prosper's. When she received her summons from M. 
 Patrigent, she admired the wonderful skill of the police in 
 discovering her hiding place ; for she had established her- 
 self at the hotel under a false, or rather her true name, 
 Palmyre Chocareille. Artfully questioned by her inquisi- 
 tive landlady, she had, without any mistrust, confided her 
 history to her. Thus Fanferlot was able to impress the 
 magistrate with the idea of his being a skilful detective, 
 when he pretended to have discovered all this information 
 from a variety of sources. 
 
 " She is still up stairs," replied Madame Alexandre. 
 " She suspects nothing ; but to keep her in the house be- 
 comes every day more difficult. I don't know what the 
 magistrate told her, but she came home quite beside her- 
 self with anger. She wanted to go and make a fuss at M. 
 Fauvel's. Then she wrote a letter, which she told Jean to 
 post for her ; but I kept it to show you." 
 
 " What ! " interrupted Fanferlot, " you have a letter, and 
 did not tell me before ? Perhaps it contains the clue to 
 ^e m3^stery. Give it to me, quick." 
 
 Obeying her husband, Madame Alexandre opened a 
 little cupboard and took out a letter, which she handed to 
 him. " Here, take it," she said, "and be satisfied." 
 
 Considering that she used to a chamber-maid, Palmyre 
 Chocareille, since become Madame Gipsy, wiote well. 
 Her letter bore the following address, written '.n a free, 
 flowing hand : 
 
 " M. L. DE Clameran, 
 
 " Forge- Master^ Httel du Louvre, 
 ** To be handed to M. Raoul de Lagors. 
 "(Immediate.)" 
 
 " Oh, ho ! " said Fanferlot, accompanying his exclama 
 tion with a little whistle, as was his habit when he thought 
 he had made a grand discovery. " Oh, ho ! " 
 
 " Are you going to open it ? '* inquired Madame Alex- 
 Andre. 
 
 " A little bit," said Fanferlot, as he dexterously opened 
 ^he envelope. 
 
FILE NO. 113. 73 
 
 Madame Alexandre leaned over her husband's shoulder, 
 and they both read the following : 
 
 " Monsieur Raoul — Prosper is in prison, accused of a 
 robbery which he never committed. I wrote to you three 
 days ago." 
 
 " What ! " interrupted Fanferlot, " this silly girl wrote, 
 and I never saw the letter ? " 
 
 " But, little man, she must have posted it herself, the 
 day she went to the Palais de Justice." 
 
 " Very likely," said Fanferlot, propitiated. He con- 
 tinued reading : 
 
 " I wrote to you three days ago, and have no reply. 
 Who will help Prosper if his best friends desert him ? If 
 you don't answer this letter, I shall consider myself re- 
 leased from a certain promise, and without scruple will 
 tell Prosper of the conversation I overheard between you 
 and M. de Clameran. But I can count on you, can I not? 
 I shall expect you at the Grand Archangel, on the Quai St. 
 Michel, the day after to-morrow, between twelve and four. 
 — Nina Gipsy." 
 
 The letter read, Fanferlot at once proceeded to copy 
 it. 
 
 " Well ! " said Madame Alexandre, " what do you think ? " 
 
 Fanferlot was delicately refastening the letter when the 
 door of the hotel office was abruptly opened, and the 
 waiter twice whispered : " Pst ! Pst ! " 
 
 Fanferlot rapidly disappeared into a dark closet. He 
 had barely time to close the door before Madame Gipsy 
 entered the room. The poor girl was sadly changed. She 
 was pale and hollow-cheeked, and her eyes were red with 
 weeping. 
 
 On seeing her, Madame Alexandre could not conceal 
 her surprise. " Why, my child, you are not going out "i " 
 said she. 
 
 " I am obliged to do so, madame ; and I have come to 
 ask you to tell any one that may call during my absence to 
 wait until I return." 
 
 '' But where in the world are you going at this hour, 
 unwell as you are ? " 
 
 For a moment Madame Gipsy hesitated, " Oh," sha 
 said, "you are so kind that I am tempted to (xmfide ig 
 
J 4 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 you ; read this note which a messenger just now brought 
 to me." 
 
 " What !" cried Madame Alexandre perfectly aghast; 
 ** a messenger enter my house, and go up to your room ! " 
 
 " Is there anything surprising in that ? " 
 
 " No, oh, no ! nothing surprising." And in a tone loud 
 enough to be heard in the closet, Madame Alexandre read 
 the note : 
 
 " A friend of Prosper's who can neither receive you, nor 
 present himself at your hotel, is very anxious to speak to' 
 you. Be in the omnibus office opposite the tower of Saint 
 Jacques, to-night at nine precisely, and the writer will be 
 there, and tell you what he has to say. 
 
 " I have appointed this public place for the rendezvous 
 so as to relieve your mind of all fear." 
 
 " And you are going to this rendezvous ? " 
 
 *' Certainly, madame." 
 
 " But it is imprudent, foolish : it is a snare to entrap 
 you." 
 
 " It makes no difference," interrupted Nina. " I am so 
 unfortunate already that I have nothing more to dread. 
 Any change would be a relief." And, without waiting to 
 hear anything more, she went off. The door had scarcely 
 closed upon her before Fanferlot bounced from the closet. 
 
 The mild detective was white with rage, and swore vio- 
 lently. " What is the meaning of this ? " he cried. " Am I 
 to stand by and have people walking all over the Grand 
 Archangel as if it were a public street ? " Madame Alex- 
 andre stood trembling, and dared not speak. '' Was ever 
 such impudence heard of before ! " he continued. " A mes- 
 senger comes into my house, and goes up stairs without be- 
 ing seen by anybody ! I will look into this. And the idea 
 of you, Madame Alexandre, you, a sensible woman, being 
 idiotic enough to try and persuade that little viper not to 
 keep the appointment ! " 
 
 " But, my dear — " 
 
 " Had you not sense enough to know that I would follow 
 her, and discover what she is attempting to conceal ? 
 Come, make haste and help me, so that she won't recog- 
 nize me." 
 
 In a few minutes Fanferlot was completely disguised by 
 ,1 thick beard, a wig, and a linen blouse, and looked for 
 all the world like one of those disreputable working men 
 
FILE NO, 113. . 1\ 
 
 who go about seeking for employment, and, at the same 
 time, hoping they may not find any. 
 
 " Have you your life preserver ? " asked the solicitous 
 Madame Alexandre. 
 
 "Yes, yes; make haste and have that letter to M. de 
 Clameran posted, and keep on the look out." And with- 
 out listening to his wife, who called after him : " Good 
 luck," Fanferlot darted into the street. 
 
 Madame Gipsy had some minutes start of him ; but he 
 ran up the street he knew she must have taken, and overtook 
 her on the Pont-au-Change. She was walking with the un- 
 certain manner of a person who, impatient to be at a ren- 
 dezvous, has started too soon, and is obliged to occupy the 
 intervening time. First she would walk slowly, then 
 quicken her steps, and proceed very rapidly. She strolled 
 up and down the Place du Chatelet several times, read the 
 theatre-bills, and finally seated herself on a bench. One 
 minute before a quarter to nine, she entered the omnibus- 
 office, and sat down. 
 
 A moment afterwards Fanferlot entered ; but, as he 
 feared that Madame Gipsy might recognize him in spite 
 of his beard, he took a seat at the opposite end of the 
 room, in a dark corner. " Singular place for a conversa* 
 tion," he thought, as he watched the young woman. " Who 
 in the world can have made this appointment in an omni- 
 bus office ? Judging from her evident curiosity and un- 
 easiness, I could swear she has not the faintest idea for 
 whom she is waiting." 
 
 Meanwhile, the office was rapidly filling with peo« 
 pie. Every minute an official would shout out the desti- 
 nation of an omnibus which had just arrived, and the pas- 
 sengers would rush in to obtain tickets, hoping to be able 
 to proceed by it. 
 
 As each new-comer entered, Nina would tremble, and 
 Fanferlot would say, " This must be him ! " Finally, as 
 the Hotel-de-Ville clock was striking nine, a man entered^, 
 and, without going to the ticket-desk, walked directly up 
 to Nina, bowed, and took a seat beside her. He was of 
 medium-size, rather stout, with a crimson face, and fiery- 
 red whiskers. His dress was that of a well-to-do merchant, 
 and there was nothing in his manner or appearance to ex- 
 cite attention. 
 
 Fanferlot watched him eagerly. "Well, my friend," he 
 
y6 hILE NO. 113. 
 
 said to himself, " in future I shall recognize you, no mattet 
 where we meet ; and this very evening I will find out who 
 you are," Despite his intent listening, Fanferlot could 
 not hear a word spoken by either the stranger or Nina. 
 All he could do was to judge what the subject of their 
 conversation might be by their gestures. 
 
 When the stout man bowed and spoke to her, Madame 
 Gipsy looked so surprised that it was evident she had never 
 seen him before. When he sat down by her, and said a 
 few words, she started up with a frightened air, as if seeking 
 to escape. A single word and look made her resume her 
 seat. Then, as the stout man went on talking, Nina's at- 
 titude betrayed a certain apprehension. She evidently re- 
 fused to do something required of her ; then suddenly she 
 seemed to consent, when a good reason was given for her 
 doing so. At one moment she appeared ready to weep, 
 and the next her pretty face was illumined by a bright 
 smile. Finally, she shook hands with her companion, as 
 if she were confirming a promise. 
 
 " What can all this mean ? " said Fanferlot to himself, 
 as he sat in his dark corner, biting his nails. " What an 
 idiot I am to have stationed myself so far off ! " He was 
 thinking how he could manage to approach nearer without 
 arousing their suspicions, when the stout man rose, offered 
 his arm to Madame Gipsy, who accepted it without hesita- 
 tion, and they walked together towards the door. 
 
 They were so engrossed with eace other, that Fanferlot 
 thought he could, without risk, follow them closely ; and 
 it was well he did, for the crowd was dense outside, and 
 he would soon have lost sight of them. Reaching the 
 door, he saw the stout man and Nina cross the pavement, 
 hail a cab, and enter it. 
 
 ' ** Very good," muttered Fanferlot, " I've got them now. 
 There is no need to hurry." 
 
 While the driver was gathering up his reins, Fanferlot 
 prepared himself ; and, when the cab started, he set off at 
 a brisk trot, determined upon following it to the end of the 
 earth. 
 
 The cab proceeded along the Boulevard Sebastopol. 
 It went pretty fast ; but it was not for nothing that Fan- 
 ferlot had been dubbed the Squirrel. With his elbows 
 glued to his sides, and economizing his wind, he ran on. 
 By the time he had reached the Boulevard St. Denis, h^ 
 
FILE NO. 113. 77 
 
 began to %tx winded, and stiff from the pain in his side. 
 The cabman abruptly turned into the Rue Faubourg St. 
 Martin. 
 
 But Fanferlot, who, at eight years of age, had played 
 about the streets of Paris, was not to be baffled ; he was 
 a man of resources. He seized hold of the springs of the 
 cab, raised himself up by the strength of his wrists, and 
 hung on, with his legs resting on the axle-tree of the hind 
 wheels. He was not particularly comfortable, but then, 
 he no longer ran the risk of being distanced. '* Now," he 
 chuckled, behind his false beard, " you may drive as fast 
 as you please, cabby." 
 
 The man whipped up his horses, and drove furiously 
 along the hilly street of the Faubourg St. Martin. Fi- 
 nally the cab stopped in front of a wine-shop, and the driver 
 jumped down from his seat, and went in. 
 
 The detective also left his uncomfortable post, and 
 crouching in a doorway waited for Nina and her compan- 
 ion to alight, with the intention of following closely upon 
 their heels. Five minutes passed, and still there were no 
 signs of them. "What can they be doing all this time } " 
 grumbled the detective. With great precautions he ap- 
 proached the cab, and peeped in. Oh, cruel deception ! it 
 was empty ! 
 
 Fanferlot felt as if some one had thrown a bucket of ice- 
 water over him ; he remained rooted to the spot with his 
 mouth open, the picture of blank bewilderment. He soon 
 recovered his wits sufficiently to burst forth into a volley 
 of oaths, loud enough to rattle all the window-panes in 
 the neighborhood. " Tricked ! " he cried, " fooled ! 
 Ah I but won't I make them pay for this ! " 
 
 In a moment his quick mind had nm over the gamut of 
 possibilities, probable and improbable. " Evidently," he 
 muttered, " this fellow and Nina entered by one door, and 
 got out by the other ; the trick is simple enough. If they 
 resorted to it, 'tis because they feared being followed. If 
 they feared being followed, they have uneasy consciences, 
 therefore — " He suddenly interrupted his monologue as 
 the idea struck him that he had better endeavor to find 
 out something from the driver. 
 
 Unfortunately, the driver was in a very surly mood, and 
 not only refused to answer, but shook his whip in so threat- 
 ening a manner that Fanferlot deemed it prudent to beat 
 
^ FILE NO. 113. 
 
 a retreat. " Oh, hang it," he muttered, " perhaps the 
 driver is mixed up in the affair also ! " 
 
 But what could he do now at this time of night? He 
 could not imagine. He walked dejectedly back to the quay, 
 and it was half-past eleven when- he reached his own door. 
 " Has the little fool returned ? " he inquired of Madame 
 Alexandre, the instant she let him in. 
 
 " No ; but here are two large bundles which have come 
 for her." 
 
 Fanferlot hastily opened them. They contained three 
 cotton dresses, some heavy shoes, and some linen caps. 
 " Well," said the detective in a vexed tone, " now she is 
 going to disguise herself. Upon my word, I am getting 
 puzzled ! What can she be up to ? " 
 
 When Fanferlot was sulkily walking down the Faubourg 
 St. Martin, he had fully made up his mind that he would 
 not tell his wife of his discomfiture. But once at home, 
 confronted with a new fact of a nature to negative all his 
 conjectures, his vanity disappeared. He confessed every- 
 thing — his hopes so nearly realized, his strange mis- 
 chance> and his suspicions. They talked the matter over 
 and finally decided that they would not go to bed until 
 Madame Gipsy, from w^hom Madame Alexandre was de- 
 termined to obtain an explanation of what had happened, 
 returned. At one o'clock the worthy couple were about 
 giving over all hope of her re-appearance, when they heard 
 the bell ring. 
 
 Fanferlot instantly slipped into the closet, and Madame 
 Alexandre remained in the office to receive Nina. " Here 
 you are at last, my dear child I " she cried. " Oh, I have 
 been so uneasy, so afraid lest some misfortune had hap- 
 pened ! " 
 
 " Thanks for your kind interest, madame. Has a bundle 
 been sent here for me ,'' " 
 
 Poor Nina's appearance had strikingly changed ; she 
 was still sad, but no longer dejected as she had been. To 
 her prostration of the last few days, had succeeded a firm 
 and generous resolution, which was betrayed in her spark 
 ling eyes and resolute step. 
 
 " Yes, two bundles came for you ; here they are. I sup 
 pose you saw M. Bertomy's friend ? " 
 
 " Yes, madame , and his advice has so changed my plan^ 
 that, I regret to say, I must leave you to-morrow." 
 
FILE NO. IT 3. 79 
 
 •'Gcing away to-morrow ! then something must have 
 happened." 
 
 " Oh ! nothing that would interest you, madame." 
 
 After Hghting her candle at the gas-burner, Madame 
 Gipsy said : " Good-night " in a very significant way, and 
 left the room. 
 
 " And what do you think of that, Madame Alexandre 1 ' 
 asked Fanferlot, as he emerged from his hiding-place. 
 
 " It is incredible ! This girl writes to M. de Lagors to 
 meet her here, and then does not wait for him." 
 
 " She evidently mistrusts us ; she knows who I am." 
 
 " Then this friend of the cashier must have told her." 
 
 " Nobody knows who told her. I begin to think that I 
 have to do with some very knowing thieves. They guess 
 I am on their track, and are trying to escape me. I should 
 not be at all surprised if this little rogue has the money 
 herself, and intends to run off with it to-morrow." 
 
 " That is not my opinion ; but listen to me, you had 
 better take my advice, and consult M. Lecoq." 
 
 Fanferlot meditated awhile, then exclaimed : " Very well ; 
 I will see him, just for your satisfaction ; because I know that 
 if I have not discovered anything, neither will he. But if he 
 takes upon himself to be domineering, it won't do ; for only 
 let him show his insolence to me, and /will let him know 
 his place ! " 
 
 Notwithstanding this brave speech, the detective passed 
 an uneasy night, and at six o'clock the next morning he 
 was up — it was necessary to rise very early if one wished 
 to catch M. Lecoq at home — and refreshed by a cup of 
 strong coffee, he directed his steps towards the dwelling of 
 the famous detective. 
 
 Fanferlot the Squirrel was certainly not afraid of his 
 chief, as he called him, for he started off with his nose in 
 the air, and his hat cocked on one side. But by the time 
 he reached the Rue Montmarte, where M. Lecoq lived, 
 his courage had vanished ; he pulled his hat over his eyes, 
 and hung his head, as if looking for relief among the pav- 
 ing-stones. He slowly ascended the stairs, pausing several 
 times, and looking around as if he would like to fly. Finally 
 he reached the third floor, and stood before a door dec- 
 orated with the arms of the famous detective — a cock, the 
 symbol of vigilance — and his heart failed him so that he 
 had scarcely the courage to ring the bell. 
 
So FILE NO. 113. 
 
 The door was opened b}' Janouille, M. Lecoq's old serv- 
 ant, who had very much the manner and appearance of a 
 grenadier. She was as faithful to her master as a watch- 
 dog, and always stood ready to attack any one who did not 
 treat him with the august respect which she considered his 
 due. " Well, M. Fanferlot," she said, " you come at a 
 right time for once in your life. The chief is waiting to 
 see you." 
 
 Upon this announcement, Fanferlot was seized with a 
 violent desire to retreat. By what chance could Lecoq be 
 waiting for him ? While he thus hesitated, Janouille seized 
 him by the arm, and pulled him in, saying : " Do you want 
 to take root there ? Come along, the master is busy at 
 work in his study." 
 
 Seated at a desk in the middle of a large room, half 
 library and half theatrical dressing-room, furnished in a 
 curious style, was the same individual with gold spectacles, 
 who had said to Prosper at the Prefecture, "Have courage.'' 
 This was M. Lecoq in his official character. 
 
 Fanferlot on his entrance advanced respectfully, bowing 
 till his back-bone was a perfect curve. M. Lecoq laid 
 down his pen, and looking sharply at him, said : " Ah, so 
 here you are, young man. Well, it seems that you haven't 
 aiade much progress in Bertomy's case." 
 
 " What," murmured Fanferlot, " you know — " 
 
 " I know that you have muddled everything until you 
 can't see your way out ; so that you are ready to give in." 
 
 " But, M. Lecoq, it was not I — " 
 
 M. Lecoq rose, and walked up and down the room ; 
 suddenly he confronted Fanferlot, and said in a tone of 
 scornful irony : " What would you think. Master Squirrel, 
 of a man who abuses the confidence of those who employ 
 him, who reveals just enough to lead the prosecution on 
 the wrong scent, who sacrifices to his own foolish vanity 
 the cause of justice and the liberty of an unfortunate pris- 
 oner ? " 
 
 Fanferlot started back with a scared look. " I should 
 say," he stammered, " I should say — " 
 
 " You would say this man ought to be punished, and 
 dismissed from his employment ; and you are right. The 
 less a profession is honored, the more honorable should 
 diose be who belong to it. And yet you have been false 
 to yours. Ah ! Master Squirrel, we are ambitious, and we 
 
PILE NO. 113. 81 
 
 try to make the police service forward our own views I 
 We let justice go astray, and we go on a different tack. 
 One must be a more cunning blood-hound than you are, 
 my friend, to be able to hunt without a huntsman. You 
 are too self-reliant by half." 
 
 " But, my chief, I swear — " 
 
 " Silence ! Do you pretend to say that you did your 
 duty, and told all you knew to the investigating magistrate t 
 Whilst others were giving information against the cashier, 
 you were getting up evidence against the banker. You 
 watch his movements : you became intimate with his 
 valet." 
 
 Was M. Lecoq really angry, or pretending to be so ? 
 Fanferlot, who knew him well, was puzzled as to whether 
 all this indignation was real. 
 
 " Still, if you were only skilful," continued M. Lecoq, 
 " it would be another matter ; but no : you wish to be mas- 
 ter, and you are not even fit to be a journeyman." 
 
 " You are right, my chief," said Fanferlot piteously, for 
 he saw that it was useless for him to deny anything. 
 " But how could I go about an affair like this, where there 
 was not even a trace, a sign of any kind to start 
 from ? " 
 
 M. Lecoq shrugged his shoulders. " You are an ass ! " 
 exclaimed he. " Why, don't you know that on the very 
 day you were sent for with the commissary to verify the 
 fact of the robbery, you held — I do not say certainly, but 
 very probably held — in your great stupid hands the means 
 of knowing which key had been used when the money 
 was stolen ? " 
 
 " How is that ? " 
 
 " You want to know do you ? I will tell you. Do you 
 remember the scratch you discovered on the safe '^. You 
 were so struck by it, that you could not refrain from call- 
 ing out directly you saw it. You carefully examined it, 
 and were convinced that it was a fresh scratch, only a few 
 hours old. You thought, and rightly too, that this scratch 
 was made at the time of the theft. Now, with what was U 
 made t Evidently with a ke}'. That being the case, you 
 should have asked for the keys both of the banker and 
 the cashier. One of them would have probably had some 
 particles of the hard green paint sticking to it." 
 
 Fanferlot listened with open mouth to this explanatioa 
 6 
 
82 m,E NO. 113. 
 
 At the last words, he violently slapped his forehead with 
 his hand and cried out: " Idiot ! idiot ! " 
 
 "You have correctly named yourself," said M. Lecoq. 
 " Idiot ! This proof stares you right in the face, and you 
 don't see it ! This scratch is the only clue there is to fol- 
 low, and you must like a fool neglect it. If I find the 
 guilty party, it will be by means of this scratch ; and I am 
 determined that I will find him." 
 
 At a distance the Squirrel very bravely abuses and defies 
 M. Lecoq ; but, in his presence, he yields to the influence 
 which this extraordinary man exercises upon all who ap- 
 proach him. This exact information, these minute details 
 just given him, so upset his mind that he could not 
 imagine where and how M. Lecoq had obtained them. 
 Finally he humbly said : " You have then been occupying 
 yourself with this case, my chief ? " 
 
 " Probably I have ; but I am not infallible, and riiay 
 have overlooked some important evidence. Take a seat, 
 and tell me all you know." 
 
 M. Lecoq was not the man to be hood-winked, so Fan- 
 ferlot told the exact truth, a rare thing for him to do. 
 However, as he reached the end of his statement, a feel- 
 ing of mortified vanity prevented his telling how he had 
 been fooled by Nina and the stout man. Unfortunately 
 for poor Fanferlot, M. Lecoq was always fully informed 
 on every subject in which he interested himself. " It 
 seems to me. Master Squirrel," said he, "that you have 
 forgotten something. ; How far did you follow the empty 
 cab.?" 
 
 Fanferlot blushed, and hung his head like a guilty school- 
 boy. " Oh, my chief ! " he cried, " and you know all about 
 that too ! How could you have — " But a sudden idea 
 flashed across his mind, he stopped short, bounded off his 
 chair, and exclaimed : " Oh ! I know now : you were the 
 stout gentleman with the red whiskers." 
 
 His amazement gave so singular an expression to his 
 face that M. Lecoq could not restrain a smile. " Then it 
 was you ! " continued the bewildered detective ; " you were 
 the stout gentleman at whom I stared, so as to impress his 
 appearance upon my mind, and I never recognized you \ 
 You would make a superb actor, my chief, if you would go 
 on the stage ; but I was disguised too — very well dis* 
 guised." 
 
FILE AO. 113. 83 
 
 " Very poorly disguised : it is only just to you that I 
 should let you know what a failure it was, Fanferlot. Do 
 you think that a huge beard and a blouse are a sufficient 
 transformation ? The eye is the thing to be changed — 
 the eye ! The art lies in being able to change the eye. 
 That is the secret." This theory of disguise explained why 
 the lynx-eyed Lecoq never appeared at the Pre'fecture of 
 Police without his gold spectacles. 
 
 " Then, my chief," said Fanferlot, clinging to his idea, 
 " you have been more successful than Madame Alexandre ; 
 you have made the little girl confess ? You know why she 
 leaves the Grand Archangel, why she does not wait for 
 M. de Lagors, and why she has bought herself some cot- 
 ton dresses ? " 
 
 " She is following my advice." 
 
 " That being the case," said the detective dejectedly, 
 " there is nothing left for me to do, but to acknowledge 
 myself an ass." 
 
 " No, Squirrel," said M. Lecoq kindly, " you are not an 
 ass. You merely did wrong in undertaking a task be- 
 yond your capacity. Have you progressed one step since 
 you started in this affair ? No. That shows that, although 
 you are incomparable as a lieutenant, you do not possess 
 the qualities of a general. I am going to present you 
 with an aphorism • remember it, and let it be your guide 
 in the future : A man can shine in the second ra?ik, who 
 would be totally eclipsed in the first P 
 
 Never had Fanferlot seen his chief so talkative and sood- 
 natured. Finding his deceit discovered, he had expected 
 to be overwhelmed with a storm of anger ; whereas he had 
 e«caped with a little shower that had cooled his brain. 
 Lecoq's anger disappeared like one of those heavy clouds 
 which threaten in the horizon for a moment, and then are 
 suddenly swept away by a gust of wind. 
 
 But this unexpected affability made Fanferlot feel un- 
 easy. He was afraid that something might be concealed 
 beneath it. " Do you know who the thief is, my chief "i " 
 he inquired. 
 
 '• I know no more than you do, Fanferlot ; and you seem 
 to have made up your mind, whereas I am still undecided. 
 You declare the cashier to be innocent, and the banker 
 guilty. I don't know whether you are right or wrong. I 
 tollow after you, and have got no further than the prelim* 
 
Mi PILE NO. 113. 
 
 inaries of my investigation. I am certain of but one thing, 
 ^nd that is, the scratch on the safe-door. That scratch is 
 my starting-point." 
 
 As he spoke, M. Lecoq took from his desk an immense 
 sheet of paper which he unrolled. On this paper was pho- 
 tographed the door of M. Fauvel's safe. Every detail 
 was rendered perfectly. There were the five movable but- 
 tons with the engraved letters, and the narrow, project- 
 ing brass lock. The scratch was indicated with great 
 exactness. 
 
 " Now," said M. Lecoq, " here is our scratch. It runs 
 from top to bottom, starting diagonally, from the keyhole, 
 and proceeding from left to right ; that is to say it termi- 
 nates on the side next to the private staircase leading to 
 the banker's apartments. Although very deep at the key- 
 hole, it ends in a scarcely perceptible mark." 
 
 " Yes, my chief, I see all that." 
 
 " Naturally you thought that this scratch was made by 
 the person who took the money. Let us see if you were 
 right. I have here a little iron box, painted green like M. 
 Fauvel's safe ; here it is. Take a key, and try to scratch 
 it." 
 
 " The deuce take it ! " said Fanferlot after several at- 
 tempts, " this paint is awfully hard to move ! " 
 
 " Very hard, my friend, and yet that on the safe is harder 
 still, and more solid. So you see the scratch you dis- 
 covered could not have been made by the trembling hand 
 of a thief letting the key slip." 
 
 " Sapristi ! " exclaimed Fanferlot amazed ; " I never 
 should have thought of that. It certainly required great 
 force to make the deep scratch on the safe." 
 
 " Yes, but how was that force applied t I have been 
 racking my brain for three days, and it was only yesterday 
 that I came to a conclusion. Let us examine if my con- 
 jectures present enough chances of probability to establish 
 a starting-point." 
 
 M. Lecoq put the photograph aside, and, walking to the 
 door communicating with his bedroom, took the key from 
 the lock, and, holding it in his hands, said : " Come here, 
 Fanferlot, and stand by my side, there ; very well. Now 
 suppose that I want to open this door, and that you don't 
 wish me to open it ; when you see me about to insert the 
 key, what would be your first impulse 1 " 
 
FILE NO. 113. S3 
 
 " To put my hands on your arm, and draw it towards 
 me so as to prevent your introducing the key." 
 
 " Precisely so. Now let us try it ; go on." Fanferlot 
 obeyed ; and the key held by M. Lecoq, pulled aside from 
 the lock, slipped along the door, and traced upon it, from 
 above to below a diagonal scratch, the exact reproduction 
 of the one in the photograph. 
 
 " Oh, oh, oh ! " exclaimed Fanferlot in three different 
 tones of admiration, as he stood gazing in a reverie at the 
 door. 
 
 " Do you begin to understand ? " asked M. Lecoq. 
 
 "Understand, my chief? Why, a child could under- 
 stand it now. Ah, what a man you are ! I see the scene 
 as if I had been there. Two persons were present at the 
 robbery ; one wished to take the money, the other wished 
 to prevent its being taken. That is clear, that is certain." 
 
 Accustomed to triumphs of this sort, M. Lecoq was 
 much amused at Fanferlot's enthusiasm. " There you go 
 off, half-primed again," he said good-humoredly ; " you 
 regard as certain proof a circumstance which may be ac- 
 cidental, and at the most only probable." 
 
 " No, my chief ; no ! a man like you could not be mis- 
 taken ; doubt is no longer possible." 
 
 " That being the case, what deductions would you draw 
 from our discovery ? " 
 
 " In the first place, it proves that I am correct in think- 
 ing the cashier innocent." 
 
 " How so ? " 
 
 " Because, being at perfect liberty to open the safe when- 
 ever he wished to do so, it is not likely that he would hava 
 had a witness present when he intended to commit th^ 
 theft." 
 
 " Well reasoned, Fanferlot. But on this supposition the 
 banker would be equally innocent ; reflect a little." 
 
 Fanferlot reflected, and all his confidence vanished. 
 "You are right, ' he said in a despairing tone. "What 
 can be done now ? " 
 
 " Look for the third rogue, or rather the real rogue, the 
 one who opened the safe, and stole the notes, and who is 
 still at large, while others are suspected." 
 
 " Impossible, my chief, impossible ! Don't you know 
 that M. Fauvel and his cashier had keys, and they only ? 
 And they always kept these keys in their possession." 
 
S6 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 " On the evening of the robbery the banker left his ke) 
 in his escritoire." 
 
 " Yes ; but the key alone was not sufficient to open the 
 safe ; it was necessary that the word also should be 
 known." 
 
 M. Lecoq shrugged his shoulders impatientlyc "What 
 was the word ? " he asked. 
 
 " Gipsy." 
 
 "Which is the name of the cashier's mistress. Now 
 keep your eyes open. The day you find a man sufficiently 
 intimate with Prosper to be aware of all the circumstances 
 connected with this name, and who is at the same time on 
 such a footing with the Fauvel family as would give him 
 the privilege of entering M. Fauvel's chamber, then, and 
 not until then, will you discover the guilty party. On 
 that day the problem will be solved." 
 
 Self-sufficient and vain, like all famous men, M. Lecoq 
 had never had a pupil, and never wished to have one. He 
 worked alone, because he hated assistants, wishing to share 
 neither the pleasures of success nor the pain of defeat. 
 Thus Fanferlot, who knew his chief's character, was as- 
 tonished to hear him giving advice, who heretofore had 
 only given orders. He was so puzzled, that in spite of 
 his preoccupation he could not help betraying his surprise. 
 " My chief," he ventured to say, " you seem to take a 
 great interest in this affair, you have so deeply studied it." 
 
 M. Lecoq started nervously, and replied, frowning : 
 " You are too curious Master Squirrel ; be careful that 
 you do not go too far. Do you understand ? " 
 
 Fanferlot began to apologize. 
 
 "That will do," interrupted M. Lecoq. "If I choose 
 to lend you a helping hand, it is because it suits my fancy 
 to do so. It pleases me to be the head, and to let you be 
 the hand. Unassisted, with your preconceived ideas, you 
 never would have found the culprit ; if we two together 
 don't find him, my name is not Lecoq." 
 
 " We shall certainly succeed, as you interest yourself in 
 the case." 
 
 "Yes, I am interested in it, and during the last four 
 days I have discovered many important facts. But listen 
 to me. I have reasons for not appearing in this affair. 
 No matter what happens, I forbid you mentioning my 
 name. If we succeed, all the success must be attributed 
 
FILE NO. 113. 87 
 
 V-- you. And, above all, don't try to find out what I choose 
 to keep from you. Be satisfied with what explanations I 
 give you. Now, be careful." 
 
 These conditions seemed to suit Fanferlot perfectly 
 " I will obey your instructions and be discreet," he replied. 
 
 " I shall rely upon you," continued M. Lecoq. " Now. 
 to begin, you must carry this photograph to the investiga- 
 ting magistrate. I know M. Patrigent is much perplexed 
 about the case. Explain to him as if it were your own 
 discovery, what I have just shown you ; repeat for his ben- 
 efit the experiment we have performed, and I am convinced 
 that this evidence will determine him to release the cash- 
 ier. Prosper must be at liberty before I can commence 
 my operations." 
 
 " Of course, my chief ; but must I let him know that I 
 suspect any one besides the banker or cashier ? " 
 
 " Certainly. The authorities must not be kept in ignor- 
 ance of your intention of following up this affair. M. Patri- 
 gent will tell you to watch Prosper ; 3^ou will reply that you 
 •svill not lose sight of him. I myself will answer for his be- 
 ing in safe keeping." 
 
 " Suppose he asks me about Nina Gipsy ? " 
 
 M. Lecoq hesitated for a moment. " Tell him," he 
 finally said, " that you persuaded her, in the interest of 
 Prosper, to live in a house where she can watch some one 
 *\?hom you suspect." 
 
 Fanferlot rolled up the photograph and joyously seized 
 hold of his hat, intending to depart, when M. Lecoq checked 
 him by waving his hand, and said : " I have not finished 
 yet. Do you know how to drive a carriage and manage 
 horses ? " 
 
 " How can you ask such a question as this, my chief, of 
 a man who used to be a rider in the Bouthor Circus 1 " 
 
 " Very good. As soon as the magistrate dismisses you, 
 return home immediately, obtain for yourself a wig and the 
 complete dress of a valet ; and, when you are ready, take 
 this letter to the agency for servants at the corner of the 
 Passage Delorme." 
 
 " But, my chief—" 
 
 " There must be no but, my friend ; the agent will send 
 you to M. de Clameran, who is wanting a valet, his man 
 having left him yesterday." 
 
 " J/Xcuse me, if I venture to suggest that I think you ar^ 
 
88 FILE 2V0. 113. 
 
 laboring under a wrong impression. This De Clameran 
 is not the cashier's friend." 
 
 " Why do you always interrupt me ? " said M. Lecoq 
 imperiously. " Do what I tell you, ard don't disturb your 
 mind about the rest. I know that De Clameran is not a 
 friend of Prosper's ; but he is the friend and protector of 
 Raoul de Lagors. Why so ? Whence the intimacy of 
 ,these two men of such different ages .'* That is what 1 
 must find out. I must also find out who this ironmaster 
 is who spends all his time in Paris, and never goes to look 
 after his forges. An individual, who takes it into his head 
 to live at the Hotel du Louvre, in the midst of a constantly 
 changing crowd, is a fellow difficult to watch. Through 
 you I will keep an eye upon him. He has a carriage, 
 which you will have to drive ; and you will soon be able 
 to give me an account of his manner of life, and of the sort 
 of people with whom he associates." 
 
 " You shall be obeyed, my chief." 
 
 " Another thing. M. de Clameran is irritable and sus- 
 picious. You will be presented to him under the name of 
 Joseph Dubois. He will ask for certificates of your good 
 character. Here are three, which state that you have 
 lived with the Marquis de Sairmeuse and the Count de 
 Commarin, and that you have just left the Baron de Worts- 
 chen, who went to Germany the other day. Now keep 
 your eyes open ; be careful of your get-up and manners. 
 Be polite, but not excessively so. And, above all things, 
 don't be too honest: it might arouse suspicion." 
 
 " I understand, my chief. Where shall I report to 
 you ? " 
 
 " I will see you daily. Until I tell you differently, don't 
 put foot in this house ; you might be followed. If any 
 thing important should happen, send a telegram to your 
 wife, and she will inform me. Go, and be prudent." 
 
 The door closed on Fanferlot as M. Lecoq passed into 
 his bedroom. In the twinkling of an eye the latter divestec 
 himself of the apperance of chief detective. He took off 
 his stiff cravat and gold spectacles and removed the close 
 wig from his thick black hair. The official Lecoq had dis- 
 appeared, leaving in his place the genuine Lecoq whom 
 nobody knew — a good-looking young man, with a bold, 
 determined manner, and brilliant, piercing eyes. But he 
 pnlv repiained himself iox an instant. Seated bc^for^ 9 
 
FILE NO. 113. S^ 
 
 dressing-table covered with more cosmetics, paints, per- 
 fumes, false hair, and other shams, than are to be found 
 on the toilet-tables of our modern belles, he began to undo 
 the work of nature and to make himself a new face. He 
 worked slowly, handling his brushes with great care. But 
 in an hour he had accomplished one of his daily master- 
 pieces. When he had finished, he was no longer Lecoq : 
 he was the stout gentleman with red whiskers, whom Fan- 
 ferlot had failed to recognize. 
 
 "Well," he said, casting a last look in the mirror, "I 
 have forgotten nothing : I have left nothing to chance. 
 All my plans are fixed ; and I shall make some progress 
 to-day, provided the Squirrel does not waste time." 
 
 But Fanferlot was too happy to waste even a minute. 
 He did not run, he flew, towards the Palais de Justice. 
 At last he was able to convince some one that he, Fanfer- 
 lot, was a man of wonderful perspicacity. As to acknowl- 
 edging that he was about to obtain a triumph with the ideas 
 of another man, he never thought of such a thing. It is 
 generally in perfect good faith that the jackdaw struts 
 about in the peacock's feathers. 
 
 Fanferlot's hopes were not deceived. If the magistrate 
 was not absolutely convinced, he admired the ingenuity 
 and shrewdness of the whole proceeding. " This decides 
 me," he said, as he dismissed Fanferlot. " I will draw up 
 a favorable report to-day ; and it is highly probable that 
 the accused will be released to-morrow." He began at 
 once to write out one of those terrible decisions of " Not 
 proven," which restores liberty, but not honor, to the ac- 
 cused man ; which says that he is not guilty, but does not 
 say that he is innocent : 
 
 " Whereas sufficient proofs are wanting against the ac- 
 cused, Prosper Bertomy, in pursuance of Article 128 of 
 the Criminal Code, we hereby declare that no grounds at 
 present exist for prosecuting the aforesaid prisoner; and 
 we order that he be released from the prison where he is 
 confined, and set at liberty by the jailer," &c. 
 
 " Well," said he to the clerk, " here we have another of 
 those crimes which justice cannot clear up. The mystery 
 remains to be solved. There is another file to be stowed 
 away among the police records." And wdth his own hand 
 he wrote on the cover of the bundle of papers relating to 
 Prosper's case, its number of rotation : File No, 1 13. 
 
go FILE NO. 113. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Prosper had been languishing in his cell for nine days, 
 when one Thursday morning the jailer came to apprise 
 him of the magistrate's decision. He was conducted be- 
 fore the officer who had searched him when he was arrested ; 
 and his watch, penknife, and several small articles of jew- 
 ellery, were restored to him ; then he was told to sign a 
 large sheet of paper, which he did. 
 
 He was next led across a dark passage, and almost 
 pushed through a door, which was abruptly shut upon him- 
 He found himself on the quay : he was alone ; he wa^ 
 free. 
 
 Free ! Justice had confessed her inability to convict 
 him of the crime of which he was accused. Free ! He 
 could walk about, he could breathe the fresh air ; but every 
 door would be closed against him. Only acquittal after 
 due trial would restore him to his former position amon^ 
 men. A decision of " Not proven " had left him exposed 
 to continual suspicion. 
 
 The torments inflicted by public opinion are more fear- 
 ful than those endured in a prison cell. At the moment 
 of his "restoration to liberty, Prosper suffered so cruelly 
 from the horror of his situation, that he could not repress a 
 cry of rage and despair. " I am innocent ! God knows i 
 am innocent ! " he cried out. But of what use was his an- 
 ger .f* Two strangers, who were passing, stopped to look 
 at him, and said pityingly : " The poor fellow is crazy." 
 
 The Seine was at his feet. A thought of suicide crossed 
 his mind. " No," he said, " no ! I have not even the right 
 to kill myself. No : I will not die until I have proved my 
 innocence ! " 
 
 Often, day and night, had Prosper repeated these words, 
 as he walked his cell. With a heart filled with a bitter, 
 determined thirst for vengeance, which gives a man the 
 force and patience to destroy or wear out all obstacles in 
 his way, he would say : " Oh ! why am I not at liberty ? I 
 am helpless, caged up ; but let me once be free ! " Now 
 he was free ; and for the first time he saw the diff'iculties 
 of the task before him. For each crime, justice requires 
 a criminal • he co^M not establish his own innocence with' 
 
FILE NO. 113. 91 
 
 out p"«5ducing the guilty individual, how was he to find the 
 thief and hand him over to the law ? 
 
 Despondent, but not discouraged, Prosper turned in the 
 direction of his apartments. He was beset by a thousand 
 anxieties. What had taken place during the nine days 
 that he had been cut off from all intercourse with his 
 friends .'* No news of them had reached him. He had 
 heard no more of what was going on in the outside world, 
 than if his secret cell had been a tomb. He walked slowly 
 along the streets, with his eyes cast down, dreading to 
 meet some familiar face. He, who had always been so 
 haughty, would now be pointed at with the finger of scorn. 
 He would be greeted with cold looks and averted faces. 
 Men would refuse to shake hands with him. Still, if he 
 could count on only one true friend ! Yes, only one. But 
 what friend would believe him when his father, who should 
 have been the last to suspect him, had refused to believe 
 him ? 
 
 In the midst of his sufferings, when he felt almost over- 
 whelmed by the sense of his wretched, lonely condition, 
 Prosper thought of Nina Gipsy. He had never loved the 
 poor girl : indeed, at times he almost hated her ; but now 
 he felt a longing to see her, because he knew that she loved 
 him, and that nothing would make her think him guilty ; 
 because, too, woman remains true and firm in her belief, 
 and is always faithful in the hour of adversity, although 
 she sometimes fails in prosperity. 
 
 On reaching his house in the Rue Chaptal, Prosper hes- 
 itated at the moment he was about to cross the threshold. 
 He suffered from the timidity which an honest man always 
 feels when he knows he is regarded with suspicion. He 
 dreaded meeting any one whom he knew ; still he could 
 not remain in the street, so he entered. When the con- 
 cierge saw him, he uttered an exclamation of glad surprise, 
 and said : "Ah, here you are at last, sir. I told every one 
 you would come out as white as snow ; and, when I read 
 m the papers that you were arrested for robbery, I said, 
 " My third-floor lodger a thief ! Never would I believe 
 such a thing, never ! " 
 
 The congratulations of this ignorant man were sincere, 
 and came from pure kindness of heart ; but they impressed 
 Prosper painfully and he cut them short by abruptly ^^ 
 
92 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 claiming : " Madame of course has left ; can you tell me 
 where she has gone ? " 
 
 " Dear me, no, I cannot. The day of your arrest, she 
 sent for a cab and left with her trunks, and no one has 
 seen or heard of her since." 
 
 This was another blow to the unhappy cashier. " And 
 where are my servants .'' " 
 
 " Gone, sir. Your father paid them their wages, and 
 discharged them." 
 
 " I suppose, then, you have my key ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; when your father left here this morning at 
 eight o'clock, he told me that a friend of his would take 
 charge of your rooms until you returned. Of course 
 you know who he is — a stout gentleman with red 
 whiskers." 
 
 Prosper was astounded. What could be the meaning of 
 one of his father's friends occupying his rooms ? He did 
 not, however, betray his surprise, but quietly said : " YeSp 
 I know who it is." 
 
 He quickly ran up the stairs, and knocked at his door, 
 which was at once opened by his father's friend. He had 
 been accurately described by the concierge. A stout man, 
 with a red face, full lips, sharp eyes, and of rather coarse 
 manners, stood bowing to Prosper, who had never seen 
 him before. " Delighted to make your acquaintance, sir," 
 said he. 
 
 He seemed to be perfectly at home. On the table lay 
 a book, which he had taken from the bookcase ; and he 
 appeared ready to do the honors of the place. 
 ^ " I must say, sir," began Prosper. 
 
 " That you are surprised to find me here ? Sol suppose. 
 Your father intended introducing me to you ; but he was 
 compelled to return to Beaucaire this morning ; and let 
 me add that he departed thoroughly convinced, as I my- 
 self am, that you never took a sou from M. Fauvel." 
 
 At this unexpcGted good news, Prosper's face lit up with 
 pleasure. 
 
 " Here is a letter from your father, which I hope will 
 serve as an introduction between us." 
 
 Prosper opened the letter ; and as he read his eyes grew 
 brighter, and a slight color returned to his pale face. 
 When he had finished he held out his hand to the stout 
 gentleman, and said ; "My father tells me, sir, that you 
 
FILE NO. 113. 93 
 
 are his best friend ; he advises me to have absolute confi- 
 dence in you, and to follow your advice." 
 
 " Exactly. This morning your father said to me : * Ver- 
 duret ' — that is my name — ' Verduret, my son is in great 
 trouble, and must be helped out of it.' I replied : ' I am 
 both ready and willing,' and here I am to assist you. Now 
 the ice is broken, is it not ? Then let us go to work at 
 once. What do you intend doing ? " 
 
 This question revived Prosper's slumbering rage. His 
 eyes flashed. " What do I intend doing t " said he angrily ; 
 " What should I do but seek the villain who has ruined 
 me ? " 
 
 " So I supposed ; but have you any means of suc- 
 cess ? " 
 
 " None ; yet I shall succeed, because, when a man de- 
 votes his whole life to the accomplishment of an object, 
 he is certain to achieve it." 
 
 " Well said, M. Prosper ; and, to be frank, I fully ex- 
 pected that this would be your purpose. I have therefore 
 already begun to think and act for you. I have a plan. 
 In the first place, you will sell this furniture, and disap- 
 pear from the neighborhood." 
 
 " Disappear ! " cried Prosper indignantly ; " disappear ! 
 Why, sir ! do you not see that such a step would be a con- 
 fession of guilt, would authorize the world to say that I 
 am hiding so as to enjoy undisturbed the stolen 350,000 
 francs ? " 
 
 " Well, what then ? " said the man with the red whis- 
 kers ; " did you not say just now that the sacrifice of your 
 life is made ? The expert swimmer thrown into the river, 
 after being robbed, is careful not to rise to the surface im- 
 mediately : on the contrary, he plunges beneath, and re- 
 mains there as long as his iDreath holds out. He comes 
 up again at a great distance off, and lands out of sight ; 
 then, when he is supposed to be dead, he suddenly reap- 
 pears and has his revenge. You have a enemy ? Some 
 petty imprudence will betray him. But, while he sees you 
 standing by on the watch, he will be on his guard." 
 
 It was with a sort of amazed submission that Prosper 
 listened to this man, who, though a friend of his father, 
 was an utter stranger to himself. He submitted uncon- 
 sciously to the ascendency of a nature so much more ener- 
 getic and forcible than his own. In h:s helpless condition 
 
94 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 he was grateful for friendly assistance, and said : " I will 
 follow your advice, sir." 
 
 " I was sure you would, my dear fellow. Let us reflect 
 upon the course you ought to pursue. And remember 
 that you will need every franc of the proceeds of the sale. 
 Have you any ready money ? no, but you must have some. 
 Knowing that you would need this at once, I have 
 already spoken to an upholsterer; and he will give you 
 twelve thousand francs for everything, minus the pic- 
 tures." 
 
 The cashier could not refrain from shrugging his shoul- 
 ders, which M. Verduret observed. " Well," said he, " it 
 is rather hard, I admit, but it is a necessity. Now listen : 
 you are the invalid, and I am the doctor charged to cure 
 you ; if I cut to the quick, you will have to endure it. It 
 is the only way to save you." 
 
 " Cut away then," answered Prosper. 
 " Well, we will make haste, for time presses. You have 
 a friend, M. de Lagors ? " 
 
 " Raoul ? Yes, he is an intimate friend of mine." 
 " Now tell me, who is this fellow ? " 
 The term " fellow " seemed to offend Prosper. " M. de 
 Lagors," he said haughtily, " is M. Fauvel's nephew ; he 
 is a wealthy young man, handsome, intelligent, cultivated, 
 and the best friend I have." 
 
 " Hum ! " said M. Verduret, " I shall be delighted to 
 make the acquaintance of one adorned by so many charm- 
 ing qualities. I must let you know that I wrote him a note 
 in your name asking him to come here, and he sent word 
 that he would come." 
 
 " What ! do you suppose — " 
 
 " Oh, I suppose nothing ! Only I must see this young 
 man. Also I have arranged and will submit to you a lit- 
 tle plan of conversation — " A ring at the outer door in- 
 terrupted M. Verduret. " The deuce ! " exclaimed he ; 
 " adieu to my plan ; here he is ! Where can I hide so as 
 to both hear and see ? " 
 
 *' There, in my bedroom ; leave the door open and the 
 curtain down." 
 
 A second ring was heard. " Now remember, Prosper," 
 said M. Verduret in a warning tone, " not one word to this 
 man about your plans, or about me. Pretend to be dis- 
 couraged, helpless, and undecided what to do," And hQ 
 
FILE NO. IT3. 95 
 
 disappeared behind the curtain, as Prosper ran to open 
 the door. 
 
 Prosper's portrait of M. de Lagors was no exaggerated 
 one. Such an open and handsome countenance, and 
 manly figure, could belong only to a noble character. Al- 
 though Raoul said that he was twenty-four, he appeared to 
 be not more than twenty. He had a fine figure, well knit 
 and supple ; an abundance of light chestnut-colored hair, 
 curled over his intelligent-looking forehead, and his large 
 blue eyes, which beamed with candor. His first impulse 
 was to throw himself into Prosper's arms. " My poor, 
 •dear friend ! " he said, " my poor Prosper ! " 
 
 But beneath these affectionate demonstrations there was 
 a certain constraint, which, if it escaped the perception of 
 the cashier, was noticed by M. Verduret. " Your letter, 
 my dear Prosper," said Raoul, "made me almost ill, I was 
 so frightened by it. I asked myself if you could have lost 
 your mind. Then I put aside everything, to hasten to 
 your assistance ; and here I am." 
 
 Prosper did not seem to hear him ; his thoughts were 
 occupied with the letter which he had not written. What 
 were its contents .'' Who was this stranger whose assist- 
 ance he had accepted ? 
 
 " You must not feel discouraged," continued M. de 
 Lagors ; " you are young enough to commence life anew. 
 Your friends are still left to you. I have come to say to 
 you : * Rely upon me ; I am rich, half of my fortune is at 
 your disposal.' " 
 
 This generous offer, made at a moment like this with 
 such frank simplicity, deeply touched Prosper. " Thanks, 
 Raoul," he said with emotion, " thank you ! But unfortu- 
 nately all the money in the world would be of no use now." 
 
 " Why so ? What, then, are you going to do ? Do you 
 propose to remain in Paris •? " 
 
 " I know not, Raoul. I have formed no plans yet. My 
 mind is too confused for me to think." 
 
 "I will tell you what to do," resumed Raoul quickly; 
 " you must start afresh ; until this mysterious robbery 13 
 explained you must keep aw^ay from Paris. Excuse my 
 frankness, but it will never do for you to remain here." 
 
 "And suppose it never should be explained ? " 
 
 " Only the more reason for your remaining in oblivion. 
 I have been talking about you to De Clameran. ' If J 
 
^ FILE NO, 113. 
 
 were in Prosper 's place,' he said, * I would turn everything 
 into money, and embark for America ; there I would make 
 a fortune, and return to crush with my millions those who 
 have suspected me.' " 
 
 This advice offended Prosper's pride, but he interposed 
 no kind of objection. He was recalling to mind what his 
 unknown visitor had said to him. " I will think it over," 
 he finally observed. " I will see. I should like to know 
 what M. Fauvel says." 
 
 " My uncle ? I suppose you know that I have declined 
 the offer he made me to enter his banking-house, and we 
 have almost quarrelled. I have not set foot in his house 
 for over a month ; but I hear of him occasionally." 
 
 " Through whom ? " 
 
 " Through your friend Cavaillon. My uncle, they say, 
 is more distressed by this affair than you are. He does 
 not attend to his business, and seems as though he had 
 just recovered from some serious illness." 
 
 "' And Madame Fauvel, and — " Prosper hesitated — " and 
 Mademoiselle Madeleine, how are they .'' " 
 
 " Oh," said Raoul lightly, " my aunt is as pious as ever ; 
 she has mass said for the benefit of the sinner. As to 
 my handsome, icy cousin, she cannot bring herself down 
 to common matters, because she is entirely absorbed in 
 preparing for the fancy ball to be given the day after to- 
 morrow by MM. Jandidier. She has discovered, so one of 
 her friends told me, a wonderful dressmaker, a stranger w^ho 
 has suddenly appeared from no one knows where, and who 
 is making for her a costume of one of Catherine de Medicis* 
 maids of honor. I hear it is to be a marvel of beauty." 
 
 Excessive suffering brings with it a kind of dull insensi- 
 bility and stupor ; but this last remark of M. de Lagors' 
 touched Prosper to the quick, and he murmured faintly : 
 *' Madeleine ! O Madeleine ! " 
 
 M. de Lagors, pretending not to have heard him, rose 
 from his chair, and said : " I must leave you now, my dear 
 Prosper ; on Saturday I shall see these ladies at the ball, 
 and bring you news of them. Now, take courage, and re- 
 member that, whatever happens, you have a friend in 
 me." 
 
 Raoul shook Prosper by the hand and departed, leaving 
 the latter standing immovable and overcome by disappoint- 
 m'"-nt. He v\'as aroused from his gloomy reverie by heaff- 
 
FILE NO, 113. 97 
 
 ing the red-whiskered man say in a bantering tone, " So 
 this is one of your friends ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Prosper with bitterness. " Yet you heard 
 him offer me half of his fortune ? " 
 
 M. Verdure t shrugged his shoulders with an air of com- 
 passion. " That was very stingy on his part," said he ; 
 " why did he not offer the whole ? Offers cost nothing ; 
 although I have no doubt that this sweet youth would 
 cheerfully give ten thousand francs to put the ocean be- 
 tween you and him." 
 
 " What reason, sir, would he have for doing this ? " 
 
 " Who knows ? Perhaps for the same reason that he 
 told you he had not set foot in his uncle's house for a 
 month." 
 
 ** But that is the truth, I am sure of it." 
 
 ** Naturally," said M. Verduret with a provoking smile. 
 " But," continued he with a serious air, " we have devoted 
 enough time to this Adonis, whose measure I have taken. 
 Now, be good enough to change your dress, and we will 
 go and call on M. Fauvel." 
 
 This proposal aroused Prosper's anger. " Never ! " he 
 exclaimed excitedly ; " no, never will I voluntarily set 
 eyes on that wretch ! " 
 
 This resistance did not surprise M. Verduret. " I cas 
 understand your feelings towards him," said he ; " but at 
 the same time I hope you will change your mind. For 
 the same reason that I wished to see M. de Lagors, I de- 
 sire to see M. Fauvel ; it is necessary, you understand. 
 Are you so very weak that you cannot constrain yourself 
 for five minutes ? I shall introduce myself as one of your 
 relatives, and you need not open your lips." 
 
 " If it is positively necessary," said Prosper, " if — " 
 
 " It is necessary ; so come on. You mus-t have confi- 
 dence, and put on a brave face. Hurry and make your- 
 self trim ; it is getting late, and I am hungry. We will 
 lunch on our way there." 
 
 Prosper had hardly passed into his bedroom when the 
 bell pang again. M. Verduret opened the door. It was 
 the concierge, who handed him a bulky letter, and said : 
 " This letter was left this morning for M. Bertomy ; I was 
 so flustered when he came that I forgot to hand it to him. 
 It is a very odd-looking letter ; is it not, sir ? " 
 
 It was indeed a most peculiar missive. The address 
 7 
 
98 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 was not written, but formed of printed letters, carefully 
 cut from a book, and pasted on the envelope. 
 
 " Oh, ho ! what is this ! " cried M. Verduret ; then turn* 
 ing towards the man he said: "Wait a moment." He 
 went into the next room, and closed the door behind him. 
 There he found Prosper, anxious to know what was going 
 on. " Here is a letter for you," observed M. Verduret. 
 
 Prosper at once tore open the envelope. Some bank 
 notes dropped .out; he counted them; there were ten. 
 The cashier turned very red. " What does this mean 1 " 
 he asked. 
 
 "We will read the letter and find out," replied Verdu- 
 ret. 
 
 The letter, like the address, was composed of printed 
 words cut out and pasted on a sheet of paper. It was 
 short but explicit : — 
 
 *' My dear Prosper, — A friend, who knows the horror of 
 your situation, sends you this succor. There is one heart, 
 be assured, that shares your sufferings. Go away — leave 
 France. You are young ; the future is before you. Go, 
 and may this money bring you happiness ! " 
 
 As M. Verduret read the note, Prosper's rage increased. 
 He was angry and perplexed, for he could not explain the 
 rapidly succeeding events which were so calculated to 
 mystify his already confused brain. "Everybody wishes 
 me to go away," he cried ; "there is evidently a conspir- 
 acy against me." 
 
 M. Verduret smiled with satisfaction. " At last you be- 
 gin to open your eyes, you begm to understand. Yes, 
 there are people who hate you because of the wrong they 
 have done you ; there are people to whom your presence 
 in Paris is a constant danger, and who will not feel safe 
 till they are rid of you." 
 
 " But who are these people ? Tell me, who dares sencj 
 this money?" 
 
 " If I knew, my dear Prosper, my task would be at an 
 end, for then I should know who committed the robbery. 
 But we will continue our researches. I have finally pro- 
 cured evidence which will sooner or later become convinc- 
 ing proof. I have heretofore only made deductions more 
 or less probable ; I now possess knowledge which proves 
 that I was not mistaken. I walked in darkness : now J 
 have a light to guide me." 
 
FILE NO. 113. 9() 
 
 As Prosper listened to M. Verduret's reassuring words, 
 he felt hope rising in his breast. 
 
 ' "Now," said M. Verduret, "we must take advantage of 
 this evidence, gained by the nnprudence of our enemies, 
 without delay. We will begin with the concierge." 
 
 He opened th^ door, and called out ; " I say, my good 
 man, step here a moment." 
 
 The concierge entered, looking very much surprised at 
 the authority exercised over his lodger by this stranger. 
 " Who gave you this letter ? " asked M. Verduret. 
 " A messenger, who said he was paid for bringing it." 
 " Do you know him ? " 
 
 " I know him well ; he is the commissionaire whose 
 post is at the corner of the Rue Pigalle." 
 "Gd and bring him here." 
 
 After the concierge had gone, M. Verduret drew his 
 diary from his pocket and compared a page of it with the 
 notes which he had spread over the table. " These notes 
 were not sent by the thief," he said, after an attentive ex- 
 amination of them. 
 " Do you think so ? " 
 
 "lam confident of it; that is, unless he is endowed 
 with extraordinary penetration and forethought. One 
 thing is certain : these ten thousand francs are not part of 
 the three hundred and fifty thousand which were stolen 
 from the safe." 
 
 " Yet," said Prosper, w^ho could not account for this 
 certainty on the part of his protector, " yet — " 
 
 " There is no yet about it : I have the numbers of all 
 the stolen notes." 
 
 " What ! When even I did not know them myself ? " 
 " But the Bank did, fortunately. When we undertake 
 an affair we must anticipate everything, and forget nothing. 
 It is a poor excuse for a man to say, ' I did not think of 
 it,' when he commits some oversight. I thought of the 
 Bank." 
 
 If in the beginning Prosper had felt some repugnance 
 about confiding in his father's friend, the feeling had now 
 disappeared. He understood that alone, scarcely master 
 of himself, governed only by the inspirations of inexperi- 
 ence he would never have had the patient perspicacity of 
 this singular man. 
 ^ Verduret continued, talking to himself, as if he had 
 
100 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 absolutely forgotten Prosper's presence ; " Then, as this 
 missive did not come from the thief, it can only come from 
 the other person, who was near the safe at the time of the 
 robbery, but could not prevent it, and now feels remorse 
 The probability of two persons assisting at the robbery, ^ 
 probability suggested by the scratch, is now converted into 
 a certainty. -E^'go, I was right." 
 
 Prosper listening attentively tried hard to comprehend 
 this monologue, which he dared not interrupt. 
 
 " Let us seek," the stout man went on to say, " this sec- 
 ond person, whose conscience pricks him, and yet who 
 dares not reveal anything." Here he read the letter over 
 several times, scanning the sentences, and weighing every 
 word. " Evidently this letter was composed by a woman," 
 he finally said. " Never would a man doing another man 
 a service, and sending him money, use the word ' succor.' 
 A man would have said, loan, money, or some other equiv- 
 alent, but succor, never. No one but a woman, ignorant 
 of masculine susceptibilities, would have naturally made 
 use of this word to express the idea it represents. As to 
 the sentence, ' There is one heart ' and so on, it could 
 only have been written by a woman." 
 
 " You are mistaken, sir, I think," said Prosper ; " no 
 woman is mixed up in this affair." 
 
 M. Verduret paid no attention to this interruption ; per- 
 haps he did not hear it, perhaps he did not care to argue 
 the matter. " Now, let us see if we can discover whence 
 the printed words were taken to compose this letter." 
 
 Pie went to the window, and began to study the pasted 
 words with all the scrupulous attention which an anti- 
 quary would devote to an old, half-effaced manuscript. 
 " Small type," he said, "very slender and clear; the paper 
 is thin and glossy. Consequently, these words have not 
 been cut from a newspaper, magazine, or even a novel. Yet 
 I have seen type like this — I recognize it, I am sure Didot 
 often uses it, so does Mame of Tours." 
 
 He suddenly stopped, his mouth open, and his eyes 
 fixed, appealing as though anxiously to his memory. Sud- 
 denly he struck his forehead exultingly. "Now I have 
 it ! " he cried ; " now I have it ! Why did I not see it at 
 once ? These words have all been cut from a prayer-book. 
 We will look, at least, and then we shall be certain." 
 
 He moistened one of the words pasted on the paper 
 
FILE NO. 113. 101 
 
 with his tongue, and when it was sufficiently softened, he 
 detached it with a pin. On the other side of this word 
 was the Latin word, Dens. 
 
 "Ah, ah ! " he exclaimed with a l:>t>lfi'lau5^h,of satisfac 
 tion, " I knew it. Old Tabaret* would be, pleased ,to see 
 this. But what has become of the ir.ulilatf^d pray^jrbock ' 
 Can it have been burned ? No, because ' a heavy-bound 
 book is not easily burned. It has been thrown aside in 
 some corner." 
 
 He was here interrupted by the concierge, who returned 
 with the commissionaire from the Rue Pigalle. 
 
 " Ah, here you are," said M. Verduret, encouragingly 
 Then he showed him the envelope of the letter, and asked 
 *' Do you remember bringing this letter here this morning ? ' 
 
 " Perfectly, sir, I took particular notice of the direc 
 tion ; we don't often see anything like it." 
 
 " Who told you to bring it ? — a gentleman, or a lady ? " 
 
 "Neither, sir; it was a commissionaire." 
 
 This reply made the concierge laugh very much, bu. 
 not a muscle of M. Verduret's face moved. 
 
 " A commissionaire ? Well, do you know this colleague 
 of yours ? " 
 
 " I never saw him before." 
 
 "What was he like?" 
 
 " He was neither tall nor short ; he wore a green velvd 
 jacket, and his badge." 
 
 " Your description is so vague that it would suit every 
 commissionaire in the city ; but did your colleague tell 
 you who sent the letter ? " 
 
 " No, sir. He simply put ten sous in my hand, and 
 said : ' Here, carry this to No. 39 Rue Chaptal ; a cab- 
 man on the boulevard handed it to me.' Ten sous! I 
 warrant you he made more than that by it." 
 
 This answer seemed to disconcert M. Verduret. The 
 taking of so many precautions to send this letter disturbed 
 him and upset all his plans. 
 
 " Do you think you would recognize the commission- 
 aire again ? " he asked. 
 
 "Yes, sir, if I saw him." 
 
 " How much do you gain a day as a commissionaire ? " 
 
 " I can't exactly tell ; but mine is a good corner, and I 
 am busy going errands nearly all day, I suppose I 
 make froni eight to ten francs." 
 
102 FILE NO, 113. 
 
 " Very well : I will give you ten francs a day if yon 
 will walk about the streets, and look for the commission 
 aire- who gave you this' letter. Every evening, at eight 
 o'clock,' come- to' Ihe^Grand Archangel, on the Quai 
 Saint Michel, to give me *a report of your search and re- 
 'cei'vb'yojif pay. ' "As"k 'for M. Verduret. If you find the 
 man I will give you fifty francs. Do you agree ? " 
 
 " I should rather think I do." 
 
 " Then don't lose a minute. Start off ! " 
 
 Although ignorant of M. Verduret's plans. Prosper be- 
 gan to comprehend the sense of his investigations. His 
 fate depended upon their success, and yet he almost for- 
 got this fact in his admiration of this singular man ; for 
 his energy, his bantering coolness when he wished to dis- 
 cover anything, the certainty of his deductions, the fer- 
 tility of his expedients, and the rapidity of his movements, 
 were astonishing. 
 
 " Do you still think, sir," said Prosper when the man had 
 left the room, " you see a woman's hand in this affair ? " 
 
 " More than ever ; and a pious woman too, who has at 
 least two prayer-books, since she could cut up one to write 
 to you." 
 
 " And you hope to find the mutilated book ? " 
 
 " I <io, thanks to the opportunity I have of making an 
 immediate search ; which I will set about at once." 
 
 Saying this, he sat down, and rapidly scratched off a 
 few lines on a slip of paper, which he folded up, and put 
 in his waistcoat pocket. " Are you ready to go to M. 
 Fauvel's ? " he then asked. " Yes ? Come on, then ; we 
 have certainly earned our lunch to-day." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 When Raoul de Lagors spoke of M. Fauvel's extraor- 
 dinary dejection, he had been guilty of no exaggeration. 
 Since the fatal day when, upon his denunciation, his cash- 
 ier had been arrested, the banker, this active, energetic 
 man of business, had been a prey to the most gloomy mel- 
 ancholy, and ceased to take any interest in the affairs of 
 his banking-house. 
 
 He, who had always been so devoted to his family, 
 never came near them except at meals, when as soon as 
 
FILE NO. 113. 103 
 
 he had swallowed a few mouthfuls, he would hastily leave 
 the room. Shut up in his study, he would deny himself to 
 visitors. His anxious countenance, his indifference to 
 everybody and everything, his constant reveries and fits 
 of abstraction, betrayed the presence of some fixed idea 
 or of some hidden sorrow. 
 
 The day of Prosper's release, about three o'clock, M. 
 Fauvel was, as usual, seated in his study, with his elbows 
 resting on the table, and his face buried in his hands, 
 when his valet abruptly entered, and with a frightened 
 look said : 
 
 *• M. Bertomy, the former cashier, is here sir, with one 
 of his relatives ; he says he must see you." 
 
 At these words the banker jumped up as if he had been 
 shot at. " Prosper ! " he cried in a voice choked by an- 
 ger, " what ! does he dare — " Then remembering that he 
 ought to control himself before his servant, he waited a 
 few moments, and said, in a tone of forced calmness : 
 "Ask the gentlemen to walk in." 
 
 If M. Verduret had counted upon witnessing a strange 
 and affecting scene, he was not disappointed. Nothing 
 could be more terrible than the attitude of these two men 
 as they stood confronting each other. The banker's face 
 was almost purple with suppressed anger, and he looked 
 as if he were about to be seized with a fit of apoplexy. 
 Prosper was pale and motionless as a corpse. Silent and 
 immovable, they stood glaring at each other with mortal 
 hatred. 
 
 M. Verduret watched these two enemies with the indiffer- 
 ence and coolness of a philosopher, who, in the most violent 
 outbursts of human passion, merely see subjects for medita- 
 tion and study. Finally, the silence becoming more and 
 more threatening, he decided to break it by speaking to the 
 banker : 
 
 " I suppose you know, sir," said he, " that my young 
 relative has just been released from prison." 
 
 " Yes," replied M. Fauvel making an effort to control 
 himself, " yes, for want of sufficient proof." 
 
 " Exactly so, sir ; and this want of proof, as stated in 
 the decision of ' Not proven,' ruins the prospects of my 
 relative, and compels him to leave here at once for 
 America." 
 
 On hearing this statement, M. Fauvel's features re 
 
104 PILE NO. 113. 
 
 laxed as if he had been relieved of some fearful agony. 
 " Ah, he is going away," he kept repeating, " he is going 
 abroad." There was no mistaking the insulting intonation 
 of the words, " going away ! " 
 
 M. Verduret took no notice of M. Fauvel's manner. 
 " It appears to me," he continued in an easy tone, 
 " that Prosper's determination is a wise one. I merely 
 wished him, before leaving Paris, to come and pay his re 
 spects to his former chief." 
 
 The banker smiled bitterly. " M. Bertomy might hav^ 
 spared us both this painful meeting. I have nothing to 
 say to him, and of course he can have nothing to tell 
 me." 
 
 This was a formal dismissal ; and M. Verduret, under- 
 standing it thus, bowed to M. Fauvel and left the room, 
 accompanied by Prosper, who had not opened his lips. 
 
 They had reached the street before Prosper recovered 
 the use of his tongue. " I hope you are satisfied, sir," said 
 he in a gloomy tone. " You exacted this painful step, and 
 I could but acquiesce. Have I gained anything by add- 
 ing this humiliation to the others which I have had to 
 suffer ? " 
 
 " You have not, but I have," replied M. Verduret. " I 
 could find no way of gaining access to M. Fauvel, save 
 through you ; and now I have found out what I wanted 
 to know. I am convinced that M. Fauvel had nothing to 
 do with the robbery." 
 
 **But you know, sir, innocence can be feigned," objected 
 Prosper. 
 
 " Certainly, but not to this extent. And this is not all. 
 I wished to find out if M. Fauvel would be accessible to 
 certain suspicions. I can now confidently reply, * yes.' " 
 
 Prosper and his companion had stopped to talk more 
 at their ease, near the corner of Rue Lafitte, in the middle 
 of a large space which had lately been cleared by pulling 
 down an old house. M. Verduret seemed to be anxious, 
 and was constantly looking around as if he expected some 
 one. He soon uttered an exclamation of satisfaction. At 
 the other end of the vacant space he saw Cavaillon, who 
 was bareheaded and running. 
 
 The latter was so excited that he did not even stop to 
 shake hands with Prosper, but darted up to M. Verduret, 
 and said : " They have gone, sir ! ''' 
 
FILE NO. 113. 105 
 
 " How long since ? " 
 
 " They went about a quarter of an hour ago." 
 
 " The deuce they did ! Then we have not an instant to 
 lose." 
 
 He handed Cavaillon the note he had written some 
 hours before at Prosper's house. 
 
 " Here, pass this on, and then return at once to your 
 desk ; you might be missed. It was very imprudent of 
 you to come out without your hat." 
 
 Cavaillon ran off as quickly as he had come. Prosper 
 was astounded. " What ! " he exclaimed. " You know 
 Cavaillon ? " 
 
 " So it seems," answered M. Verduret with a smile. 
 " But we have no time to talk ; come on, we must hurry I " 
 
 " Where are we going now ? " 
 
 " You will soon know ; let us walk fast ! " And he set 
 the example by striding rapidly towards the Rue Lafay- 
 ette. As they went along he continued talking more to 
 himself than to Prosper. 
 
 " Ah," said he, " it is not by putting both feet in one 
 shoe that one wins a race. The trace once found, we 
 should never rest an instant When the savage discovers 
 the footprints of an enemy, he follows it persistently, know- 
 ing that falling rain or a gust of wind may efface the foot- 
 prints at any moment. It is the same with us ; the most 
 trifling incident may destroy the traces we are following up." 
 
 M. Verduret suddenly stopped before a door bearing 
 the number 81. "We are going in here," he said to Pros- 
 per; " come along." 
 
 They went up stairs, and stopped on the second floor 
 before a door over which was inscribed, " Modes and Con- 
 fections." A handsome bell rope was hanging against the 
 wall, but M. Verduret did not touch it. He tapped with 
 the ends of his fingers in a peculiar way, and the door 
 instantly opened, as if some one had been watching for his 
 signal on the other side. 
 
 A neatly dressed woman of about forty received Verdu- 
 ret and Prosper, and quietly ushered them into a small 
 dining-room with several doors opening into it. This 
 woman bowed respectfully to M. Verduret, as if he were 
 some superior being. He scarcely noticed her salutation, 
 but questioned her with a look, which asked : " Well ? " 
 
 She nodded affirmatively : " Yes." 
 
io6 FILE NO. 113, 
 
 " In there ? ** asked M. Verduret in a low tone, point 
 
 ing to one of the doors. 
 
 " No," replied the woman in the same tone ; " there, in 
 the Httle parlor." 
 
 M. Verduret opened the door of the room indicated, 
 and pushed Prosper forward, whispering as he did so, 
 " Go in, and keep your presence of mind." 
 
 But this injunction was useless. The instant he cast 
 his eyes round the room into which he had so unceremo- 
 niously been pushed without any warning, Prosper ex- 
 claimed in a startled voice : " Madeleine ! " 
 
 It was indeed Mo Fauvel's niece, looking more beauti- 
 ful than ever. Hers was that calm, dignified beauty which 
 imposes admiration and respect. Standing in the middle 
 of the room, near a table covered with silks and satins, 
 she was arranging a skirt of red velvet embroidered in 
 gold ; probably the dress she was to wear as maid of honor 
 to Catherine de Medicis. At sight of Prosper, all the 
 blood rushed to her face, and her beautiful eyes half 
 closed, as if she were about to faint ; she clung to the ta- 
 ble to prevent herself from falling. 
 
 Prosper well knew that Madeleine was not one of those 
 cold-hearted women whom nothing could disturb, and who 
 feel sensations, but never a true sentiment. Of a tender, 
 dreamy nature, she betrayed in the minute details of her 
 life the most exquisite delicacy. But she was also proud, 
 and incapable in any way of violating her conscience. 
 When duty spoke, she obeyed. 
 
 She recovered from her momentary weakness, and the 
 soft expression of her eyes changed to one of haughty 
 resentment. In an offended tones he said • " What has 
 emboldened you, sir, to be watching my movements ? " 
 Who gave you permission to follow me — to enter this 
 house ? " , 
 
 Prosper was certainly innocent. He longed with a word 
 to explain what had just happened, but he was powerless 
 to do so, and could only remain silent. 
 
 " You promised me upon your honor, sir," continued 
 Madeleine, " that you would never again seek my pres* 
 ence. Is this the way you keep your word ? " 
 
 " I did promise, mademoiselle, but—" He stopped. 
 
 " Oh, speak ! " 
 
 "So many things have happened since that terrible day 
 
"•i \vi:sli to Icil voii that 1 have foru-ottcii not hiiiu'.'"' 
 
FILE NO. 113. 107 
 
 that I think I am excusable in forgetting for one hour an 
 oath torn from me in a moment of blind weakness. It is 
 to chance, at least to another will than my own, that I am 
 indebted for the happiness of once more finding myself 
 near you. Alas ! the instant I saw you my heart bounded 
 with joy. I did not think — no, I could not think — that 
 you would prove more pitiless than strangers have been, 
 that you would cast me off when I am so miserable and 
 heartbroken." 
 
 Had not Prosper been so agitated he could have read 
 in Madeleine's eyes — those beautiful eyes which had so 
 long been the arbiters of his destiny — the signs of a great 
 inward struggle. 
 
 It was, however, in a firm voice that she replied : " You 
 know me well enough, Prosper, to be sure that no blow 
 can strike you without reaching me at the same time. You 
 suffer, I suffer with you : I pity you as a sister would pity 
 a beloved brother." 
 
 " A sister ! " said Prosper bitterly. " Yes, that was the 
 word you used the day you banished me from your pres- 
 ence. A sister ! Then why during three years did you 
 delude me with vain hopes ? Was I a brother to you the 
 day we went to Notre Dame de Fourvieres — that day when, 
 at the foot of the altar, we swore to love each other for- 
 ever and ever, and you fastened around my neck a holy 
 relic and said, ' Wear this always for my sake ; never part 
 from it, and it will bring you good fortune ? ' " 
 
 Madeleine attempted to interrupt him by a supplicating 
 gesture ; but he did not heed it, and continued with in- 
 creased bitterness — " One month after that happy day — a 
 year ago — you gave me back my promise, told me to con- 
 sider myself free from any engagement, and never to come 
 near you again. If I could have discovered in what way 
 I had offended you — but no, you refused to explain. You 
 drove me away, and to obey you I let every one suppose 
 that I had left you of my own accord. You told me that 
 an invincible obstacle had arisen between us, and I be- 
 lieved you, fool that I was 1 The obstacle was your own 
 heart, Madeleine. I have always worn the relic ; but it 
 has not brought me happiness or good fortune." 
 
 Pale and motionless as a statue, Madeleine listened with 
 bowed head and weeping eyes to these passionate re- 
 Droaches. 
 
io8 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 *' I told you to forget me," she murmured. 
 
 " Forget ! " exclaimed Prosper excitedly, " forget ! Can 
 I forget ? Is it in my power to stop, by an effort of will, 
 the circulation of my blood ? Ah ! you have never loved ! 
 To forget, as to stop the beatings of the heart, there is but 
 one means — death ! " 
 
 This word, uttered with the fixed determination of a 
 desperate, reckless man, caused Madeleine to shud- 
 der. 
 
 " Miserable man ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes, miserable man, and a thousand times more 
 miserable than you can imagine ! You can never under- 
 stand the tortures I have suffered, when for a year past I 
 have awoke every morning, and said to myself, ' It is all 
 over, she has ceased to love me ! ' This great sorrow 
 stares me in the face day and night in spite of all my 
 efforts to dispel it. And you speak of forgetting ! I 
 sought it in poisoned cups, but found it not. I tried to 
 extinguish this memory of the past, which burns within 
 me like a devouring flame, but in vain. When my body 
 succumbed, my pitiless thoughts still survived. Do you 
 wonder then, that I should seek that rest which can only 
 be obtained by suicide ? " 
 
 " I forbid you to utter that word." 
 
 " You forget, Madeleine, that you have no right to for- 
 bid me now you love me no more." 
 
 With an imperious gesture, Madeleine interrupted him 
 as if she wished to speak, and perhaps to explain all, to 
 exculpate herself. But a sudden thought arrested her; 
 she clasped her hands despairingly, and cried : " My God 1 
 this suffering is beyond endurance ! " 
 
 Prosper seemed to misconstrue her words. "Your pity 
 comes too late," he said. " There is no happiness in store 
 for one like myself, who has had a glimpse of divine felic- 
 ity, has had the cup of bliss held to his lips, and then 
 dashed to the ground. There is nothing left to attach me 
 to life. You have destroyed my holiest belief. I come 
 forth from prison disgraced by my enemies ; what is to 
 become of me ? Vainly do I question the future ; for me 
 there is no hope of happiness. I look around me to see 
 nothing but abandonment, ignominy, and despair ! " 
 
 " Prosper, my brother, my friend, if you only knew — " 
 
 ** I know but one thing, Madeleine, which is, ^at yoi« 
 
FILE NO. 113. 105 
 
 no longer love me, and that I love you more madly than 
 ever. O Madeleine, God only knows how I love you ! " 
 
 He was silent. He hoped for an answer. None came. 
 But suddenly the silence was broken by a stifled sob. It 
 was Madeleine's maid, who, seated in a corner, was weep- 
 ing bitterly. Madeleine had forgotten her presence. 
 
 Prosper on entering the room was so amazed on finding 
 himself in the presence of Madeleine, that he noticed 
 nothing else. With a feeling of surprise, he turned and 
 looked at the weeping woman. He was not mistaken ; 
 this neatly dressed waiting-maid was Nina Gipsy. 
 
 Prosper was so startled that he became perfectly dumb. 
 He stood there with ashy lips, and a chilly sensation 
 creeping through his veins. He was terrified at the posi- 
 tion in which he found himself. He was there, between 
 the two women who had ruled his fate ; between Made- 
 leine, the proud heiress who spurned his love, and Nina 
 Gipsy, the poor girl whose devotion to him he had sc 
 disdainfully rejected. And she had heard all ! Pooi 
 Nina had heard the passionate avowal of her lover, had 
 heard him swear that he could never love any woman bui 
 Madeleine, that if his love were not reciprocated he would 
 kill himself, as he had nothing else to live for. 
 
 Prosper could judge of her sufferings by his own. For 
 she was wounded not only in the present, but in the past 
 What must be her humiliation and anger on hearing the 
 miserable part which he, in his disappointed love, had 
 imposed upon her? He was astonished that Nina — vio- 
 lence itself — remained silently weeping, instead of rising 
 and bitterly denouncing him. , 
 
 Meanwhile Madeleine had succeeded in recovering her 
 usual calmness. Slowly and almost unconsciously she 
 had put on her bonnet and mantle, which were lying on 
 the sofa. Then she approached Prosper, and said : " Why 
 did you come here .'' We both have need of all the courage 
 we can command. You are unhappy. Prosper : I am more 
 than unhappy, I am most wretched. You have a right to 
 complain : I have not the right to shed a tear. While my 
 heart is slowly breaking, I must wear a smiling face. 
 You can seek consolation in the bosom of a friend : I can 
 have no confidante but God." 
 
 Prosper tried to murmur a reply, but his pale lips 
 refused to articulate ; he was stifling. " I wish to telj 
 
no FILE NO. 113. 
 
 you," continued Madeleine, " that I have forgotten nothing. 
 But oh ! let not this knowledge give you any hope : the 
 future is blank for us ; but if you love me you will live. 
 You will not, I know, add to my already heavy burden of 
 sorrow the agony of mourning your death. For mv sake, 
 live ; live the life of a good man, and perhaps the day will 
 come when 1 can justify myself in your eyes. And now, O 
 my brother, O my only friend, adieu ! adieu ! " She pressed 
 a kiss upon his brow, and rushed from the room, followed 
 by Nina Gipsy ! 
 
 Prosper was alone. He seemed to be awaking from a 
 troubled dream. He tried to think over what had just 
 happened, and asked himself if he were losing his mind, 
 01 *vhether he had really spoken to Madeleine and seen 
 Nz-na } He was obliged to attribute all this to the myste- 
 riDus power of the strange man whom he had seen for the 
 frst time that very morning. How did this individual 
 gain this wonderful power of controlling events to suit nis 
 own purposes .-* He seemed to anticipate everything, to 
 know everything. He was acquainted with Cavaillon, he 
 knew all Madeleine's movements ; he had made even Nina 
 become humble and submissive. 
 
 While thinking over this. Prosper had reached such a 
 degree of exasperation, that when M. Verduret entered 
 the little parlor, he strode towards him white with rage, 
 and in a threatening voice, exclaimed : 
 
 " Who are you t " 
 
 The stout man did not manifest any surprise at this 
 burst of anger, but quietly answered : " A friend of your 
 father's ; did you not know it ? " 
 
 " That, sir, is no answer ; I have been surprised into 
 being influenced by a stranger, but now — " 
 
 " Do you want my biography — what I have been, what 
 I am, and what I may be ? What difference does it make 
 to you ? I told you that I would save you ; the main point 
 is that I am saving you." 
 
 " Still I have the right to ask by what means you are 
 saving me." 
 
 " What good will it do you to know what my plans are ? " 
 
 " In order to decide whether I will accept or reject 
 them." 
 
 ** But suppose I guarantee success ? " 
 
 " That is not sufficient, I do not choose to be anji 
 
FILE AG. 113. ni 
 
 longer deprived of my own free will — to be exposed, with- 
 out w^arning, to trials like those I have undergone to-day. 
 A man of my age must know what he is doing." 
 
 " A man of your age, Prosper, when he is blind, takes 
 a guide, and does not undertake to point out the way to 
 his leader." 
 
 The half-bantering, half-commiserating tone of M. Ver- 
 duret was not calculated to calm Prosper's irritation. 
 
 " That being the case, sir," he exclaimed, " I will thank 
 you for your past services, and decline them for the fu- 
 ture, as I have no need of them. If I attempted to de- 
 fend my honor and my life, it was because I hoped that 
 Madeleine would be restored to me. I have been con- 
 vinced to-day that all is at an end between us ; I retire 
 from the struggle, and care not what becomes of me 
 now." 
 
 Prosper was so decided, that M. Verduret seemed 
 alarmed. " You must be mad," he firmly said. 
 
 " No, unfortunately I am not. Madeleine has ceased to 
 love me, and of what importance is anything else "i " 
 
 His heartbroken tone aroused M. Verduret's sympathy, 
 and he said in a kind, soothing voice — "Then you sus- 
 pect nothing .? You did not fathom the meaning of what 
 she said ? " 
 
 " You were listening ? " cried Prosper fiercely. 
 
 " I certainly was." 
 
 " Sir ! " 
 
 "Yes. It was a presumptuous thing to do, perhaps^ 
 but the end justified the means in this instance. I am 
 glad I did listen, because it enables me to say to you : 
 Take courage. Prosper ; Mademoiselle Madeleine loves 
 you — she has never ceased to love you." 
 
 Like a dying man who eagerly listens to deceitful 
 promises of recovery, although he feels himself sinking 
 into the grave, Prosper felt his sad heart cheered by M. 
 Verduret's assertion. ""Oh," he murmured, suddenly 
 calmed, "if I only could hope ! " 
 
 " Rely upon me, I am not mistaken. Ah, I could see 
 the torture endured by this generous girl, while she strug- 
 gled between her love and what she believed to be her 
 duty. Were you not convinced of her love when she 
 bade you farewell ? " 
 
 ** She loves me, she is free, and yet she shuns me." 
 
112 PILE NO. 113. 
 
 " No, she is not free ! In breaking off her engagement 
 with you, she was governed by some powerful, irrepressi* 
 ble event. She is sacrificing herself — for whom ? We 
 shall soon know ; and the secret of her self-sacrifice will 
 reveal to us the secret of the plot against you." 
 
 As M. Verduret spoke, Prosper felt his resolutions of 
 revolt slowly melting away, and their place occupied by 
 confidence and hope. " If what you say were only true ! '^ 
 he mournfully said. 
 
 " Foolish young man ! Why do you persist in obsti- 
 nately shutting your eyes to the proof I place before you ? 
 Can you not see that Mademoiselle Madeleine knows who 
 the thief is ? Yes, you need not look so shocked ; she 
 knows the thief, but no human power can tear it from 
 ^er. She sacrifices you, but then she almost has the 
 ight, since she first sacrificed herself." 
 
 Prosper was almost convinced ; and it nearly broke his 
 heart to leave the little apartment where he had seen 
 Madeleine. " Alas ! " he said, pressing M. Verduret's 
 hand, " you must think me a ridiculous fool i but you 
 don't know how I suffer." 
 
 The man with the red whiskers sadly shook his head, 
 and his voice sounded very unsteady, as he replied in a 
 low tone : " What you suffer, I have suffered. Like you, 
 I loved, not a pure, noble girl, yet a girl fair to look upon. 
 For three years I was at her feet, a slave to her every 
 whim, when, one day, she suddenly deserted me who 
 adored her, to throw herself into the arms of a man who 
 despised her. Then, like you, I wished to die. Neither 
 threats nor entreaties could induce her to return to me. 
 Passion never reasons, and she loved my rival." 
 
 " And did you know who this rival was ? " 
 
 *' Yes, I knew." 
 
 " And you did not seek revenge ? " 
 
 " No," replied M. Verduret. And with a singular ex- 
 pression he added : " For fate charged itself with my 
 vengeance." 
 
 For a minute Prosper was silent ; then he said : " I 
 have finally decided. My honor is a sacred trust for 
 which I must account to my family. I am ready to follow 
 you to the end of the world ; dispose of me as you judge 
 proper." 
 
 That same day Prosper, faithful to his promise, sold 
 
FILE KO. 113. 1J3 
 
 his furniture, and wrote to his friends announcing his in- 
 tended departure for San Francisco. In the evening he 
 and M. Verduret installed themselves at the hotel of the 
 Grand Archangel. 
 
 Madame Alexandre gave Prosper her prettiest room, 
 but it was very ugly compared with the coquettish little 
 drawing-room in the Rue Chaptal. His state of mind did 
 not permit him, however, to notice the difference between 
 his former and present quarters. He lay on an old sofa, 
 meditating upon the events of the day. and feeling a bit- 
 ter satisfaction in his isolated condition. About eleven 
 o'clock he thought he would open the window, and let 
 the cool air fan his burning brow ; as he did so, a piece 
 of paper was blown from among the folds of the window* 
 curtain and lay at his feet on the floor. 
 
 Prosper mechanically picked it up, and looked at it. 
 It was covered with writing, the handwriting of Nina 
 Gipsy ; he could not be mistaken about that It was the 
 fragment of a torn letter; and if the half sentences did 
 not convey any clear meaning, they were sufficient to lead 
 the mind into all sorts of conjectures. 
 
 The fragment read as follows : — 
 *' of M. Raoul, I have been very im . . . plotted against 
 
 him, of whom never warn Prosper, and then 
 
 best friend, he . . , . . . hand of Mademoiselle 
 
 Ma ..." 
 
 Prosper never closed his eyes all that night. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Noi far from the Palais Royal, in the Rue St. Honord, 
 is the sign of " La Bonne Foi," a small establishment, 
 half cafe and half fruiterer's shop, much frequented by 
 the work-people of the neighborhood. 
 
 It was in this modest cafe that Prosper, the day after 
 his release, awaited M. Verduret, who had promised to 
 meet him at four o'clock. Just as the clock struck the 
 hour, M. Verduret, who was punctuality itself, appeared. 
 He was more red-faced and self-satisfied, if possible, than 
 on the day before. As soon as the waiter, of whom he 
 ordered a glass of beer, had left them, M. Verduret said 
 to Prosper : *' Well, are all our commissions executed ? " 
 
114 P^L^ ^0. 113. 
 
 " Yes, every one." 
 
 " Have you seen the costumier ? ** 
 
 " I gave him your letter, and everything you ordered 
 will be sent to the Grand Archangel to-morrow." 
 
 " Very good ; you have not lost time, neither have I. 
 I have a lot of news for you." 
 
 The " Bonne Foi " is almost deserted at four o'clock. 
 The hour for coffee is passed, and the hour for absinthe 
 has not yet come. M. Verduret and Prosper could there- 
 fore talk at their ease without fear of being overheard by 
 listening neighbors. The former drew forth his precious 
 diary which, like the enchanted book in the fairy-tale, had 
 an answer for every question. " While awaiting our em- 
 issaries whom I appointed to meet me here," said he, " let 
 us devote a little time to M. de Lagors." 
 
 At this name Prosper did not protest, as he had done 
 the previous day. Like those imperceptible insects which, 
 having once penetrated the root of a tree devour it in a 
 single night, suspicion, when it invades our minds, soon 
 develops itself and destroys our firmest beliefs. De La- 
 gors's visit and the fragment of Gipsy's letter had filled 
 Prosper with suspicions which had grown stronger and 
 more settled as time went on. 
 
 " Do you know, my dear friend," asked M. Verduret, 
 " what part of France this devoted friend of yours comes 
 from ? " 
 
 " He was born at St. Remy, which is also Madame 
 Fauvel's native town." 
 
 " Are you certain of that ? " 
 
 " Oh, perfectly ! He has not only often told me so, 
 but I have heard him tell M. Fauvel ; and he would talk 
 to Madame Fauvel by the hour about his mother, who 
 was cousin to Madame Fauvel, and dearly beloved bv 
 her." 
 
 " Then you think there is no possible doubt or error 
 about this part of his story ? " 
 
 " None in the least." 
 
 " Well, things are assuming a queer appearance," said 
 M. Verduret. And he began to whistle between his teeth.; 
 which, with him, was a sign of intense inward satis- 
 faction. 
 
 "What do you refer to ? " inquired Prosper. 
 
 " To what I have just discovered — to what I have all 
 
FILE NO. 113. 115 
 
 along expected. Good people ! " he exclaimed, imitating 
 the manner of a showman at a fair, " it is a lovely town, 
 St. Remy, with six thousand inhabitants, charming boule- 
 vards on the site of the old fortifications, handsome town 
 hall, numerous fountains, large charcoal market, silk fac 
 lories, famous hospital, and so on." 
 
 Prosper was on thorns. " Please be so good," said he, 
 " as to explain what you — " 
 
 "It also contains," continued M. Verduret, "a Roman 
 triumphal arch, which is of unparalleled beauty, and a 
 Greek mausoleum ; but no De Lagors. St. Remy is the 
 native town of Nostradamus, but not of your friend." 
 
 "Yet I have had proofs." 
 
 " Naturally. But proofs can be fabricated ; relatives 
 can be improvised. Your evidence is open to suspicion. 
 My information is undeniable, perfectly authenticated. 
 While you were pining in prison, I was preparing my bat- 
 teries, and collecting ammunition to open fire. I wrote to 
 St. Remy, and received answers to my questions." 
 
 " Will you not let me know w^hat they were ? " 
 
 " Have patience," said M. Verduret as he turned over 
 the leaves of his diary. " Ah, here is number one. Bow 
 to it respectfully, 'tis official." He then read : 
 
 " ' De Lagors, — Very old family, originally from Mail- 
 lane, settled at St. Remy about a century ago — ' " 
 
 " I told you so," cried Prosper. 
 
 " Pray allow me to finish," said M. Verduret. 
 
 " ' The last of the De Lagors (Jules-Rene-Henri), bear- 
 ing without clear authority the title of count, married in 
 1829 Mademoiselle Rosalie-Clarisse Fontanel, of Taras- 
 con; died December 1848 leaving two daughters, but no 
 male issue. The town registers make no mention of any 
 person in the district bearing the name of De Lagors.' " 
 
 " Now what do you think of this information ? " asked 
 the stout man with a triumphant smile. 
 
 Prosper was astounded. " But why, then, does M. Fau- 
 vel treat Raoul as his nephew ? " he asked. 
 
 " Ah, you mean'as his wife's nephew ! Let us examine 
 note number two : it is not official, but it throws a valuable 
 light upon your friend's income of twenty thousand 
 francs. 
 
 "'Jules Rend-Henri dc Lagors, last of his name, died 
 at St. Remy on the 29th of December, 1848, in a state 
 
ii5 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 verging on poverty. He at one time was possessed of a 
 moderate fortune, but invested it in a nursery for silk' 
 worms,and lost it all. 
 
 ''' He had no son, but left two daughters, one of whom 
 is a teacher at Aix, and the other married to a small 
 tradesman at Orgon. His widow, who lives at Montag- 
 nette, is supported entirely by one of her relatives, the 
 wife of a rich banker in Paris. No person of the name of 
 De Lagors lives in the district of Aries.' " 
 
 " That is all," said M. Verduret ; " do you think it 
 enough ? " 
 
 "Really, sir, I don't know whether I am awake or 
 dreaming." 
 
 " You will be awake after awhile. Now, I wish to 
 mention one thing. Some people may assert that the 
 widow of De Lagors had a child born after her husband's 
 death. This objection is destroyed by the age of your 
 friend. Raoul is twenty-four, and M. de Lagors has not 
 been dead twenty years." 
 
 " But," observed Prosper, thoughtfully, " who then can 
 Raoul be ? " 
 
 " I don't know. The fact is, I am more perplexed to 
 find out who he is than to know who he is not. There is 
 one man who could give us all the information we seek, 
 but he will take good care to keep his mouth shut." 
 
 " You mean M. de Clameran .? " 
 
 " Him, and no one else." 
 
 " I have always felt the most inexplicable aversion 
 towards him. Ah, if we could only get an account of his 
 life ! " 
 
 " I have been furnished with a few notes concerning the 
 De Clameran family by your father, who knew them well ; 
 they are brief, but I expect more." 
 
 " What did my father tell you ? " 
 
 " Nothing favorable, you may be sure. I will read you 
 the synopsis of his information : 
 
 " * Louis de Clameran was born at the Chateau de 
 Clameran, near Tarascon. He had an elder brother 
 named Gaston, who, in consequence of an affray in which 
 he had the misfortune to kill a man and badly wound 
 another, was compelled to fly the country in 1842. Gas- 
 ton was an honest, noble youth, universally beloved. 
 
FILE NO. 113. "7 
 
 Louis, on the contrary, was a wicked, despicable fellow, 
 detested by all who knew him. 
 
 " ' Upon the death of his father, Louis came to Paris, and 
 in less than two years had squandered not only his own 
 patrimony, but also the share of his exiled brother. 
 Ruined and harassed by debt, Louis entered the army, 
 but behaved so disgracefully that he was constantly being 
 punished. After leaving the army we lose sight of him ; 
 all that is known is, that he went to England, and thence 
 to a German gambling resort, where he became notorious 
 for his scandalous conduct. 
 
 "*In 1865 we find him again in Paris. He was in 
 great poverty, and his associates were among the most de- 
 praved classes. But he suddenly heard of the return of 
 his brother Gaston to France. Gaston had made a fort- 
 une in Mexico ; but being still a young man, and accus- 
 tomed to a very active life, he purchased near Olcoron an 
 iron foundry, intending to spend the remainder of his life 
 in working it. Six months ago he died in the arms of his 
 brother Louis. His death provided our De Clameran with 
 an immense fortune, and the title of marquis.'" 
 
 " Then," said Prosper, " from all this I judge that M. 
 de Clameran was very poor when I met him for the first 
 time at M. Fauvel's ? " 
 
 *' Evidently." 
 
 "And shortly afterwards De Lagors arrived from the 
 Country ? " 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " And about a month after his appearance, Madeleine 
 suddenly dismissed me ? " 
 
 " Good," exclaimed M. Verduret, " I am glad you are 
 beginning to understand the state of affairs." He was 
 here interrupted by the entrance of a stranger. The 
 new-comer was a dandified-looking coachman, with ele^ 
 gant black whiskers, shining boots with light tops, a yel' 
 low cap, and a red and black striped waistcoat. Aftet 
 cautiously looking round the room, he walked straight up 
 to the table where M. Verduret sat. 
 
 " What is the news, Master Joseph Dubois ? " asked the 
 stout man eagerly. 
 
 " Ah, my chief, don't ask me ! " answered the man« 
 " Things are getting warm, very warm." 
 
 Prosper concentrated all his attention upon this superb 
 
ii8 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 servant. He thought he recognized his face. He had cer 
 tainly somewhere seen that retreating forehead and those 
 little restless black eyes, but where and when he could 
 not remember. Meanwhile Master Joseph had taken a 
 seat at a table adjoining the one occupied by M. Verdu- 
 ret and Prosper ; and, having called for some absinthe, 
 was preparing it by holding the water aloft and slowly 
 dropping it into the glass. 
 
 " What have you to tell me ? " inquired M. Verduret. 
 
 '• In the first place, my chief, I must say that the posi 
 tion of valet and coachman to M. de Clameran is by no 
 means a bed of roses." 
 
 " Go on ; come to the point. You can complain to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Very good. Yesterday my master walked out at tv/o 
 o'clock. I, of course, followed him. Do you know where 
 he went ? The thing was as good as a farce. He went 
 to the Grand Archangel to see Madame Nina Gipsy." 
 
 "Well, make haste. They told him she was gone. 
 What then ? " 
 
 " What then ? Ah ! he was not at all pleased, I can 
 tell you. He hurried back to the hotel where the other, M. 
 de Lagors, awaited him. He swore like a trooper, and M. 
 Raoul asked him what had happened to put him in such a 
 bad humor. ' Nothing,' replied my master, * except that 
 the little devil has run off, and no one knows where she 
 is ; she has slipped through our fingers.' Tlien they both 
 appeared to be vexed and uneasy. De Lagors asked if 
 she knew anything serious. ' She knows nothing but 
 what I told you,' replied De Clameran ; ' but this noth- 
 ing, falling into the ear of a man with any suspicions, will 
 be more than enough to work on.' " 
 
 M. Verduret smiled like a man who had his reasons for 
 appreciating at their just value De Clameran's fears. 
 " Well, your master is not without sense after all," said 
 he ; " don't you think he showed it by saying that ? " 
 
 " Yes, my chief. Then De Lagors exclaimed : * If it 
 is as serious as that, we must get rid of the little beg- 
 gar 1 ' But my master shrugged his shoulders, and laugh- 
 ing loudly said : ' You talk like an idiot ; when one is 
 annoyed by a woman of this sort, one must take measures 
 to get rid of her administratively.' This idea seemed to 
 Clause them both very much." 
 
FILE NO. 113. 119 
 
 " I can understand their being entertained by it," said 
 M. Verduret ; " it is an excellent idea ; but the misfortune 
 is, it is too late to carry it out. The nothing which made 
 De Clameran uneasy has already fallen into a knowing 
 ear." 
 
 With breathless curiosity. Prosper listened to this re- 
 port, every word of which seemed to throw light upon 
 past events. Now, he thought, he understood the frag- 
 ment of Gipsy's letter. He saw that this Raoul, in wliom 
 he had confided so deeply, was nothing better than a 
 scoundrel. A thousand little circumstances, unnoticed at 
 the time, now recurred to his mind, and made him won- 
 der how he could have remained blind so long. 
 
 Master Joseph Dubois continued his report, — 
 
 " Yesterday, after dinner, my master decked himself 
 out like a bridegroom. I shaved him, curled his hair, and 
 perfumed him with especial care, after which I drove him 
 to the Rue de Province to call on Madam Fauvel." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Prosper, " after the insulting lan- 
 guage he used the day of the robbery, did he dare to visit 
 the house ? " 
 
 " Yes, my young gentleman; he not only dared this, 
 but he also stayed there until nearly midnight, to my great 
 discomfort ; for I got thoroughly drenched while waiting 
 for him." 
 
 " How did he look when he came out ? " asked M. Ver- 
 duret. 
 
 " Well, he certainly looked less pleased than when he 
 went in. After putting up my carriage, and rubbing down 
 my horse, I went to see if he wanted anything ; I found 
 the door locked, and he abused me without stint through 
 the keyhole." 
 
 And to assist the digestion of this insult. Master Joseph 
 here gulped down a mouthful of absinthe. 
 
 " Is that all 1 " questioned M. Verduret. 
 
 " All that occurred yesterday, my chief ; but this morn- 
 inp; my master rose late, still in a horribly bad humor. 
 At noon Raoul arrived, also in a rage. They at once be- 
 gan to dispute, and there was such a row ! Why, the most 
 abandoned thieves would have blushed at their foul lan- 
 guage. At one time my master seized the other by the 
 throat and shook him like a reed. But Raoul was too 
 quick for him, and saved himself from strangulation b^ 
 
ISO FILE NO. 113. 
 
 drawing out a sharp-pointed knife, the sight of which made 
 my master drop him in a hurry, I can tell you." 
 
 " But what was it that they said ? " 
 
 " Ah, there is the rub, my chief," replied Joseph in a 
 piteous tone ; " the scamps spoke English, so I could not 
 understand them. But I am sure they were disputing 
 about money." 
 
 " How do you know that ? " 
 
 " Because in view of the Exhibition I learned the word 
 money in every language, and it constantly recurred in 
 their conversation." 
 
 M. Verduret sat with knit brows, talking in an under- 
 tone to himself ; and Prosper, who was watching him, 
 wondered if he was trying to divine the subject of the dis- 
 pute by the mere force of reflection. 
 
 " When they had done fighting," continued Joseph, " the 
 rascals began to talk in French again ; but they only spoke 
 of a fancy ball which is to be given by some banker. 
 When Raoul was leaving, my master said, ' Since this 
 thing is inevitable, and must take place to-day, you had 
 better remain at home, at Vesinet, this evening.' Raoul 
 replied, ' Of course.' " 
 
 Evening was approaching, and the cafe was gradually 
 filling with customers, who were altogether calling for 
 either absinthe or bitters. The waiters, mounting oh stools, 
 lit the gas-burners placed round the room. " It is time 
 to go," said M. Verduret to Joseph, "your masver may 
 want you ; besides, here is some one come for me. I will 
 see you to-morrow." 
 
 The new-comer was no other than Cavaillon, more 
 troubled and frightened than ever. He looked uneasily 
 around, as if he expected a posse of policemen to make 
 their appearance, and carry him off to prison. He did 
 not sit down at M. Verduret's table, but stealthily gave 
 his hand to Prosper, and, after assuring himself that no 
 one was observing them, handed M. Verduret a parcel, 
 saying : " She found this in a cupboard." 
 
 It was a handsomely bound prayer-book. M. Verduret 
 rapidly turned over the leaves, and soon found the pages 
 from which the words pasted on Prosper's letter had been 
 cut. " I had moral proofs," he said, handing the book to 
 Prosper, " but here is material proof sufiicient in itself tQ 
 gave you," 
 
FILE NO. 113. 121 
 
 When Prosper looked at the book, he turned as pale as 
 a ghost. He recognized it instantly. He had given it to 
 Madeleine in exchange for the relic. He opened it, and 
 on the fly-leaf Madeleine had written, " Souvenir of Notre 
 Dame de Fourvieres, 17th January, 1866." "This book 
 belongs to Madeleine," he cried. 
 
 M. Verduret did not reply, but walked towards a young 
 man dressed like a wine cooper, who had just entered the 
 caf^. Glancing at a note which this person handed to 
 him, he hastened back to the table, and said in an agitated 
 voice : " I think we have got them now ! " 
 
 Throwing a five-franc piece on the table, and without 
 saying a word to Cavaillon, M. Verduret seized Prosper's 
 arm, and hurried from the room. " What a fatality ! " he 
 said, as he hastened along the street : " we may perhaps 
 miss them. We shall certainly reach the St. Lazare station 
 too late for the St. Germain train." 
 
 " For heaven's sake, where are you going ? " asked 
 Prosper. 
 
 " Never mind, we can talk after we start. Hurry ! " 
 
 On arriving at the Place du Palais Royal, M. Verduret 
 stopped in front of one of the cabs stationed there, and 
 examined the horses at a glance. " How much will you 
 want for driving us to Vesinet 1 " he asked of the driver. 
 
 "I don't know the road very well," replied the cabman. 
 
 The name of Vesinet was enough for Prosper. " I will 
 point out the road," he quickly said. 
 
 " Well," said the driver, " at this time of night, in such 
 dreadful weather, it ought to be — twenty-five francs — " 
 
 " And to drive very fast ? " 
 
 " Bless my soul ! Why, I leave that to your honor's 
 generosity ; but if you put it at thirty-five francs — " 
 
 "You shall have a hundred," interrupted M. Verduret, 
 *' if you overtake a vehicle which has half an hour's start 
 of us." 
 
 " By Jingo ! " cried the delighted driver ; " jump in 
 quick : we are losing time ! " And whipping up his lean 
 horses, he galloped them dow^n the Rue de Valois at a 
 fearful speed. 
 
122 BILE NO. 113. 
 
 X. 
 
 On quitting the little station of Vesinet, we come upon 
 two roads. One, to the left, macadamized and kept in 
 perfect repair, leads to the village, and along it glimpses 
 are here and there obtained of the new church through 
 the openings between the trees. The other road, newly 
 laid out and scarcely levelled, leads through the woods. 
 Along the latter, which before the lapse of five years will 
 be a busy street, are a few houses, tasteless in design, 
 rising here and there out of the foliage : rural retreats of 
 Paris tradesmen, occupied only during the summer. 
 
 It was at the junction of these two roads that Prosper 
 stopped the cab. The driver had gained his hundred 
 francs. The horses were completely worn out, bu^ they 
 had accomplished all that was expected of them ; M. 
 Verduret could distinguish the lamps of another cab, about 
 fifty yards ahead of him. 
 
 M. Verduret jumped out, and handing the driver a hun- 
 dred-franc note, said : " Here is what I promised you. 
 Go to the first tavern on the right-hand side of the road 
 as you enter the village. If we do not meet you there in 
 an hour, you will be at liberty to return to Paris " 
 
 The driver was overwhelming in his thanks ; but neither 
 Prosper nor his friend heard them. They had already 
 started along the new road. The weather, which had 
 been inclement when they set out, was now fearful. The 
 rain fell in torrents, and a furious wind howled dismally 
 through the woods. The intense darkness was rendered 
 more dreary by the occasional glimmer of the lamps of 
 the distant railway station, and which seemed about to be 
 extinguished by every fresh gust of wind. 
 
 M. Verduret and Prosper had been running along the 
 muddy road for about five minutes, when suddenly the lat- 
 ter stopped and said : " This is Raoul's house." 
 
 Before the iron gate of an isolated house was the cab 
 which M. Verduret had followed. In spite of the pouring 
 rain, the driver, wrapped in a thick cloak, and leaning 
 back on his seat, was already fast asleep, while waiting 
 for the person whom he had brought to the house a few 
 minutes ago. 
 
PILE NO, 113. 123 
 
 M. Verduret pulled his cloak, and said, in a low voice : 
 " Wake up, my good man." 
 
 The driver started, and mechanically gathering up his 
 reins, yawned out : " I am ready ; jump in ! " But when, 
 by the light of his lamps, he caught sight of two men in 
 this lonely spot, he concluded they meant to rob him, and 
 perhaps to take his life. " I am engaged ! " he cried out, 
 as he shook his whip; '" I am waiting here for some one." 
 
 "I know that, you fool," replied M. Verduret, "and 
 only wish to ask you a question, which you can gain five 
 francs by answering. Did you not bring a middle-aged 
 lady here .? " 
 
 This question, with the promise of five francs, far from 
 re-assuring the cabman, only increased his alarm. " I 
 have already told you I am waiting for some one," he 
 said ; " and if you don't go away and leave me alone, I 
 will call out for help." 
 
 M. Verduret drew back quickly. " Come away," he 
 whispered to Prosper, " the fool will do as he says ; and 
 the alarm once given, farewell to our projects. We must 
 find some other entrance than by the gate." 
 
 They then went along the wall surrounding the garden, 
 in search of a place where it was possible to scale it. 
 This was difficult to discover, the wall being twelve feet 
 high, and the night very dark. Fortunately, M. Verduret 
 was very agile ; and, having decided upon the spot to be 
 scaled, he drew back a few paces, and making a sudden 
 spring, seized hold of one of the projecting stones on the 
 top ; then drawing himself up by the aid of his hands and 
 feet, soon found himself astride the w^all. 
 
 It was now Prosper's turn to climb up ; but, though 
 much younger than his companion, he had not his agility 
 and strength, and would never have succeeded if M. Ver- 
 duret had not pulled him up and then helped him down 
 on the other side. 
 
 Once in the garden, M. Verduret looked about him to 
 study the situation. The house occupied by M. de Lagors 
 stood in the middle of a large garden. It was narrow, 
 two stories high, and had attics. In only one window, on 
 the second story, was there any light. 
 
 "As you have often been here," said M. Verduret, "you 
 must know all about the arrangement of the hou$e : what 
 foom is that where we see the light ? " 
 
124 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 " That is Uaoul's bed-chamber/' 
 
 " Very good. What rooms are on the ground floor ? " 
 
 " The kitchen, pantry, billiard-room, and dining-room." 
 
 " And on the floor above 1 " 
 
 " Two drawing-rooms, separated by folding doors and a 
 study." 
 
 *' Where do the servants sleep ? " 
 
 ** Raoul has none at present. He is waited on by a 
 man and his wife, who live at Vesinet ; they come in the 
 morning, and leave after dinner." 
 
 M. Verduret rubbed his hands gleefully. " That suits 
 our plans exactly," he said ; " it will be strange if we do 
 not hear what Raoul has to say to this person who has 
 come from Paris at this time of night to see him. Let us 
 go in." 
 
 Prosper seemed averse to this, and said : " That would 
 be a serious thing for us to do." 
 
 " Bless my soul ! what else did we come here for \ " ex- 
 claimed M. Verduret. " Did you think ours was a 
 pleasure trip, merely to enjoy this lovely weather .'' '' con- 
 tinued he in a bantering tone. 
 
 " But we might be discovered." 
 
 " Suppose we are 1 If the least noise betrays our 
 presence, you have only to advance boldly as u friend 
 come to visit a friend, and who, finding the door open, 
 walked in." 
 
 But unfortunately the heavy oak door was locked. M. 
 Verduret shook it in vain. " How foolish ! " he said with 
 vexation, " I ought to have brought my instruments with 
 me. A common lock which could be opened with a nail, 
 and I have not even a piece of Wire ! " Seeing it useless 
 to attempt the door, he tried successively every window 
 on the ground floor. Alas ! each shutter was securely 
 fastened on the inside. 
 
 M. Verduret was provoked. He prowled round the 
 house like a fox round a hen-roost, seeking an entrance, 
 but finding none. Despairingly he came back to the spot 
 in front of the house, whence he had the best view of the 
 lighted window. " If I could only look in," he said 
 " To think that in there," and he pointed to the window, 
 " -"s the solution of the mystery ; and we are cut off from 
 it by thirty feet or so of wall ! " 
 
 ?rosper was more surprised than ever at his companion's 
 
FILE NO. 113. 125 
 
 strange behavior. The latter seemed perfectly at home 
 in this garden, and ran about it without any precaution. 
 One would have supposed him accustomed to such expedi- 
 tions, especially when he spoke of picking the lock of an 
 occupied house, as coolly as though he were talking of 
 opening a snuff-box. He was utterly indifferent to the 
 rain and sleet driven in his face by the gusts of wind as 
 he splashed about in the mud trying to find some means 
 of entrance. " I must get a peep into that window," he 
 said, " and I will certainly do so, cost what it may ! " 
 
 Prosper seemed to suddenly remember something. 
 *' There is a ladder here," he remarked in an undertone. 
 
 " Why did you not tell me that before t Where is it ? ^ 
 
 " At the end of the garden, under the trees." 
 
 They ran to the spot, and in a few minutes the ladder 
 was standing against the house. But to their annoyance 
 they found it five feet too short. Five long feet of wall 
 between the top of the ladder and the lighted window w^as 
 a discouraging sight to Prosper, who exclaimed : " We 
 cannot reach it." 
 
 "We can reach it," cried M. Verduret triumphantly. 
 And quickly seizing the ladder, he cautiously raised it, 
 and rested the bottom round on his shoulders, holding, at 
 the same time, the two uprights firmly and steadily with 
 his hands. The obstacle was overcome. " Now mount," 
 he said to his companion. 
 
 Prosper did not hesitate. Enthusiasm at seeing diffi- 
 culties so skilfully conquered, and the hope of triumph, 
 gave him a strength and agility which he had never 
 imagined he possessed. He climbed up gently till he 
 reached the lower rounds, then quickly mounted the ladder, 
 which swayed and trembled beneath his weight. 
 
 But he had scarcely looked in at the lighted window 
 when he uttered a cry, which w^as drowned in the roaring 
 tempest, and sliding part way down the ladder, he dropped 
 like a log on the wet grass, exclaiming : " The villain ! 
 the villain ! " 
 
 With wonderful promptitude and vigor M. Verduret laid 
 the ladder on the ground, and ran toward Prosper, fearing 
 he was dangerously injured. " Are you hurt ? What did 
 you see ? " he asked. 
 
 But Prosper had already risen. Although he had had 
 '^ violent fall, he felt nothing ; he was in that state when 
 
126 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 mind governs matter so absolutely that the body is insen- 
 sible to pain. " I saw," he answered in a hoarse voice, 
 " I saw Madeleine — do you understand, Madeleine — in 
 that room, alone with Raoul." 
 
 M. Verduret was confounded. Was it possible that he, 
 the infallible expert, had been mistaken in his deduc- 
 tions .-* 
 
 He well knew that M. de Lagors's visitor was a woman ; 
 but his own conjectures, and the note which Madame 
 Gipsy had sent to him at the cafe, had caused him to 
 believe that this woman was Madame Fauvel. 
 
 " You must be mistaken," he said to Prosper. 
 
 " No, sir, no. Never could I mistake another for 
 Madeleine. Ah ! you who heard what she said to me 
 yesterday, tell me : was I to have expected such infamous 
 treason as this? You said to me then: 'She loves you, 
 she loves you ! ' What do you think now ? speak ! " 
 
 M. Verduret did not answer. He had been completely 
 bewildered by his mistake, and was now racking his brain 
 to discover the cause of it, which was soon discerned by 
 his penetrating mind. 
 
 "This is the secret discovered by Nina," continued 
 Prosper. " Madeleine, this pure and noble Madeleine, 
 whom I believed to be as immaculate as an angel, is the 
 mistress of this thief, who has even stolen the name he 
 bears. And I, trusting fool that I was, made this scoun- 
 drel my best friend. I confided to him all my hopes and 
 fears ; and he was her lover ! Of course they amused 
 themselves by ridiculing my silly devotion and blind con- 
 fidence ! " 
 
 He stopped, overcome by his violent emotions. Wound- 
 ed vanity is the worst of miseries. The certainty of hav- 
 ing been so shamefully deceived and betrayed made Pros- 
 per almost insane with rage. " This is the last humilia- 
 tion I shall submit to," he fiercely cried. " It shall not 
 be said that I was coward enough to let an insult like this 
 go unpunished." 
 
 He started towards the house ; but M. Verduret seized 
 his arm, and said : " What are you going to do ? " 
 
 " To have my revenge ! I will break down the door ; 
 what do I care for the noise and scandal, now that I have 
 nothing to lose ? I shall not attempt to creep into the 
 house like a thief, but as a master — as one who has 3 
 
FILE NO. 113. 127 
 
 right to enter ; as a man who, having received a deadly 
 insult, comes to demand satisfaction." 
 
 " You will do nothing of the sort, Prosper." 
 
 " Who will prevent me t " 
 
 " I will ! " 
 
 " You ? do not hope that you will be able to deter me. 
 T will appear before them, put them to the blush, kill them 
 both, and then put an end to my own wretched existence. 
 That is what I intend to do, and nothing shall hinder 
 me!" 
 
 If M. Verduret had not held Prosper with a vice-lika 
 grip, he would have escaped, and attempted to carry out 
 his threat. " If you make any noise, Prosper, or raise an 
 alarm, all your hopes are ruined," said M. Verduret. 
 
 " I have no hopes now." 
 
 " Raoul, put on his guard, will escape us, and you will 
 remain dishonored forever." 
 
 " What is that to me ? " 
 
 " It is everything to me. I have sworn to prove your 
 innocence. A man of your age can easily find a wife, but 
 can never restore lustre to a tarnished name. Let nothing 
 interfere with the establishing of your innocence. 
 
 Genuine passion is uninfluenced by surrounding circum- 
 stances. M. Verduret and Prosper stood foot-deep in 
 mud, wet to the skin, with the rain pouring down on their 
 heads, and yet still continued their dispute. " I will be 
 avenged," repeated Prosper, with the persistency of a 
 fixed idea: "I will be avenged." 
 
 " Well, avenge yourself then like a man, and not like a 
 child ! " said M. Verduret angrily. 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 " Yes, I repeat it, like a child. What will you do after 
 you get into the house ? Have you any arms ? No. You 
 rush upon Raoul, and a struggle ensues ; and while you 
 two are fighting, Madeleine jumps in the cab and drives 
 off. What then ? Which is the stronger, you or 
 Raoul ? " 
 
 Overcome by the sense of how powerless he was. Pros- 
 per remained silent. 
 
 '^* And of what use would arms be ? " continued M. Ver- 
 duret. " It would be the height of folly to shoot a man 
 whom you can send to the galleys." 
 
 " What then shall I do ? " 
 
128 PILE NO. 113. 
 
 *' Wait. Vengeance is a delicious fmit, which must be 
 allowed to ripen in order that it may be fully enjoyed." 
 
 Prosper was unsettled in his resolution ; M. Verduret, 
 seeing this, advanced his last and strongest argument. 
 " How do we know," he said, '' that Mademoiselle Made- 
 leine is here on her own account ? Did we not come to the 
 conclusion that she was sacrificing herself for the benefit 
 of some one else ? That superior will which compelled 
 her to banish you may have constrained this step to-night." 
 
 Whatever coincides with our secret wishes is alwavs 
 eagerly welcomed, and this apparently improbable suppo™ 
 sition struck Prosper as being possibly correct. 
 
 " That might be the case," he murmured, " who knows ? " 
 
 " I would soon know," said M. Verduret, " if I could 
 only see them together in that room." 
 
 " Will you promise me, sir, to tell me the truth, exactly 
 what you yourself think, no matter how painful it may be 
 for me t " 
 
 " I swear it, upon my word of honor." 
 
 At these words Prosper, with a strength which a few 
 minutes before he would not have believed himself pos- 
 sessed of, raised the ladder, placed the last round on his 
 shoulders, and said to M. Verduret : " Mount ! " 
 
 M. Verduret rapidly ascended the ladder, scarcely shak- 
 ing it, and soon had his head on a level with the window^ 
 Prosper had seen but too well. There was Madeleine, at 
 this hour of the night, alone with Raoul de Lagors in his 
 bed-chamber ! 
 
 M. Verduret noticed that she still wore her bonnet and 
 mantle. She was standing in the middle of the room, 
 talking with great animation. Her look and gestures be- 
 trayed indignant scorn. There was an expression of ill- 
 disguised loathing upon her beautiful face. Raoul was 
 seated in a low chair by the fire, stirring up the embers 
 with a pair of tongs. Every now and then he would shrug 
 his shoulders, like a man resigned to everything he heard, 
 and had no answer to make beyond, •' I cannot help it. 
 I can do nothing for you." 
 
 M. Verduret would willingly have given the handsome 
 ring on his finger to be able to hear what was being said ; 
 but the roaring wind completely drowned the voices of 
 the speakers, and he dared not place his ear close to the 
 vvindow for fear of being perceived. " They are evidently 
 
FILE NO. 113. 129 
 
 quarrelling," he thought ; " but it is certainly not a lovers^ 
 quarrel." 
 
 Madeleine continued talking ; and it was by closely 
 watching Raoul's face, clearly revealed by the lamp on 
 the chimney-piece, that M. Verduret hoped to discover the 
 meaning of the scene before him. Now and again De La- 
 gors would start and tremble in spite of his pretended in- 
 difference ; or else he would strike at the fire with the 
 tongs, as if giving vent to his rage at some reproach uttered 
 by Madeleine. Finally, Madeleine changed her threats 
 into entreaties, and, clasping her hands, almost fell on her 
 knees. Raoul turned away his head, and refused to an- 
 swer save in monosyllables. 
 
 Several times she was about to leave the room, but each 
 time returned, as if asking a favor, and unable to make 
 up her mind to quit the house till she had obtained it. 
 At last she seemed to have uttered something decisive ; 
 for Raoul quickly rose and took from a desk near the fire- 
 place a bundle of papers, which he handed to her. 
 
 " Well," thought M. Verduret, " this looks bad. Can 
 it be a compromising correspondence which the young lady 
 wants to secure ! " 
 
 Madeleine took the papers, but was apparently still dis- 
 satisfied. She seemed to entreat Raoul to give her some- 
 thing else, but he refused ; and she then threw the papers 
 on the table. These papers puzzled M. Verduret very 
 much, as he gazed at them through the window. *' I am 
 not blind," he said, " and I certainly am not mistaken ; 
 those red, green, and gray papers, are evidently pawn 
 tickets ! " 
 
 Madeleine turned over the papers as if looking for some 
 particular ones. She selected three, which she put in her 
 pocket, disdainfully pushing the others aside. She was 
 now evidently preparing to take her departure, and said a 
 few words to Raoul, who took up the lamp as if to escort 
 her down stairs. 
 
 There was nothing more for M. Verduret to see. He 
 carefully descended the ladder, muttering to himself: 
 " Pawn tickets ! What infamous mystery lies at the bot- 
 tom of all this ? " The first thing to be done was to hide 
 the ladder. Raoul might take it into his head to look 
 round the garden, when he came to the door with Made- 
 leine, and if he did so the ladder could scarcely fail to at' 
 
130 PILE NO. 113. 
 
 tract his attention. M. Verduret and Prosper hastily laid 
 it on the ground, regardless of the shrubs which they de- 
 stroyed in doing so, and then concealed themselves among 
 the trees, whence they could watch at once the front door 
 and the outer gate. 
 
 Madeleine and Raoul appeared in the doorway. Raoul 
 placed the lamp on the floor, and offered his hand to the 
 girl ; but she refused it with haughty contempt, which 
 somewhat soothed Prosper's lacerated heart. This scorn- 
 ful behavior did not, however, seem to surprise or hurt 
 Raoul, who simply answered oy an ironical gesture which 
 implied, "As you please!" He followed Madeleine to 
 the gate, which he opened and closed after her; then he 
 hurried back to the house, while the cab drove rapidly 
 away. 
 
 " Now," said Prosper, *' you must tell me what you 
 think. You promised to let me know the truth no matter 
 how bitter it might be. Speak ; I can bear it, be it what 
 it may ! " 
 
 " You will have only joy to bear, my friend. Within 
 a month you will bitterly regret your suspicions of 
 to-night. You v/ill blush to think that you ever imagined 
 Mademoiselle Madeleine to have been the mistress of a 
 man like De Lagors." 
 
 " But, sir, appearances — " 
 
 " It is precisely against appearances that w^e must be on 
 our guard. Always distrust them. A suspicion, false or 
 just, is necessarily based on something. But we must not 
 stay here forever; and as Raoul has fastened the gate, 
 we shall have to climb over the wall." 
 
 " But there is the ladder." 
 
 " Let it stay where it is ; as we cannot efface our foot- 
 prints, he will think thieves have been trying to get into 
 the house." They scaled the wall, and had not walked 
 fifty steps when they heard the noise of a gate being un- 
 locked. They stood aside and waited ; a man soon passed 
 by on his way to the station. 
 
 "That is Raoul," said M. Verduret, "and Joseph will 
 report to us that he has been to tell De Clameran what 
 has just taken place. If they are only kind enough to 
 speak French ! " M. Verduret walked along quietly for 
 some time, trying to connect the broken chain of his de- 
 ductions. " Why the deuce," he abruptly asked, "did this 
 
FILE NO. 113. tjt 
 
 Raoul, who is devoted to gay society, come to choose a 
 lonely country house like this to live in ? " 
 
 " I suppose it was because M. Fauvel's villa is only fif- 
 teen minutes' ride from here, on the banks of the Seine." 
 
 " That accounts for his staying here in the summer ; but 
 in winter? " 
 
 " Oh, in winter he has a room at the Hotel du Louvre, 
 and all the year round keeps up an apartment in 
 Paris." 
 
 This did not enlighten M. Verduret much ; he hurried 
 his pace. " I hope our driver has not gone," said he. 
 " We cannot take the train which is about to start, as Raoul 
 would see us at the station." 
 
 Although it was more than an hour since M. Verduret 
 and Prosper left the cab, where the road turned off, they 
 found it waiting for them in front of the tavern. 
 
 The driver being unable to resist the desire to change 
 his bank note, had ordered supper, and finding the wine 
 very good, he was in no hurry to leave. 
 
 While delighted at the idea of having a fare back to 
 Paris, he could not refrain from remarking on M. Verduret 
 and Prosper's altered appearance. " Well, you are in a 
 strange state ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 Prosper replied that they had been to see a friend, and 
 losing their way, had fallen into a quagmire ; as if there 
 were such things in Vesinet wood. 
 
 " So, that's the way you got covered with mud, is it ! " 
 exclaimed the driver, who, though apparently contented 
 with this explanation, strongly suspected that his two cus- 
 tomers had been engaged in some nefarious transaction. 
 This opinion seemed to be entertained by the people pres- 
 ent, for they looked at Prosper's muddy clothes and then 
 at each other in a knowing way. 
 
 But M. Verduret put an end to all further comment by- 
 saying : " Come on ! " 
 
 " All right, your honor : get in while I settle my bill ; 
 I will be with you in a minute." 
 
 The drive back was silent and seemed interminably long. 
 Prosper at first tried to draw his strange companion into 
 conversation, but as he received nothing but monosyllables 
 in reply, he held his peace for the rest of the journey. 
 He was again beginning to feel irritated at the absolute 
 empire exercised over him by this man. Physical dis 
 
132 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 comfort was added to his other troubles. He was stiff an^ 
 numb ; every bone in him ached with the cold. Although 
 mental endurance may be unlimited, bodily strength must 
 in the end give way. A violent effort is always followed 
 by reaction. 
 
 Lying back in a corner of the cab, with his feet upon 
 the front seat, M. Verduret seemed to be enjoying a nap ; 
 yet he was never more wide awake. He was in a. per- 
 plexed state of mind. This expedition which he had been 
 confident would solve all his doubts, had only added mys- 
 tery to mystery. His chain of evidence, which he thought 
 so strongly linked, was completely broken. For him the 
 facts remained the same, but circumstances had changed. 
 He could not imagine what common motive, what moral 
 or material complicity, what influences, existed to cause the 
 four actors in his drama, Madame Fauvel, Madeleine, 
 Raoul, and De Clameran, to have apparently the same 
 object in view. He was seeking, in his fertile mind, that 
 encyclopaedia of craft and subtlety, for some combination 
 which would throw light on the problem before him. 
 
 Midnight struck as they reached the Grand Archangel, 
 and for the first time M. Verduret remembered that he 
 had not dined. Fortunately Madame Alexandre was still 
 up, and in the twinkling of an eye had improvised a tempt- 
 ing supper. It was more than attention, more than re- 
 spect, that she showed her guest. Prosper observed that 
 she gazed admiringly at M. Verduret all the while that he 
 was eating. 
 
 "You will not see me during the day-time, to-morrow," 
 said M. Verduret to Prosper, when he had risen to leave 
 the room ; " but I will be here about this time at night. 
 Perhaps I shall discover what I am seeking at Jandidiers' 
 ball." 
 
 Prosper was almost dumb with astonishment. What ! 
 would M. Verduret venture to appear at a fancy dress ball 
 given by the wealthiest and most fashionable bankers in 
 Paris ? This accounted for his sending to the costumier. 
 " Then you are invited to this ball } " he presently 
 asked. 
 
 The expressive eyes of M. Verduret sparkled with amuse* 
 ment. "Not yet," he said; "but I shall be." 
 
 Oh, the inconsistency of the human mind ! Prosper was 
 tormented by the most serious reflections. He looked 
 
FILE NO. 113. 133 
 
 sadly round his chamber, and as he thought of M. Ver- 
 duret's projected pleasure at the ball, exclaimed : *' Ah, 
 how fortunate he is ! To-morrow he will see Madeleine 
 more lovely than ever." 
 
 XI. 
 
 AbouT the middle of the Rue St. Lazare are the almost 
 regal residences of the brothers Jandidier, two celebrated 
 financiers, who, if deprived of the prestige of immense 
 wealth, would still be looked up to as remarkable men. 
 Why cannot the same be said of all men ? 
 
 These two mansions, which were regarded as marvels of 
 magnificence at the time they were built, are entirely dis- 
 tinct from each other, but so planned as to form a single 
 building when this is desired. When the brothers Jandi- 
 dier give grand parties, they have the movable partitions 
 taken away, and thus obtain the most superb suite of draw- 
 ing-rooms in Paris. Princely magnificence, lavish hospi- 
 tality, and an elegant, graceful manner of receiving their 
 guests, make the entertainments given by the brothers 
 eagerly sought after by the fashionable circles of the cap- 
 ital. On the Saturday, the Rue St. Lazare was blocked up 
 by a file of carriages, whose fair occupants impatiently 
 awaited their turn to alight. Dancing commenced at ten 
 o'clock. The ball was a fancy dress one, and the majority 
 of the costumes were superb ; many were in the best taste, 
 and some were quite original. Among the latter was that 
 of a merry-andrew. Everything about the wearer was in 
 perfect keeping : the insolent eye, coarse lips, inflamed 
 cheek-bones, and a beard so red that it seemed to emit 
 fire in the reflection of the dazzling lights. 
 
 He carried in his left hand a canvas banner, upon which 
 were six or eight coarsely painted pictures, like those seen 
 at country fairs. In his right he waved a little switch, witti 
 which he would every now and then strike his banner, after 
 the fashion of a showman seeking to attract the attention 
 of the crowd. A compact group gathered round him in 
 the expectation of hearing some witty speeches ; but he 
 remained silent, near the door. 
 
 About half-past ten he quitted his post. M. and Mad- 
 ame Fauvel, followed by their niece Madeleine, had jn^t 
 
134 P!LE NO. 113. 
 
 entered. During the last ten days, the affair of the Rue 
 de Provence had been the general topic of conversation ; 
 and friends and enemies were alike glad to seize this op- 
 portunity of approaching the banker to tender their sym- 
 pathy, or to offer equivocal condolence, which of all things 
 is the most exasperating and insulting. 
 
 Belonging to the class of men of a serious turn, M. 
 Fauvel had not assumed a fancy costume, but had merely 
 thrown over his shoulders a short silk cloak. On his arm 
 leaned Madame Fauvel, nee Valentine de La Verberie, 
 bowing and gracefully greeting her numerous friends. 
 
 She had once been remarkably beautiful ; and to-night, 
 in the artificial light her very becoming dress seemed to 
 have restored all her youthful freshness and comeliness. 
 No one would have supposed her to be forty-eight years 
 old. She wore a robe of embroidered satin and black vel- 
 vet, of the later years of Louis the Fourteenth's reign, mag- 
 nificent and severe, without the adornment of a single 
 jewel. She looked superb and grand in her court dress 
 and her powdered hair, as became a La Verberie, so some 
 ill-natured people remarked, who had made the mistake of 
 marrying a man of money. 
 
 Madeleine, too, on her part was the object of universal 
 admiration, so dazzlingly beautiful and queen-like did she 
 appear in her costume of maid of honor, which seemed to 
 have been especially invented to set forth her beautiful 
 figure. Her loveliness expanded in the perfumed atmos- 
 phere and dazzling light of the ball-room. Never had her 
 hair looked so brilliant a black, her complexion so exqui- 
 site, or her large eyes so sparkling. Having greeted their 
 hosts, Madeleine took her aunt's arm, while M. Fauvel 
 wandered about in search of the card-tables, the usual ref- 
 uge of bored men, who find themselves enticed into a ball- 
 room. 
 
 Dancing was now at its height. Two orchestras, led by 
 Strauss and one of his lieutenants, filled the saloons with 
 intoxicating sounds. The motley crowd whirled in the 
 waltz, presenting a curious confusion of velvets, satins, 
 laces, and diamonds. Almost every head and bosom 
 sparkled with jewels; the palest cheeks became rosy; 
 heavy eyes now shone like stars ; and the glistening shoul- 
 ders of fair women were like drifted snow in an April 
 sun. 
 
 I 
 
FILE NO. 113. l;j 
 
 Forgotten by tlie crowd, the merry-andrew had take\ 
 refuge in the embrasure of a window, and seemed to b<* 
 meditating upon the gay scene before him ; at the sam% 
 time, he kept his eyes upon a couple not far distant. It 
 was Madeleine, leaning on the arm of a gorgeously attired 
 doge, that attracted his gaze, and the doge was the Mar^ 
 quis de Clameran, who appeared radiant, rejuvenated, and 
 whose attentions to his partner had an air of triumph. At 
 an interval in the quadrille, he leaned over her and whis- 
 pered compliments of unbounded admiration ; and she 
 seemed to listen, if not with pleasure, at least without re- 
 pugnance. She now and then smiled, and coquettishly 
 shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " Evidently," muttered the merry-andrew, " this noble 
 scoundrel is paying court to the banker's niece ; so I was 
 right yesterday. But how can Mademoiselle Madeleine 
 resign herself so graciously to his insipid flattery ? Fortu- 
 nately, Prosper is not here now." 
 
 He was interrupted by an elderly man wrapped in a 
 Venetian mantle, who said to him : " You remember, M. 
 Verduret — " this name was uttered half seriously, half ban- 
 teringly — "what you promised me ? " 
 
 The merry-andrew bowed ;vith great respect, but not the 
 slightest shade of humility. " I remember," he replied. 
 
 " But do not be imprudent, I beg you." 
 
 " Monsieur the Count need not be uneasy ; he has my 
 promise." 
 
 " Very good. I know its value." The count walked 
 off ; but during this short colloquy the quadrille had ended, 
 and M. de Clameran and Madeleine were lost to sight. 
 
 " I shall find them near Madame Fauvel," thought the 
 merry-andrew. And he at once started in search of the 
 banker's wife. 
 
 Incommoded by the stifling heat of the room, Madame 
 Fauvel had sought a little fresh air in the grand picture- 
 gallery, which, thanks to the talisman called gold, was 
 now transformed into a fairy-like garden, filled with orange- 
 trees, japonicas, oleanders, and white lilacs, the delicate 
 bunches of which hung in graceful clusters. The merry- 
 andrew saw her seated near the door of the card-room. 
 Upon her right was Madeleine, and on her left stood Raoul 
 de Lagors, dressed in a costume of the time of Henri III. 
 
 "I must confess," muttered the merry-andrew, from his 
 
136 ^ILE NO. 113. 
 
 post of observation, "that the young scamp is a hand 
 some-looking fellow. 
 
 Madeleine appeared very sad. She had plucked a camel- 
 lia from a plant near by, and was mechanically pulling it to 
 pieces as she sat with her eyes cast down. Raoul and 
 Madame Fauvel were engaged in earnest conversation. 
 Their faces seemed composed, but the gestures of the one 
 and the trembling of the other betrayed that a serious dis- 
 cussion was taking place between them. In the card-room 
 sat the doge, M. de Clameran, so placed as to have a full 
 view of Madame Fauvel and Madeleine, although he was 
 himself concealed by an angle of the apartment. 
 
 " It is the continuation of yesterday's scene," thought 
 the merry-andrew. " If I could only get behind those 
 camellias, I might hear what they are saying." He pushed 
 his way through the crowd, but just as he had reached the 
 desired spot, Madeleine rose, and taking the arm of a be- 
 jewelled Persian, walked away. At the same moment 
 Raoul went into the card-room, and whispered a few words 
 to De Clameran. 
 
 "There they go," muttered the merry-andrew. "The 
 pair of scoundrels certainly hold these poor women in their 
 power ; and it is in vain that they struggle to free them- 
 selves. What can be the secret of their influence t " 
 
 Suddenly a great commotion was caused in the picture- 
 gallery, by the announcement of a wonderful minuet to be 
 danced in the grand saloon ; then by the arrival of the 
 Countess de Commarin as Aurora ; and finally, by the 
 presence of the Princess Korasolf, with her superb suite of 
 emeralds, reported to be the finest in the world. In an in- 
 stant the gallery became almost deserted. Only a few for- 
 lorn-looking people remained ; mostly sulky husbands, 
 whose wives were dancing with partners they were jealous 
 of, and some melancholy youths, looking awkward and 
 unhappy in their gay fancy dresses. The merry-andrew 
 thought the opportunity favorable for carrying out his de- 
 signs. He abruptly left his corner, brandishing his banner, 
 and tapping upon it with his switch, hammering affectedly 
 dl the time, as though about to speak. Having crossed 
 ^he gallery, he placed himself between the chair occupied 
 by Madame Fauvel and the door. As soon as the people 
 left in the gallery had collected in a circle round him, he 
 
FILE NO. 113. 137 
 
 Struck a comical attitude, and in a tone of great buffoonery 
 proceeded to address them as follows : 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, this morning I obtained a license 
 from the authorities of this city. And for what ? Why, 
 gentlemen, for the purpose of exhibiting to you a spectacle 
 which has already excited the admiration of the four 
 quarters of the globe, and of several other academieso 
 Inside this booth, ladies, is about to commence the repre- 
 sentation of a most unheard-of drama, acted for the first 
 time at Pekin, and translated by our most famous authors. 
 Gentlemen, you can take your seats at once ; the lamps 
 are lighted, and the actors are dressing." 
 
 Here he stopped speaking, and imitated to perfection 
 the screeching sounds which mountebanks educe from their 
 musical instruments. " Now, ladies and gentlemen," he 
 resumed, ''you will wish to know what I am doing here, if 
 the piece is to be performed inside the booth. The fact is, 
 gentlemen, that I intend to give you a foretaste of the agita- 
 tions, sensations, emotions, palpitations, and other enter- 
 tainments which you may enjoy for the small sum of ten 
 sous. You see this superb picture ? Well, it represents 
 the eight most thrilling scenes in the drama. Ah, you 
 begin to shudder already ; and yet this is nothing com- 
 pared to the play itself. This splendid picture gives 
 you no more idea of the actual performance than a drop of 
 water gives an idea of the sea, or a spark of fire of the 
 sun. My picture, gentlemen, is merely a foretaste of what 
 takes place inside, like the odors which emanate from the 
 kitchen of a restaurant." 
 
 " Do you know the fellow ? " asked an enormous Turk of 
 a melancholy Punch. 
 
 " No, but he iinitates a trumpet splendidly." 
 
 " Oh, very well indeed ! But what is he driving at ? " 
 
 He was endeavoring to attract the attention of Madame 
 Fauvel, who, since Raoul and Madeleine had left her, had 
 abandoned herself to a mournful reverie. He succeeded 
 in his object. His shrill voice brought the banker's wife 
 back to a sense of reality; she started and looked quickly 
 about her, as if suddenly awakened ; then she turned to- 
 wards the merry-andrew. 
 
 He, however, continued : " Now, ladies, we are in China. 
 The first of the eight pictures on my canvas, here, in the 
 left hand corner," — here he touched the top daub, — " rep- 
 
J38 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 resents the celebrated Mandarin Li-F6, in the bosom of 
 his family. The pretty young lady leaning over him is his 
 wife ; and the children playing on the carpet are the bonds 
 of love between this happy pair. Do you not inhale the 
 odor of contentment and happiness emanating from this 
 admirable picture, gentlemen? Madame Li-F6 is the 
 most virtuous of women, adoring her husband and idol- 
 izing her children. Being virtuous she is happy, for as the 
 wise Confucius says, ' The ways of virtue are more pleasant^ 
 than the ways of vice.' " 
 
 Madame Fauvel had quitted her seat, and taken another 
 nearer to the speaker. 
 
 " Do you see anything on the banner like what he has 
 been describing 1 " asked the melancholy Punch of his 
 neighbor. 
 
 " No, nothing. Do you ? " 
 
 The fact is, that the daubs of paint on the canvas rep- 
 resented nothing in particular, so that the merry-andrew 
 could pretend they were anything he pleased. 
 
 " Picture No. 2 ! " he cried, after a flourish of music 
 *' This old lady, seated before a mirror tearing out her hair, 
 — especially the gray ones, — you have seen before ; do you 
 recognize her? No, you do not. Well, she is the fair 
 mandarine of the first picture. I see the tears in your eyes, 
 ladies and gentlemen. Ah, you have cause to weep ; for 
 she is no longer virtuous, and her happiness has departed 
 with her virtue. Alas, it is a sad tale ! One fatal day she 
 met in a street of Pekin, a young ruffian, fiendish, but 
 beautiful as an angel, and she loves him — the wretched 
 woman loves him ! " 
 
 The last words were uttered in the most tragic tone as 
 he raised his clasped hands to heaven. During this tirade 
 he had turned slightly round, so that he now found himself 
 facing the banker's wife, whose countenance he closely 
 watched while he was speaking. 
 
 '' You are surprised, gentlemen," he continued ; " I am 
 not. The great Bilboquet, my master, has proved to us 
 that the heart never grows old, and that the most vigorous 
 wall-flowers flourish on the oldest ruins. This unhappy 
 woman is nearly fifty years old — fifty years old, and in 
 love with a youth ! Hence this heart-rending scene which 
 should serve as a warning to us all." 
 
 ** Really 1 " grumbled a cook dressed in white satin, wha 
 
FILE NO. 113. 139 
 
 had passed the evening distributing bills of fare, which no 
 one read, " I thought he would be more amusing." 
 
 " But," continued the merry-andrew, " you must go in- 
 side the booth to witness the effects of the mandarine's 
 folly. At times a ray of reason penetrates her diseased 
 brain, and then the sight of her anguish would soften a 
 heart of stone. Enter, and for the small sum of ten sous 
 you shall hear sobs such as the Odeon theatre never echoed 
 in its halcyon days. The unhappy woman has waked up 
 to the absurdity and inanity of her blind passion ; she con- 
 fesses to herself that she is madly pursuing a phantom. 
 She knows but too well that he, in the vigor and beauty of 
 youth, cannot love a faded old woman like herself, who 
 vainly endeavors to retain the last traces of her once en- 
 trancing beautv. She feels that the sweet words he once 
 w^hispered in her charmed ear were deceitful falsehoods. 
 She knows that the day is near when she will be left alone, 
 with nothing save his mantle in her hand." 
 
 As the merry-andrew addressed this voluble harangue 
 to the crowd around him, he narrowly watched the counte- 
 nance of the banker's wife. But nothing he had said 
 seemed to affect her. She leaned back in her arm-chair 
 perfectly calm, with the accustomed brightness in her eyes 
 and an occasional smile upon her lips. 
 
 " Good heavens ! " muttered the merry-andrew uneasily, 
 " can I be on the wrong tack ? " Preoccupied, however, 
 as he was, he observed an addition to his circle of listeners 
 in the person of M. de Clameran. " The third picture," 
 said he, after imitating a roll of drums, " depicts the old 
 mandarine after she has dismissed that most annoying of 
 guests — remorse — from her bosom. She promises herself 
 that interest will supply the place of love in chaining the 
 too seductive youth to her side. It is with this object 
 that she invests him with false honors and dignity, and in- 
 troduces him to the chief mandarins of the capital of the 
 Celestial Empire ; then, since so handsome a youth must 
 cut a fine figure in society, and as a fine figure cannot be 
 cut without money, the lady sacrifices all she possesses for 
 his sake. Necklaces, rings, bracelets, diamonds, and pearls, 
 are all surrendered. The monster carries all these jewels 
 to the pawnbrokers in the Tien-Tsi Street, and then has 
 the cruelty to refuse her the tickets, by means of which 
 she might redeem her treasures." 
 
140 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 The merry-andrew thought that he had at last hit the 
 mark. Madame Fauvel began to betray signs of agitation. 
 Once she made an attempt to rise from her seat and to re- 
 tire, but it seemed as if her strength failed her, and she 
 sank back, forced to listen to the end. 
 
 " Finally, ladies and gentlemen," continued the merry- 
 andrew, " the richly filled jewel-cases became empty. The 
 day arrived when the mandarine had nothing more to give. 
 It was then that the young scoundrel conceived the project 
 of carrying off the jasper button belonging to the mandarin 
 Li-F6 — a splendid jewel of incalculable value, which, being 
 the badge of his dignity, was kept in a granite stronghold, 
 and guarded by three soldiers night and day. Ah ! the 
 mandarine resisted for a long time ! She knew the inno- 
 cent soldiers would be accused and crucified, as is the 
 custom in Pekin , and this thought restrained her. But 
 her lover besought her so tenderly, that she finally yielded 
 to his entreaties; and — the jasper button was stolen. 
 The fourth picture represents the guilty couple stealthily 
 creeping down the private staircase : see their frightened 
 looks — see — " 
 
 The merry-andrew abruptly stopped. Three or four of 
 his auditors rushed to the assistance of Madame Fauvel, 
 who seemed about to faint ; and at the same moment he 
 felt his arm roughly seized by some one behind him. He 
 turned round and found himself face to face with M. de 
 Clameran and Raoul de Lagors, both of whom were pale 
 with anger. 
 
 " What do you require, gentlemen ? " he asked politely. 
 
 " To speak with you," they answered in. a breath. 
 
 " I am at your service." And he followed them to the 
 end of the picture-gallery, near a window opening on to a 
 balcony. Here they were unobserved except by the man 
 in the Venetian cloak, whom the merry-andrew has so re- 
 spectfully addressed as " Monsieur the Count." The min- 
 uet having ended, the musicians were resting, and the 
 crowd began rapidly to fill the gallery. Madame Fauvel's 
 sudden faintness had passed off unnoticed save by a few, 
 who attributed it to the heat of the room. M. Fauvel had 
 been sent for ; but when he came hurrying in, and found 
 his wife composedly talking to Madeleine, his alarm was 
 dissipated, and he returned to the card-tables. 
 
 Not having as much control oyer his temper as RaouJ 
 
FILE NO. 113. 141 
 
 M. de Clameran angrily remark«d to the merry-andrew : 
 " In the first place, sir, I should like to know who I am 
 speaking to." 
 
 The merry-andrew, determined to answer as if he thought 
 the question were a jest, replied in the bantering tone of 
 a buffoon : " You want my passport, do you, my lord doge ? 
 I left it in the hands of the city authorities ; it contains 
 my name, age, profession, domicile, and every detail." 
 
 With an angry gesture, M. de Clameran interrupted him. 
 *' You have just committed a most vile action ! " 
 
 " I, my lord doge ? " 
 
 " Yes, you ! What is the meaning of the abominable 
 story you have been relating ? " 
 
 " Abominable ! You may say so, if you like ; but I, who 
 composed it, entertain a different opinion." 
 
 " Enough, sir ; you might at least have the courage to 
 acknowledge that your allusions conveyed a vile insinua- 
 tion against Madame Fauvel." 
 
 The merry-andrew stood with his head thrown back, and 
 mouth wide open, as if astounded at what he heard. But 
 any one who knew him would have detected his bright 
 black eyes sparkling with malicious satisfaction. 
 
 " Bless my heart ! " he cried, as if speaking to himself. 
 " This is the strangest thing I ever heard of ! How can 
 my drama of the Mandarine Li-Fo, have any reference to 
 Madame Fauvel, whom I don't know from Adam or Eve ? 
 I can't think how the resemblance — unless — but no, that 
 is impossible." 
 
 " Do you pretend," said M. de Clameran, " to be igno- 
 rant of M. Fauvel's misfortune ? " 
 
 The merry-andrew looked very innocent, and asked: 
 ** A misfortune ? " 
 
 " I mean the robbery of which M. Fauvel is the victim. 
 It is in every one's mouth, and you must have heard of 
 it." 
 
 " Ah, yes, yes ; I remember. His cashier has run off 
 with three hundred and fifty thousand francs. Gracious 
 me ! It is a thing that almost happens daily. But, as to 
 discovering any connection between this robbery and my 
 story, that is quite another matter." 
 
 M. de Clameran did not hasten to reply. A nudge 
 from De Lagors had calmed him as if by enchantment. 
 He looked suspiciously at the mountebank, and seemed to 
 
143 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 regret having uttered the significant words forced from 
 him by angry excitement. " Very well," he finally said 
 in his usual haughty tone ; " I must have been mistaken, 
 I accept your explanation." 
 
 But the merry-andrew, hitherto so humble and foolish- 
 looking, seemed to take offence at the last word, and as- 
 suming a defiant attitude, exclaimed : " I have not given. 
 nor had I to give, any explanation." 
 
 " Sir ! " began De Clameran. 
 
 " Allow me to finish, if you please. If, unintentionally, 
 I have offended the wife of a man whom I highly esteem, 
 it is, I fancy, his business to seek redress, and not yours. 
 Perhaps you will tell me he is too old to demand satisfac- 
 tion, very likely ; but he has sons, and I have just seen 
 one of them here. You ask who I am ; in return I ask you 
 who are you — you who undertake to act as Madame Fauvel's 
 champion ? Are you her relative, friend, or ally? What 
 right have you to insult her by pretending to discover an 
 allusion to her in a story invented for amusement } " 
 
 There was nothing to be said in reply to this. M. de 
 Clameran sought a means of evading a complete answer. 
 " I am a friend of M. Fauvel's," he said, " and this title 
 gives me the right to be as jealous of his reputation as if 
 it were my own. If you do not think this a sufficient rea- 
 son for my interference, I must inform you that his family 
 will shortly be mine." 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 "Next week, sir, my marriage with Mademoiselle Mad- 
 eleine will be publicly announced." 
 
 This news was so unexpected, so strange, that for a mo- 
 ment the merry-andrew was fairly astounded. But he soon 
 recovered himself, and bowing with deference, said, with 
 covert irony : " Permit me to offer you my congratulations^ 
 sir. Besides being the belle of to-night's ball. Mademoi- 
 selle Madeleine is worth, I hear, half a million." 
 
 Raoul de Lagors had anxiously been watching the peo- 
 ple near them, to see if they overheard this conversation. 
 *' We have had enough of this gossip," he said, in a dis- 
 dainful tone ; " I will only say one thing to you, my fine 
 fellow, and that is, your tongue is too long." 
 
 " Perhaps it is, my pretty youth, perhaps it is ; but my 
 arm is still longer." 
 
 De Clameran here interrupted them by exclaiming' 
 
flLE NO. 113. 143 
 
 " It is impossible to have an explanation with a man who 
 conceals his identity under the guise of a fool." 
 
 " You are at liberty, my lord doge, to ask the master of 
 the house who I am — if you dare." 
 
 " You are," cried Clameran, "you are — " A warning 
 look from Raoul checked the noble iron-founder from us- 
 ing an epithet which might have led to an affray, or at 
 least a scandalous scene. 
 
 The merry-andrew stood by with a sardonic smile, and, 
 after a moment's silence, stared M. de Clameran steadily 
 in the face, and in measured tones said : " I was the best 
 friend, sir, that your dead brother Gaston ever had. I 
 was his adviser, and the confidant of his last hopes." 
 
 These words came like a clap of thunder on De Cla- 
 meran, who turned deadly pale, and started back with his 
 hands stretched out before him, as if shrinking from a 
 phantom. He tried to answer, to protest, to say some- 
 thing, but terror froze the words upon his tongue. 
 
 " Come, let us go," said De Lagors, who had remained 
 perfectly self-possessed. And he dragged De Clameran 
 away, half supporting him, for he staggered like a drunken 
 man, and clung to every object he passed, to prevent him- 
 self from falling. 
 
 " Oh, oh, oh ! " exclaimed the merry-andrew, in three 
 different tones. He was almost as much astonished as 
 the forge-master, and remained rooted to the spot, watch- 
 ing the latter as he slowly left the room. It was with no 
 decided object in view that the merry-andrew had ventured 
 to use the last mysteriously threatening words, but he had 
 been inspired to do so by his wonderful instinct, which 
 with him was like the scent of a bloodhound. ''What can 
 this mean } " he murmured. " Why was he so frightened .<* 
 What terrible memory have I awakened in his base soul ? 
 I need not boast of my penetration, or the subtlety of my 
 plans. There is a great master, who, without any effort, 
 in an instant destroys all our chimeras ; he is called 
 * Chance.' " 
 
 His mind had wandered far from the present scene, 
 ,vhen he was brought back, to his situation by some one 
 touching him on the shoulder. It was the man in the Ve- 
 netian cloak. " Are you satisfied, M. Verduret .'' " he in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Yes and no, Monsieur the Count. No, because I have 
 
/44 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 not completely achieved the object I had in view when I 
 asked you to obtain an invitation for me here to-night ; 
 yes, because these two rascals behaved in a manner which 
 dispels all doubt." 
 
 " And yet you complain — " 
 
 " I do not complain, sir ; on the contrary, I bless 
 chance, or rather Providence, which has just revealed to 
 me the existence of a secret that I did not before even 
 suspect." 
 
 Five or six people approached the count, and he went 
 off with them after giving M. Verduret a friendly nod. 
 The latter instantly threw aside his banner, and started 
 in pursuit of Madame Fauvel. He found her sitting on a 
 sofa, in the ball-room, engaged in an animated conversa- 
 tion with Madeleine. " Of course they are talking over the 
 scene ; but what has become of De Lagors and De Cla- 
 meran .? " thought he. He soon caught sight of them wan- 
 dering among the groups scattered about the room, and 
 eagerly asking questions. " I will bet my head," he mut- 
 tered, " these honorable gentlemen are trying to find out 
 who I am. Ask away, my friends, ask away ! " 
 
 They soon gave over their inquiries, but were so pre- 
 occupied, and anxious to be alone in order to reflect and 
 deliberate, that, without waiting for the supper, they took 
 leave of Madame Fauvel and her niece, saying they 
 were going home. The merry-andrew saw them enter the 
 cloak-room to fetch their cloaks : and in a few min- 
 utes they left the house. " I have nothing more to 
 do here," he murmured ; " I may as well go too." 
 
 Completely covering his dress with an ample overcoat, 
 he started for home, thinking the cold frosty air would 
 cool his confused brain. He lit a cigar and, walking up 
 the Rue St. Lazare, crossed the Rue Notre Dame de Lo- 
 rette, and struck into the Faubourg Montmartre. A man 
 suddenly darted out from some place of concealment, and 
 rushed upon him with a dagger. Fortunately the merry- 
 andrew had a cat-like instinct, which enabled him to pro- 
 tect himself against immediate danger, and detect any 
 harm which threatened. He saw, or rather divined, the 
 man crouching in the dark shadow of a house, and had the 
 presence of mind to step back and spread out his arms be- 
 fore him, and so ward off the would-be assassin. This 
 movement certainly saved his life ; for he received in the 
 
FILE NO. 113. 145 
 
 arm a furious stab, which would have instantly killed him 
 had it penetrated his breast. Anger, more than pain, 
 made him exclaim : " Ah, you villain ! " And recoiling 
 a few feet, he put himself on the defensive. The precau- 
 tion, however, was useless ; for seeing his blow miss the 
 mark, the assassin did not return to the attack, but made 
 rapidly off. 
 
 " That was certainly De Lagors," thought the merry- 
 andrew, "and De Clameran must be somewhere near. 
 While I walked round one side of the church, they must 
 have gone the other and lain in wait for me." 
 
 His wound began to pain him very much, and he stood 
 under a gas-lamp to examine it. It did not appear to be 
 dangerous, although the arm was cut through to the bone. 
 He tore his handkerchief into four bands, and tied his arm 
 up with them with the dexterity of a surgeon. " I must be 
 on the track of some great crime," said he, " since these 
 fellows are resolved upon murder. When such cunning 
 rogues are only in danger of the police court, they do not 
 gratuitously risk the chance of being tried for murder." 
 He thought that by enduring a great deal of pain he might 
 still use his arm, so he started in pursuit of his enemy, 
 taking care to keep in the middle of the road, and to avoid 
 all dark corners. Although he saw no one, he was con- 
 vinced that he was being followed. He was not mistaken. 
 When he reached the Boulevard Montmartre, he crossed 
 the street, and, as he did so, distinguished two shadows 
 which he recognized. They also crossed the street a little 
 higher up. 
 
 " I have to deal wdth desperate men," he muttered. 
 "They do not even take the pains to conceal their pursuit 
 of me. They seem to be accustomed to this kind of ad- 
 venture, and the carriage trick which fooled Fanferlot 
 would never succeed with them. Besides, my light hat is 
 a perfect beacon to lead them on in the night." He con- 
 tinued his way up the boulevard, and, without turning his 
 head, felt sure that his enemies were not more than thirty 
 paces behind him. " I must get rid of them somehow," he 
 said to himself. " I can neither return home nor to the 
 Grand Archangel with these devils at my heels. They are 
 following me now to find out where I live, and who I am. 
 If they discover the merry-andrew is M. Verduret, and that 
 M. Verduret is M. Lecoq, my plans will be ruined. They 
 10 
 
1^6 PTLE NO. 113. 
 
 will esiscape abroad with the money, and I shall be left to 
 console myself with a wounded arm. A pleasant ending 
 to all my exertions ! " 
 
 The idea of Raoul and De Clameran escaping him so 
 exasperated him that for an instant he thought of having 
 them arrested at once. This was easy enough, for he only 
 had to rush upon them, shout for help, and they would all 
 three be arrested, conducted to the police-station and 
 brought before the commissary. The police often resort 
 to this ingenious and simple means to arrest a criminal 
 whom they may meet by chance, and whom they cannot 
 seize without a warrant. The merry-andrew had sufficient 
 proof to sustain him in the arrest of De Lagors. He could 
 produce the letter and the mutilated prayer-book, he could 
 reveal the existence of the pawnbroker's tickets in the 
 house at Vesinet, he could show his wounded arm. He 
 could, if necessary, force Raoul to confess how and why 
 he had assumed the name of De Lagors, and what his mo- 
 tive was in passing himself off as a relative of M. Fauvel. 
 On the other hand, in acting thus hastily, he would be, per- 
 haps, insuring the safety of the principal plotter, De Cla- 
 meran. What absolute proofs had he against him t Not 
 one. He had strong suspicions, but no real grounds for 
 making any criminal charge. On reflection, the detec- 
 tive decided tnat he would act alone, as he had thus far 
 done, and that alone and unaided he would discover the 
 truth of his suspicions. 
 
 Having arrived at this decision, the first step to be taken 
 was to put his pursuers on the wrong scent. He walked 
 rapidly along the Boulevard Sebastopol, and, reaching the 
 square of the Arts et Metiers, he abruptly stopped, and 
 asked some insignificant questions of two policemen, who 
 were standing talking together. This manoeuvre had the 
 result he expected ; Raoul and De Clameran stood per- 
 fectly still about twenty steps off, not daring to advance. 
 While talking with the constables, the merry-andrew pulled 
 the bell of the door before which they were standing, and 
 the sound that ensued apprised him that the door was open. 
 He bowed, and entered the house. 
 
 A minute later the constables had passed on, and De 
 Lagors and De Clameran in their turn rang the bell. When 
 the door was opened, they roused up the concierge and 
 asked who it was that had just gone in disguised as a merry* 
 
FILE NO. 113. 147 
 
 andrew. They were told that he had seen no such person, 
 and that none of the lodgers had gone out in fancy cos- 
 tume that night. " However," added the man, " I am not 
 perfectly sure, for this house has another door which opens 
 on the Rue St. Denis." 
 
 " We are tricked," interrupted De Lagors, " and will 
 never know who this merry-andrew is." 
 
 " Unless we learn it too soon for our own advantage," 
 said De Clameran musingly. 
 
 While the pair were lamenting their failure in discover- 
 ing the merry-andrew's identity, Verduret hurried along 
 and reached the Grand Archangel as the clock struck 
 three. Prosper, who was watching from his window, saw 
 him in the distance, and ran down to open the door for him. 
 *' What have you learned ? " he asked : " what did you find 
 out .-* Did you see Madeleine ? Were Raoul and De 
 Clameran at the ball ? " 
 
 But M. Verduret was not in the habit of discussing pri- 
 vate affairs where he might be overheard. " First of all, 
 let us go into your room," said he, " and then get me some 
 water to wash this cut, which burns like fire." 
 
 " Heavens ! Are you wounded ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is a little souvenir of your friend Raoul. Ah, I 
 will soon teach him the danger of scratching my skin ! " 
 Prosper was surprised at the look of merciless rage on his 
 friend's face, as he calmly washed and dressed his arm. 
 " Now, Prosper, we will talk as much as you please," re- 
 sumed M. Verduret. " Our enemies are on the alert, and 
 we must crush them instantly. I have made a mistake. 
 I have been on the wrong track ; it is an accident liable 
 to happen to any man, no matter how intelligent he maybe. 
 I took the effect for the cause. The day I was convinced 
 that culpable relations existed between Raoul and Mad- 
 ame Fauvel, I thought I held the end of the thread that 
 would lead us to the truth. I ought to have been more 
 mistrustful ; this solution was too simple, too natural." 
 
 " Do you suppose Madame Fauvel to be innocent ? " 
 
 *' Certainly not ; but her guilt is not such as I first sup- 
 posed. I imagined that, infatuated with a seductive young 
 adventurer, Madame Fauvel had bestowed upon him the 
 name of one of her relatives, and then introduced him to 
 her husband as her nephew. This was an adroit stratagem 
 to gain him admission to the house. She began by giving 
 
148 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 him all the money she could dispose of ; then she let him 
 have her jewels to pawn ; and at length having nothing 
 more to give, she allowed him to steal ihe money from her 
 husband's safe. That is what I first thought." 
 
 " And in this way everything was explained ? " 
 
 " No, this did not explain everything, as I well knew at 
 the time, and should, consequently, have studied my char- 
 acters more thoroughly. How is De Clameran's ascend- 
 ency to be accounted for, if my first idea was the correct 
 one ? " 
 
 " De Clameran is De Lagors's accomplice, of course." 
 
 " Ah, there is the mistake ! I for a long time believed 
 De Lagors to be the person principally concerned, where- 
 as, in fact, he is nothing. Yesterday, in a dispute between 
 them, the forge-master said to him, 'And, above all, my 
 young friend, I would advise you not to resist me, for if 
 you do I will crush you to atoms.' That explains all. The 
 elegant De Lagors is not Madame Fauvel's lover, but De 
 Clameran's tool. Besides, did our first suppositions ac- 
 count for Madeleine's resigned obedience .'* It is De 
 Clameran, and not De Lagors, whom she obeys." 
 
 Prosper began to remonstrate. M. Verduret shrugged 
 his shoulders. To convince him he had only to tell him 
 that three hours ago De Clameran had announced his ap- 
 proaching marriage with Madeleine ; but he refrained from 
 doing so. " De Clameran," he continued, " De Clameran 
 alone has Madame Fauvel in his power. Now, the ques- 
 tion is, what is the secret of this terrible influence he has 
 gained over her? I have positive proof that they have 
 not met since their early youth until fifteen months ago ,- 
 and, as Madame Fauvel's reputation has always been 
 above the reach of slander, we must seek in the past for 
 the cause of her resigned obedience to his will." 
 
 " We shall never discover it," said Prosper mourn- 
 fully. 
 
 " We shall know it as soon as we have learnt the history 
 of De Clameran's past life. Ah, to-night he turned as 
 white as a sheet when I mentioned his brother Gaston's 
 name. And then I remembered that Gaston died 
 suddenly, while his brother Louis was on a visit to 
 him.'' 
 
 " Do you think he was murdered ? " 
 
 " I think the men who tried to assassinate me would do 
 
FILE NO. 113. M9 
 
 anything. The robbery, my friend, has now become a 
 secondary affair. It is easily explained, and, if that were 
 all that hajd to be accounted for, I would say to you ; * My 
 task is done, let us go and ask the investigating magistrate 
 for a warrant of arrest.' " 
 
 Prosper started up with sparkling eyes, and exclaimed .- 
 " What, you know then — is it possible ? " 
 
 *' Yes, I know who gave the key, and I know who told 
 the secret word." 
 
 " The key may have been M. Fauvel's. But the 
 word — " 
 
 " The word, unlucky man, you gave yourself. You have 
 forgotten, I suppose. But, fortunately, Nina remembered. 
 You know that a couple of days before the robbery, you 
 took De Lagors and two other friends to sup with Madame 
 Gipsy ? Nina was sad, and reproached you for not being 
 more devoted to her." 
 
 " Yes, I remember that." 
 
 " But do you remember what you replied to her ? " 
 
 " No, I do not," said Prosper, after thinkmg a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 " Well, I will tell you ; you said : ' Nina, you are unjust 
 in reproaching me with not thinking constantly of you, 
 for at this very moment it is your dear name that guards 
 my employer's safe.' " 
 
 The truth suddenly burst upon Prosper like a thunder- 
 clap. He wrung his hands despairingly and exclaimed : 
 " Yes, O yes ! I remember now." 
 
 " Then you can easily understand the rest. One of the 
 scoundrels went to Madame Fauvel, and compelled her 
 to give up her husband's key ; then, at a venture, he 
 placed the movable buttons on the name of Gipsy, opened 
 the safe, and took from it the three hundred and fifty 
 thousand francs. And Madame Fauvel must have been 
 terribly frightened before she yielded. The day after the 
 robbery the poor woman was near dying; and it -was she 
 who at the greatest risk sent you the ten thousand 
 francs." 
 
 " But who was the thief, Raoul or De Clameran ? 
 What enables them .0 thus tyrannize over Madame Fauvel ? 
 And how does Madeleine come to be mixed up in this 
 disgraceful affair ? " 
 
 "These questions, my dear Prosper, I cannot yet an* 
 
150 FILE NO, 113. 
 
 swer ; therefore I postpone going to see the magistrate. 
 1 must ask you to wait ten days ; and, if in that time I 
 cannot discover the solution of this mystery, I will returrx, 
 and we will go together to M. Patrigent." 
 
 " Are you then going away ? " 
 
 " In an hour I shall be on the road to Beaucaire. It was 
 from that neighborhood that De Clameran came, as well 
 as Madame Fauvel, who was a Mademoiselle de La Ver- 
 berie before her marriage." 
 
 " Yes, I have heard of both families." 
 
 "I must go there to study them. Neither Raoul nor De 
 Clameran can escape during my absence. The police 
 will not lose sight of them. But you. Prosper, must be 
 prudent. Promise me to remain a prisoner here whilst I 
 am away." 
 
 All that M. Verduret asked, Prosper willingly promised. 
 But he could not let him depart thus. "Will you not tell 
 me, sir," he asked, " who you are, and your reasons for 
 coming to my assistance ? " 
 
 M. Verduret smiled sadly, and replied : " I will tell you 
 in the presence of Nina, on the day before your marriage 
 with Madeleine takes place." 
 
 Once left X.c his own reflections. Prosper began to ap- 
 preciate the powerful assistance rendered him by bis 
 friend. Recalling the field of investigation gone over by 
 his mysterious acquaintance, he was amazed at its extent. 
 How many facts had been discovered in a week, and with 
 what precision, too, although he had stated he was on 
 the wrong track ! Verduret had grouped his evidence, 
 and reached a result which Prosper felt he never could 
 have hoped to have attained by his own exertions. He 
 was conscious that he possessed neither M. Verduret's 
 penetration nor his subtlety, still less the art of exacting 
 obedience, of creating friends at every step, and of mak- 
 ing men and circumstances conduce to the attainment of 
 a common result. He soon began to regret the absence 
 of this friend, who had risen up in the hour of adversity. 
 He missed the sometimes rough but always kindly voice, 
 which had encouraged and consoled him. He felt wofully 
 lost and helpless, not daring to act or think for himself, 
 more timid than a child when deserted by its nurse. He 
 had at least the good sense to follow the recommendations 
 af his mentor. He remained shut up at the Grand Arch' 
 
FILE NO. iiy 151 
 
 angel, not even showing himself at the windows. Twice 
 he had news of M. Verduret. The first time he received 
 a letter in which this friend said he had seen his father, 
 and had had a long talk with him. Afterwards, Dubois, 
 M. De Clameran's valet, came to tell him that his "chie<^" 
 reported everything as progressing finely. On the ninth 
 day of his voluntary seclusion, Prosper began to feel restless, 
 and at ten o'clock at night wished to go for a walk, think- 
 inji the fresh air would relieve the headache which had 
 kept him awake the previous night. Madame Alexandre, 
 who seemed to have some knowledge of M. Verduret's af- 
 fairs, begged Prosper to remain at home. 
 
 " What do I risk by taking a walk at this hour, in a quiet 
 part of the city ? " he asked. " I can certainly stroll as far 
 as the Jardin des Plantes without the chance of meeting 
 any one." 
 
 Unfortunately he did not strictly follow this programme ; 
 for, having reached the Orleans railway station, he went 
 into a cafe near by, and called for a glass of beer. As he 
 sat drinking it, he glanced at a daily paper, " Le Soleil," 
 and under the heading of " Rumors of the Day," read 
 the following paragraph : " We understand that the niece 
 of one of our most prominent bankers, M. Andre Fauvel, 
 will be shortly married to the Marquis Louis de Clameran, 
 a Provencal nobleman." This news, coming upon him so 
 unexpectedly, proved to Prosper the justness of M. Ver- 
 duret's calculatiorts. Alas ! why did not this certainty 
 inspire him with absolute faith ? Why did it not give him 
 the courage to wait, the strength of mind to refrain from act- 
 ing on his own responsibility. P'renzied by distress of 
 mind, he already saw Madeleine indissolubly united to this 
 villain, and, thinking that M. Verduret would perhaps ar- 
 rive too late to be of use, determined at all risks to throw 
 an obstacle in the way of the marriage. He called for pen 
 and paper, and, forgetting that no situation can excuse 
 the mean cowardice of an anonymous letter, wrote in a dis- 
 guised hand the following lines to M. Fauvel : 
 
 " Dear Sir, — You consigned your cashier to prison ; you 
 acted rightly, since you were convinced of his dishonesty 
 and faithlessness. But, even if he stole three hundred 
 and fifty thousand francs from your safe, does it follow 
 that he also stole Madam Fauvel's diamonds, and took 
 
152 FILE NO, 113. 
 
 them to the pawnbroker's where they now are ? Warned 
 as you are, were I you, I would not be the subject of pub- 
 lic scandal, but I would watch my wife, and would soon 
 discover that one should ever be distrustful of handsome 
 cousins. Moreover, before signing Mademoiselle Made- 
 leine's marriage contract, I would call at the Prefecture of 
 Police, and obtain some information concerning the noble 
 Marquis de Clameran. — A Friend." 
 
 Prosper hastened off to post his letter. Fearing that it 
 would not reach M. Fauvel in time, he walked to one of 
 the head offices in the Rue Cardinal Lemoine, and put it 
 into the letter-box. Until this moment he had not doubted 
 the propriety of his action. But now, when too late, when 
 he heard the sound of his letter falling into the box, a 
 thousand scruples filled his mind. Was it not wrong to 
 act thus hurriedly .'' Would not this letter interfere with 
 all M. Verduret's plans ? Upon reachmg the hotel, his 
 doubts were changed into bitter regrets. Joseph Dubois 
 was waiting for him ; he had received a telegram from his 
 chief saying that his business was finished, and that he 
 would return the next evening at nine o'clock. Prosper 
 was wretched. He would have given all he had to recover 
 the anonymous letter. And he had cause for regret. For 
 at that very hour M. Verduret was taking his se it in the 
 train at Tarascon, and meditating upon the most advanta- 
 geous plan to be adopted in pursuance of his discoveries. 
 For he had discovered everything. 
 
 Adding to what he already knew the story of an old 
 servant of Mademoiselle de La Verberie, the affidavit of an 
 old footman who had always lived in the De Clameran 
 family, and the depositions of the married couple in the 
 service of De Lagors at his Vesinet country-house, the lat- 
 ter having been sent to him by Dubois (Fanferlot), with a 
 good deal of information obtained from the Prefecture of 
 Police, he had worked up a complete case, and could now 
 act upon a chain of evidence without a missing link. As 
 he had predicted, he had been compelled to search into 
 the distant past for the first causes of the crime of which 
 Prosper had been the victim. The following is the drama, 
 as written out by him for the benefit of the examining 
 magistrate with the certainty that it contained sufficient 
 grounds for preferring an indictment 
 
FILE NO. l\l. 153 
 
 XII. 
 
 About six miles from Tarascon, on the left bank of the 
 Rhone, not far from Messrs. Audibert's wonderful gardens, 
 stood the chateau of Clameran, a weather-stained, neg 
 lected, but massive structure. Here lived, in 1841, the 
 old Marquis de Clameran and his two sons, Gaston and 
 Louis. The marquis was an eccentric old man. He be- 
 longed to the race of nobles, now almost extinct, whose 
 watches stopped in 1789, and who keep the time of a past 
 century. More attached to his illusions than to his life, 
 the old marquis insisted upon considering all the stirring 
 events which had happened since the first revolution as a 
 series of deplorable practical jokes. Emigrating in the 
 suite of the Count d'Artois, he did not return to France 
 until 18 1 5, with the allies. He should have been thankful 
 to heaven for the recovery of a portion of his immense 
 family estates ; a comparatively small portion, it is true, 
 but still sufficient to support him honorably. He said, 
 however, that he did not think the few paltry acres worth 
 thanking heaven for. At first he tried every means to ob- 
 tain an appointment at court ; but, finding all his efforts 
 fail, he resolved to retire to his chateau, which he did, 
 after cursing and pitying his king, whom he worshipped, 
 and whom, at the bottom of his heart, he regarded as a 
 thorough Jacobin. 
 
 The Marquis de Clameran soon became accustomed to 
 the free and indolent life of a country nobleman. Pos- 
 sessing about fifteen thousand francs a year, he spent 
 twenty-five or thirty thousand, borrowing even on his es- 
 tates, on the pretence that a genuine Restoration would 
 soon take place, and that he would then regain possession 
 of all his properties. Following his example, his younger 
 son, Louis, lived extravagantly, and was always in pursuit 
 of adventure, or idling away his time in drinking and gam- 
 bling. The elder son, Gaston, anxious to participate in 
 the stirring events of the time, studied hard, and read cer- 
 tain papers, and pamphlets surreptitiously received, the 
 mere titles of which were regarded by his father as blas- 
 phemous. Altogether the old marquis was the happiest of 
 mortals, eating and drinking well, hunting a good deal, 
 tolerated by the peasants, and execrated by the neighbor* 
 
154 i^ILE NO. 113. 
 
 ing townspeople, whom he treated with contempt and rail- 
 lery. Time never hung heavy on his hands, excepting in 
 the summer, when the valley of the Rhone was intensely 
 hot ; but even then he had infallible means of amusement 
 ever fresh, though always the same. It was to speak ill 
 of his neighbor the Countess de La Verberie. 
 
 The Countess de La Verberie, the marquis's special 
 aversion, was a tall, wiry woman, angular in character, as 
 well as in appearance, cold and arrogant towards her equals, 
 and domineering over her inferiors. Like her noble neigh- 
 bor, she had emigrated with her husband, who was after- 
 wards killed at Lutzen, but, unfortunately for his memory, 
 not in the French ranks. In 1815, the countess also came 
 back to France. But while the Marquis de Clameran re- 
 turned to comparative ease, she could obtain nothing from 
 royal munificence, but the small estate and chateau of La 
 Verberie, and a pension of two thousand five hundred 
 francs. The countess had but one child — a lovely girl 
 of eighteen, named Valentine ; fair, slender, and graceful, 
 with large, soft eyes, beautiful enough to make the stone 
 saints of the village church thrill in their niches, when she 
 knelt piously at their feet. The renown of her great 
 beauty, carried along on the rapid waters of the Rhone, 
 had spread far and wide. Often the boatmen and the ro- 
 bust drivers urging their powerful horses along the tow- 
 path, would stop to gaze with admiration upon Valentine, 
 seated under some grand old trees on the bank of the 
 river, absorbed in a book. At a distance, in her white 
 dress and flowing tresses, she seemed to these honest peo- 
 ple a mysterious spirit from another world, and they re- 
 garded it as a good omen when they caught a glimpse of 
 her. All along between Aries and Valence she was spoken 
 of as the " lovely fairy " of La Verberie. 
 
 If M. de Clameran detested the countess, Madame de 
 La Verberie execrated the marquis. If he nicknamed her 
 ''the witch," she retaliated by calling him "the old gan- 
 der." And yet they ought to have agreed, for at heart 
 they cherished the same opinions, though viewing them in 
 different ways. The marquis considered himself a phi- 
 losopher, scoifed at everything, and had an excellent diges- 
 tion. The countess nursed her old grievances, and grew 
 sallow and thin from rage and envy. Still, they might 
 have spent many pleasant evenings together, for, after all, 
 
FILE NO. \ix, 155 
 
 they were neighbors. From Clameran could be seen 
 Valentine's greyhound running about the park of La Ver* 
 berie ; from La Verberie glimpses were had of the lights 
 in the dining-room windows of Clameran. And, regularly 
 as these lights were discerned every evening, the countess 
 would say in a spiteful tone : " Ah, now their orgies are 
 about to commence ! " The two chateaux were only sepa- 
 rated by the fast-flowing Rhone, which at this spot was 
 rather narrow. But between the two families existed a 
 hatred deeper and more difficult to avert than even the 
 river's course. What was the cause of this hatred ? The 
 countess, no less than the marquis, would have found it 
 difficult to tell. It was related that under the reign of 
 Henri IV., or Louis XIII., a La Verberie had seduced a 
 fair daughter of the De Clamerans. The misdeed in 
 question led to a duel ; swords flashed in the sunlight, 
 and blood stained the fresh green grass. This ground- 
 work of facts had been highly embellished by fiction ; 
 handed down from generation to generation, it became a 
 long tragic history of perfidy, murder, and rapine, preclud- 
 ing any intercourse between the two families. 
 
 The usual result followed, as it always does in real life, 
 and often in romances, which, however exaggerated they 
 may be, generally preserve a reflection of the truth w^hich 
 inspires them. Gaston met Valentine at an entertain- 
 ment ; and fell in love with her at first sight. Valentine 
 saw Gaston, and from that moment his image filled her 
 heart. But so many obstacles separated them ! For 
 more than a year they both religiously guarded their secret, 
 buried like a treasure in the inmost recesses of their hearts. 
 This year of charming, dangerous reveries decided their 
 fate. To the sweetness of their first impressions a more 
 tender sentiment succeeded ; then came love, each of them 
 endowing the other with superhuman qualities and ideal 
 perfections. Deep, sincere passion expands only in soli 
 tude ; in the impure air of a city it fades and dies, like the 
 hardy plants of the south, which lose their color and 
 perfume when transplanted into our hot-houses. Gaston 
 and Valentine had only seen each other once, but seeing 
 was to love ; and, as the time passed, their love grew 
 stronger, until at last the fatality which had presided oyer 
 their first meeting brought them once more together 
 They chanced to be visiting at the same tirne the old 
 
156 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 Duchess d'Arlange, who had recently returned to the neigh- 
 borhood to dispose of her remaining property. They 
 spoke to each other, and like old friends, surprised to find 
 that they entertained the same thoughts and echoed the 
 same memories. Again they were separated for months. 
 But ere long, as if by accident, both chanced to be regu- 
 larly on the banks of the Rhone, at a certain hour, when 
 they would sit and gaze across the river at each other. 
 Finally, one mild May evening, when Madame de La Ver- 
 berie had gone to Beaucaire, Gaston ventured into the 
 park, and presented himself before Valentine. She was 
 neither surprised nor indignant. Genuine innocence dis- 
 plays none of the startled modesty assumed by its con- 
 ventional counterfeit. It never occurred to Valentine to 
 bid Gaston to leave her. She leaned upon his arm, and 
 strolled up and down the grand old avenue of oaks with 
 him. They did not say they loved each other, they felt it ; 
 but they did say with tears in their eyes that their love 
 was hopeless. They well knew that the inveterate family 
 feud could never be overcome, and that the attempt would 
 be mere folly. They swore never, never to forget each 
 other, and mournfully resolved never to meet again, ex- 
 cepting just once more ! 
 
 Alas ! Valentine was not without excuse. Possessed 
 of a timid, loving heart, her expansive affection had always 
 been repressed and chilled by a harsh mother. Never 
 had there been one of those long private talks between the 
 Countess de La Verberie and Valentine which enable a 
 good mother to read her daughter's heart like an open 
 book. Madame de La Verberie concerned herself only 
 M'ith her daughter's beauty. She was wont to think : 
 " Next winter I will borrow enough to take the child to 
 Paris, and I am much mistaken if her handsome looks do 
 not win her a rich husband and release me from this 
 wretched state of poverty." She considered this loving 
 her daughter ! The second meeting of the lovers was not 
 the last. Gaston dared not trust a boatman, so that he 
 had to walk a league in order to cross the bridge. He 
 thought it would be shorter work to swim the river ; but 
 he could not swim well, and to cross the Rhone where it 
 ran so rapidly was a rash proceeding even for the most 
 skilful swimmer. 
 
 However, he practised privately, and to such good pur* 
 
FILE NO. 113. 157 
 
 pose that one evening Valentine was startled by seeing 
 him rise out of the water at her feet. She made him 
 promise never to attempt this exploit again. Still he re- 
 peated the feat and the promise the next and every suc- 
 cessive evening. As Valentine was always imagining he 
 was being drowned in the furious current, they agreed up- 
 on a signal to relieve her anxiety. At the moment of 
 starting, Gaston would place a light in his window at 
 Clameran, and in a quarter of an hour he would be at his 
 idol's feet. 
 
 What were the projects and hopes of the lovers "i Alas ! 
 they had no projects, and they hoped for nothing. Blindly, 
 thoughtlessly, almost fearlessly, they abandoned themselves 
 to the dangerous happiness of a daily meeting. Regard- 
 less of the storm that threatened to burst over their heads, 
 they revelled in their present happiness. Is it not like 
 this with every sincere passion .? Love subsists upon it- 
 self and in itself ; and the very things which ought to ex- 
 tinguish it, absence and obstacles, only cause it to burn 
 more fiercely. It is exclusive and troubled neither with 
 the past or the future ; it sees and cares for nothing be- 
 yond its present enjoyment. Moreover, Valentine and 
 Gaston believed every one ignorant of their secret. They 
 had always been so exceedingly cautious ! they had kept 
 such a strict watch ! They flattered themselves that their 
 conduct had been a masterpiece of dissimulation and 
 prudence. Valentine had fixed upon a time for their 
 meetings when she was certain her mother would not miss 
 her. Gasto"^ had never confided his secret to anv one, 
 not even to his brother Louis. They never mentioned 
 each other's name. They denied themselves a last sweet 
 word, a final kiss, when they felt these would be attended 
 with danger. Poor blind lovers ! As if anything could 
 be concealed from the idle curiosity of country gossips ; 
 from the slanderous spirits ever on the look-out for some 
 new bit of scandal, on which they improve and eagerly 
 spread far and near. They believed their secret well kept, 
 whereas it had long since been a matter of public notori- 
 ety ; the story of their love, the particulars of their meet- 
 ings, were topics of conversation throughout the neighbor- 
 hood. Sometimes at dusk they would see a boat gliding 
 through the water, close to the shore, and would say to 
 f;acb other, " It is a belated fisherman returning home." 
 
158 FILE NO. 113. ^ 
 
 They were mistaken. On board the boat were spies, 
 who, delighted at having discovered them, hastened to re- 
 port, with a number of false details, the result of their 
 shameful expedition. 
 
 One dreary November evening, Gaston was awakened 
 to the true state of affairs. The Rhone was so swollen by 
 heavy rains that an inundation was daily expected. To 
 attempt to swim across this impetuous torrent, would be 
 tempting Providence. Gaston therefore went to Tarascon, 
 intending to cross the bridge there, and to walk along the 
 bank to the usual place of meeting at La Verberie, where 
 Valentine expected him at eleven o'clock. Whenever 
 Gaston went to Tarascon, he dined with a relative living 
 there ; but on this occasion a strange fatality led him to 
 accompany a friend to the Hotel of the Three Emperors. 
 After dinner, instead of going to the Cafe Simon, their 
 usual resort, they went to the little cafe facing the open 
 space where the fairs are held. They found the small 
 apartment crowded with young men of the town. Gaston 
 and his friend called for a bottle of beer, and commenced 
 a game at billiards. After they had been playing for a 
 short time, Gaston's attention was attracted by peals of 
 forced laughter from a party at the other end of the room. 
 From this moment, with his attention taken up by this con- 
 tinued laughter, of which he believed himself the object, 
 he knocked the balls about recklessly. His conduct sur- 
 prised his friend, who remarked to him : " Why, what is 
 the matter ? You are missing the simplest strokes." 
 
 " It is nothing." 
 
 The game continued a little while longer, when Gaston 
 suddenly turned as white as a sheet, and, throwing down 
 his cue, strode towards the table which was occupied by 
 five young men, playing dominoes and drinking mulled 
 wine. He addressed the elder of the group, a handsome 
 man of twenty-six, with large bright eyes, and a fierce black 
 mustache, named Jules Lazet. " Repeat, if you dare," 
 he said, in a voice trembling with passion, " the remark 
 you just now made ! " 
 
 " Who would prevent me ? " asked Lazet calmly. " I 
 said, and I repeat, that a nobleman's daughter is no better 
 than a workman's daughter ; that virtue does not necessa- 
 rily accompany a title." 
 
 ** You na^ntionecl a particular narne 1 " 
 
FILE NO. 113. 159 
 
 Lazet rose from his chair as if he knew his answer would 
 exasperate Gaston, and that from words they would come 
 to blows. "I did," he said, with an insolent smile. "I 
 mentioned the name of the prett}' little fairy of La Verbe- 
 rie." 
 
 At this all the young men, and even a couple of com- 
 mercial travellers who were dining at the cafe, rose and 
 surrounded the two disputants. The provoking looks, the 
 murmurs, the shouts, which were directed towards Gaston 
 as he walked up to Lazet, convinced him that he was sur- 
 rounded by enemies. The wickedness and the evil tongue 
 of the old marquis were bearing their fruit. Rancor fer- 
 ments quickly and fiercely in the hearts and heads of the 
 people of Provence. But Gaston de Clameran was not a 
 man to withdraw, even if his foes were a hundred, instead 
 of fifteen or twenty. 
 
 " No one but a coward," he said, in a clear, ringing 
 voice, which the pervading silence rendered almost start- 
 ling ; " no one but a contemptible coward would be base 
 enough to calumniate a young girl who has neither father 
 nor brother to defend her honor." 
 
 " If she has no father or brother," sneered Lazet, " she 
 has her lovers, and that suffices." 
 
 The insulting words, " her lovers," enraged Gaston be- 
 yond control ; he struck Lazet violently in the face. Every 
 one in the cafe simultaneously uttered a cry of alarm. 
 Lazet's violence of character, his herculean strength and 
 undaunted courage, were well known. He sprang over 
 the table that separated him from Gaston, and seized him 
 by the throat. Then arose a scene of excitement and con- 
 fusion. De Clameran's friend, attempting to assist him, 
 was knocked down with billiard-cues, and kicked under g 
 table. Equally strong and agile, Gaston and Lazet strug- 
 gled for some minutes without either gaining an advan- 
 tage. Lazet, as loyal as he was courageous, would not ac- 
 cept assistance from his friends. He continually called 
 out : " Keep away ; let me fight it out alone ! " 
 
 But the others were too excited to remain inactive spec- 
 tators of the scene. " A blanket, quick !" cried one of 
 them ; " a blanket to toss the marquis ! " 
 
 Five or six young men now rushed upon Gaston, and 
 separated him from Lazer. Some tried to throw him down, 
 others to trip him up. He defended himself with the en- 
 
t6o FILE NO. 113. 
 
 ergy of despa'r, exhibiting in his furious struggles a 
 strength of which no one would have thought him capa- 
 ble. He struck right and left as he showered fierce epi- 
 thets upon his adversaries who were twelve against one. 
 He was endeavoring to get round the billiard-table so as 
 to be near the door, and had almost succeeded, when an 
 exultant cry arose : '' Here is the blanket ! " 
 
 *' Put him in the blanket — the little fairy's lover! " 
 Gaston heard these cries. He saw himself overcome, 
 and suffering an ignoble outrage at the hands of these en- 
 raged men. By a dexterous movement he extricated him- 
 self from the grasp of the three who were holding him, 
 and felled a fourth to the ground. His arms were free ; 
 but all his enemies returned to the charge. Then he 
 seemed to lose his head, and seizing a knife which lay on 
 the table where the commercial travellers had been din- 
 ing, he plunged it twice into the breast of the first man 
 who rushed upon him. This unfortunate man was Jules 
 Lazet. He dropped to the ground. There was a second 
 of silent horror. Then four or five of the young men 
 rushed forward to raise Lazet. The landlady ran about 
 wringing her hands, and screaming with fright. Some of 
 the younger assailants rushed into the streets shouting : 
 " Murder ! Murder ! " But all the others turned upon 
 Gaston with cries of vengeance. He felt that he was lost. 
 His enemies seized the first objects they could lay their 
 hands upon and he received several wounds. He jumped 
 upon the billiard-table, and making a rapid spring, dashed 
 at the large window of the cafe. He was fearfully cut by 
 the broken glass and splinters, but he passed through. 
 
 Gaston was outside, but he was not yet saved. Aston- 
 ished and disconcerted at his desperate feat, his assailants 
 for a moment were stupefied ; but recovering their pres- 
 ence of mind, they started in pursuit of him. The weather 
 was bad, the ground wet and muddy, and heavy black 
 clouds were rolling westward ; but the night was not dark. 
 Gaston ran on from tree to tree, making frequent turnings, 
 every moment on the point of being surrounded and seized, 
 and asking himself what course he should take. Finally 
 he determined, if possible, to reach Clameran. With in- 
 credible rapidity he darted diagonally across the open 
 space, in the direction of the embankment which protects 
 the valley of Tarascon from inundations. Unfortunately, 
 
FILE NO. 113. ^61 
 
 npon reaching this embankment, planted with magnificent 
 trees, which make it one of the most charming promenades 
 of Provence, Gaston forgot that the entrance was partially- 
 closed by three posts, such as are always placed before 
 walks intended for foot-passengers only, and rushed against 
 one of them with such violence that he was throw^n back 
 and badly bruised. He quickly sprang up ; but his pursu- 
 ers were upon him. This time he could expect no mercy. 
 The infuriated men at his heels yelled that fearful cry, 
 wnicn in the evil days of lawless bloodshed had often 
 echoed in that valley : " To the Rhone with him ! To 
 the Rhone with the marquis ! " 
 
 His reason had abandoned him ; he no longer knew 
 what he did. His forehead was cut, and the blood trickled 
 from the wound into his eyes, and blinded him. He must 
 escape, or die in the attempt. He had tightly clasped the 
 bloody knife with which he had stabbed Lazet. He struck 
 his nearest foe ; the man fell to the ground with a heavy 
 groan. This blow gained him a moment's respite, which 
 gave him time to pass between the posts, and rush along 
 the embankment. Two men remained kneeling over their 
 wounded companion, and five others resumed the pursuit. 
 But Gaston ran fast, for the horror of his situation tripled 
 his energy ; excitement deadened the pain of his wounds ; 
 with elbows kept tight to his sides, and holding his breath, 
 he went along at such a speed that he soon distanced his 
 pursuers ; the sound of their footsteps became gradually 
 more indistinct, and finally ceased. Gaston ran on for 
 another mile, across fields and through hedges; fences 
 and ditches were leaped without effort, and only when he 
 knew he was safe from capture he sank down at the foot 
 'of a tree to rest. This terrible scene had taken place with 
 inconceivable rapidity. Only forty minutes had elapsed 
 since Gaston and his friend entered the cafe. But during 
 this short time how much had happened ! These forty 
 minutes had given him more cause for sorrow and remorse 
 than the whole of his previous life put together. En- 
 tering this cafe with head erect and a happy heart, en- 
 joying present existence, and looking forAvard to a yet bet- 
 ter future, he left it ruined ; for he was a murderer ! He 
 had killed a man, and still convulsively held the murder- 
 ous instrument ; he cast it from him with horror. He tried 
 to account for the dreadful circumstances which had just 
 
i62 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 taken place ; as if it were of any importance to a man ly. 
 ing at the bottom of an abyss to know which stone had 
 slipped, and precipitated him from the summit. Still, if 
 he alone had been lost ! But Valentine was dragged down 
 with him ; her reputation was gone. And it was his want 
 of self-command which had cast to the winds this honor, 
 confided to his keeping, and which he held far dearer than 
 his own. 
 
 But he could not remain here bewailing his misfortune. 
 The authorities must soon be on his track. They would 
 certainly go to the chateau of Clameran to seek him ; and 
 before leaving home, perhaps forever, he wished to say 
 good-by to his father, and once more press Valentine to 
 his heart. He started to walk, but with great pain, for 
 the reaction had come, and his nerves and muscles, so vio- 
 lently strained, had now began to relax ; the intense heat 
 caused by his struggling and fast running was replaced by 
 a cold perspiration, aching limbs, and chattering teeth. 
 His hip and shoulder pained him almost beyond endur- 
 ance. The cut on his forehead had almost stopped bleed- 
 ing, but the coagulated blood round his eyes nearly blinded 
 him. After a painful walk he reached home at ten o'clock. 
 The old valet who admitted him started back terrified. 
 
 " Good heavens, sir ! what is the matter ? " 
 
 " Silence ! " said Gaston in the brief, compressed tone 
 always inspired by imminent danger ; " silence ! Where 
 is my father } " 
 
 " The marquis is in his room with M. Louis. He has 
 had a sudden attack of the gout, and cannot put his foot 
 to the ground ; but you, sir — " 
 
 Gaston did not stop to listen further. He hurried to 
 his father's room. The old marquis, who was playing 
 backgammon with Louis, dropped his dice-box with a cry 
 of horror, when he looked up and saw his eldest son stand- 
 ing before him covered with blood. "What is the matter? 
 what have you been doing, Gaston ? " he exclaimed. 
 
 " I have come to embrace you for the last time, father, 
 and to ask for assistance to escape abroad." 
 
 " You wish to fly ? " 
 
 " I must, father, and instantly ; I am pursued, the gen- 
 darmes may be here at any moment. I have killed two 
 men." 
 
 The marquis was so shocked that he forgot the goutj and 
 
FILE NO. 113. i5j 
 
 attempted to rise ; a violent twinge made him drop back 
 into his chair. 
 
 " Where ? When ? " he gasped. 
 
 " At Tarascon, in a caf^, an hour ago ; fifteen men at- 
 tacked me, and I seized a knife to defend myself." 
 
 "Tlie old tricks of '93," said the marquis. " Did they 
 insult you, Gaston ? " 
 
 " They insulted in my presence the name of a noble 
 young girl." 
 
 " And you punished the rascals ? By heaven ! you did 
 well. Who ever heard of a nobleman allowing insolent 
 puppies to speak disrespectfully of a lady of quality in his 
 presence t But who was the lady you defended ? " 
 
 "Mademoiselle Valentine de La Verberie." 
 
 "What!" cried the marquis, "what! the daughter of 
 that old witch ! Those accursed La Verberies have al- 
 ways brought misfortune upon us." He certainly abomi- 
 nated the countess ; but his respect for her noble blood was 
 greater than his resentment tow'ards her individualit}', and 
 he added; "Nevertheless, Gaston, you did your duty." 
 
 Meanwhile, the curiosity of Jean, the marquis's old valet, 
 made him venture to open the door, and ask : " Did Mon- 
 sieur the Marquis ring.?" 
 
 "No, you rascal," answered M. de Clameran, "you 
 know very well I did not. But now you are here, be use- 
 ful. Quickly bring some clothes for M. Gaston, some 
 clean linen, and some warm water : everything necessary 
 to dress his wounds." 
 
 These orders were promptly executed, and Gaston found 
 he was not so badly hurt as he had thought. With the ex- 
 ception of a deep stab in his left shoulder, his wounds 
 were not serious. After receiving all the attentions which 
 his condition required, Gaston felt like a new man, ready 
 to brave any peril. His eyes sparkled with redoubled en- 
 ergy. The marquis made a sign to the servants to leave 
 the room.. " Do you still think yoci ought to leave France ? " 
 he asked Gaston. 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 *' My brother ought not to hesitate," interposed Louis ; 
 " he will be arrested here, thrown into prison, villified in 
 court, and — who knows ? " 
 
 "We all know w'ell enough that he will be convicted," 
 grumbled the old marquis. " These are the benefits of 
 
i64 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 the immortal revolution, as it is called. Ah, in my young 
 days we three would have taken our swords, jumped on 
 our horses, and, dashing into Tarascon, would soon have — 
 But to-day we have to run away." 
 
 " There is no time to lose," observed Louis. 
 
 " True," said the marquis, " but to fly, to go abroad, 
 one must have money ; and I have none by me to give to 
 him." 
 
 " Father ! " 
 
 " No, I have none. Ah, what a prodigal old fool I have 
 been ! Have I even a hundred louis ? " 
 
 Then he told Louis to open the secretary. The drawer 
 in which the money was kept contained only nine hundred 
 and twenty francs in gold. 
 
 " Nine hundred and twenty francs," cried the marquis ; 
 " it is not enough. The eldest son of our house cannot 
 fly the country with this paltry sum." 
 
 He sat lost in reflection. Suddenly his brow cleared, 
 and he told Louis to open a secret drawer in the secretary, 
 and bring him a small casket. Then the marquis took 
 from his neck a black ribbon, to which was attached the 
 key of the casket. His sons observed with what deep 
 emotion he unlocked it, and slowly took out a necklace, a 
 cross, several rings, and various other jewels. His count- 
 enance assumed a solemn expression. " Gaston, my dear 
 son," he said, " at a time like this your life may depend 
 upon bought assistance ; money is power." 
 
 " I am young, father, and have courage." 
 
 " Listen to me. These jewels belonged to your sainted 
 mother, a noble woman, who is now in heaven watching 
 over us. They have never left me. During my days of 
 misery and want, when I was compelled to earn a liveli- 
 hood by teaching music in London, I piously treasured 
 them. I never thought of selling them ; and to pawn them, 
 in the hour of direst need, would have seemed to me a 
 sacrilege. But now, take them, my son, and sell them ; 
 they will fetch twenty thousand francs." 
 
 " No, my father, no, I cannot take them ! " 
 
 " You must, Gaston. If your mother were on earth, she 
 would tell you to take them, as I do now. I command 
 you to take and use them. The safety, the honor, of the 
 heir of the house of De Clameran must not be imperilled 
 for want of a little goldu" 
 
FILE NO. 113. t05 
 
 With tearful eyes, Gaston sank on his knees, and, carry- 
 ing his father's hand to his lips, murmured : " Thanks, 
 father, thanks ! In my heedless, ungrateful presumption 
 I have hitherto misjudged you, I did not know your no- 
 ble character. Forgive me. I accept, yes, I accept these 
 jewels worn by my dear mother; but I take them as a 
 sacred deposit, confided to my honor, and for which I 
 will some day account to you." 
 
 In their emotion, the marquis and Gaston forg;ot the 
 threatened danger. But Louis was not touched by the af- 
 fecting scene. " Time presses," he said : " you had better 
 hasten." 
 
 " He is right," cried the marquis ; "go, Gaston, go, my 
 son ; and heaven protect the heir of the De Clamerans ! " 
 
 Gaston slowly got up, and said with an embarrassed air ; 
 " Before leaving you, father, I must fulfil a sacred duty. 
 I have not told you everything. I love Valentine, the young 
 girl whose honor I defended this evening." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried the marquis, thunderstruck, " oh, oh ! " 
 
 '' And I entreat you, father, to ask Madame de La Ver- 
 berie for her daughter's hand. Valetine will gladly join 
 me abroad, and share my exile." 
 
 Gaston stopped, frightened at the effect of his words. 
 The old marquis had become crimson, or rather purple, as 
 if struck by apoplexy. 
 
 " Preposterous ! " he gasped. " Impossible ! Perfect 
 folly ! " 
 
 " I love her, father, and have promised her never to 
 marry another." 
 
 " Then you will remain a bachelor." 
 
 " I shall marry her ! " cried Gaston excitedly. *■ I shall 
 marry her because I have sworn 1 would, and I will not 
 be so base as to desert her." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " 
 
 " I tell you Mademoiselle de La Verberie must and 
 shall be my wife. It is too late for me to draw back. 
 Even if I no longer loved her, I would still marry her, be- 
 cause she has given herself to me ; because, can't you un- 
 derstand, what was said at the cafd to-night was true : 
 Valentine is my mistress." 
 
 Gaston's confession, forced from him by circumstances, 
 produced a very different impression from that which he 
 b^d expected. The enraged marquis instantly became 
 
i66 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 cool, and his mind seemed relieved of an immense weight 
 A wicked joy sparkled in his eyes, as he replied : " Ah, ha ! 
 she yielded to your entreaties, did she ? Heavens ! I am 
 delighted. I congratulate you, Gaston ; they say she is 
 charming, the little wench." 
 
 " Sir ! " interrupted Gaston indignantly ; " I have told 
 you that I love her, and have promised to marry her. You 
 seem to forget." 
 
 " Ta, ta, ta ! " cried the marquis, " your scruples are ab- 
 surd. You know full well that one of her ancestors led 
 one of our girls astray. Now we are quits ! And so she 
 is your mistress — " 
 
 " I swear by my mother's memory that Valentine shall 
 be my wife ! " 
 
 ** Do you dare assume that tone towards me ? " cried the 
 exasperated marquis. " Never, understand me clearly, 
 never will I give my consent. You know how dear to me 
 is the honor of our house. Well, I would rather see you 
 tried for murder, and even condemned, than married to 
 this hussey ! " 
 
 This last word was too much for Gaston. " Then your 
 wish shall be gratified, sir. I will remain here, and be ar- 
 rested. I care not what becomes of me ! What is life to 
 me without the hope of Valentine ? Take back these jew- 
 els ; they are useless now." 
 
 A terrible scene would have ensued between the father 
 and son had they not been interrupted by a domestic who 
 rushed into the room, and excitedly exclaimed : " The 
 gendarmes ! here are the gendarmes ! " 
 
 At this news the old marquis started up, and seemed to 
 forget his gout, which had yielded to more violent emo= 
 tions. " Gendarmes ! " he cried, " in my house, at Cla- 
 meran ! They shall pay dear for their insolence ! You will 
 help me, will you not, my men ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," answered the servants. " Down with the 
 gendarmes ! down with them ! " 
 
 Fortunately, Louis, during all this excitement, preserved 
 his presence of mind. "To resist would be folly," he 
 said. " Even if we repulsed the gendarmes to-night, they 
 would return to-morrow with re-enforcements." 
 
 "Louis is right," said the marquis bitterly. " Might is 
 right, as they said in '93. The gendarmes are all power 
 ful. Do they not even have the impertinence to come up 
 
FILE NO. 113. 167 
 
 to me while I am out shooting, and ask to see my license ? 
 — I, a De Clameran, show a Ucense ! " 
 
 " Where are they ? " asked Louis of the servants. 
 
 " At the outer gate," answered La Verdure, one of the 
 grooms. " Do you not hear the noise they are making 
 with their sabres, sir? " 
 
 " Then Gaston must escape by the garden door." 
 
 " It is guarded, sir," said La Verdure in despair, " and 
 the little gate in the park also. There seems to be a reg- 
 iment of them. They are even stationed along the park 
 walls." 
 
 This was only too true. The rumor of Lazet's death 
 had spreal like wild-fire throughout the town of Tarascon, 
 and everybody was in a state of excitement. Not only the 
 mounted gendarmes, but a platoon of hussars from the gar- 
 rison, had been sent in pursuit of the murderer. And at 
 least twenty young men of the town guided them. 
 
 "Then," said the marquis, ''we are surrounded? " 
 
 " Not a single chance of escape," groaned Jean. 
 
 " We shall see about that ! " cried the marquis. " Ah, 
 we are not the strongest, but we can be the most artful. 
 Attention ! Louis, my son, you and La Verdure go down 
 to the stables, and mount the fastest horses ; then as quietly 
 as possible station yourselves, you, Louis, at the park gate, 
 and you. La Verdure, at the outer gate. You others, go 
 and post yourselves at either of the gates. Upon the sig- 
 nal I shall give by firing off a pistol, let both gates be in- 
 stantly opened. Louis and La Verdure must spur on their 
 horses, and do all they can to pass through the gen- 
 darmes, who are sure to follow in pursuit." 
 
 " I will make them run," said La Verdure. 
 
 " Listen. During this time, Gaston, aided by Jean, will 
 scale the park wall, and hasten along the river-bank to the 
 cabin of Pilorel, the fisherman. He is an old sailor, and 
 devoted to our house. He will take Gaston in his boat ; 
 and, when they are once on the Rhone, there is nothing 
 to be feared save heaven. Now go, all of you : do as I 
 have said." 
 
 Left alone with his son, the old marquis slipped the jew- 
 els into a silk purse, and stretching out his arms towards 
 Gaston said, in broken accents : " Come here, my son, 
 and let me bless you." Gaston hesitated. " Come," in- 
 sisted the old man, " I must embrace vou for the last time ' 
 
i68 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 I may never see you again. Save yourself, save your 
 name, Gaston, and then — you know how I love you. Take 
 back these jewels — " 
 
 For an instant father and son clung to each other, over- 
 powered by emotion. But the continued noise at the 
 gate now reached their ears. " We must part ! " said M. 
 de Clameran. And, taking a pair of small pistols, he 
 handed them to his son, and added with averted eyes : 
 " You must not be captured alive, Gaston ! " 
 
 Unfortunately Gaston did not immediately hasten to the 
 park wall. He yearned more than ever to see Valentine, 
 and he perceived a possibility of being able to bid her 
 farewell. He could persuade Pilorel to stop the boat when 
 they reached the park of La Verberie. He therefore em- 
 ployed the few minutes respite that destiny had allowed 
 him in going to his room and placing in the window the 
 signal that would tell Valentine he was coming ; and even 
 waited for an answering light. 
 
 "Come, M. Gaston," entreated old Jean, who could not 
 understand this strange conduct. " For heaven's sake 
 make haste ! your life is at stake ! " 
 
 At last he came running down the stairs, and had just 
 reached the hall when a pistol-shot, the signal given by 
 the marquis, resounded through the house. The swinging 
 open of the large gate, the rattling of the sabres of the 
 gendarmes, the furious galloping of many horses, and a 
 chorus of loud shouts and angry oaths, were next heard. 
 Leaning against the window of his room, his brow covered 
 with perspiration, the Marquis de Clameran breathlessly 
 awaited the issue of this expedient, upon which depended 
 the life of his eldest son. His measures were excellent. 
 As he had planned, Louis and La Verdure managed to dash 
 out through the gates, one to the right, the other to the 
 left, each one pursued by a crowd of mounted men. Their 
 horses flew like arrows, and kept far ahead of the pur- 
 suers. Gaston was as good as saved, when fate, but was 
 it only fate,, interfered ? Suddenly Louis's horse stumbled, 
 and fell to the ground with his rider under him. Immedi- 
 ately surrounded by the gendarmes, M. de Clameran's 
 second son was easily recognized. 
 
 " He is not the murderer ! " cried one of the young m^en 
 of the town. " Let us hurry back, they are trying to de- 
 ceive us ! " 
 
MLE NO. 113. r69 
 
 They returned just in time to see, by the uncertain light 
 of the moon peeping from behind a cloud, Gaston climbing 
 the wall. 
 
 " There is our man ! " exclaimed a corporal. " Keep 
 your eyes open, and gallop after him ! " 
 
 They spurred their horses, and hastened to the spot 
 where Gaston had. jumped from the wall. On a piece of 
 ground at all wooded, or even if it be only hilly, an agile 
 man on foot, if he preserves his presence of mind, can es- 
 cape a number of horsemen. Now the ground on this 
 side of the park was extremely favorable to Gaston. He 
 found himself in an immense madder-field, and it >s well 
 known that this valuable root, having to remain in the 
 ground three years, the furrows are necessarily pUughed 
 very deep. Horses cannot gallop over its uneven surface ; 
 indeed, they can scarcely stand steadily upon it. This 
 circumstance brought the gendarmes to a dead halt. Four 
 hussars ventured in the field, but their efforts were useless. 
 Jumping from furrow to furrow, Gaston soon left his pur- 
 suers far behind, and reached a vast plantation covered 
 with undergrowth. As his chances of escape increased, 
 the excitement grew more intense. The horsemen urged 
 each other on, and called out every time they saw Gaston 
 run from one clump of trees to another. Being familial 
 with the country, young De Clameran did not despair. 
 He knew that after the plantation came a field of thistles, 
 and that the two were separated by a wide, deep ditch. 
 He resolved to jump into this ditch, run along the bottom, 
 and climb out at the further end, while the others were 
 still looking for him among the trees. But he had forgot- 
 ten the rising of the river. Upon reaching the ditch, he 
 found it full of water. Discouraged but not disconcerted, 
 he was about to jump across, when three horsemen ap- 
 peared on the opposite side. They were gendarmes who 
 had ridden round the madder-field and the plantation, 
 knowing they would easily make up for lost time on the 
 level ground of the field of thistles. At the sight of these 
 three men, Gastron stood perplexed. He would certainly 
 be captured if he attempted to run through the field, at 
 the end of which he could see the cabin of Pilorel, the 
 fisherman. To retrace his steps would be to surrender to 
 the hussars. At a little distance on his right was a small 
 wood^ but he was separated from* it by a road upon which 
 
170 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 he heard the sound of horses' hoofs. He would certain!}! 
 be caught there also. On his left was the surging, foam- 
 ing river. What was to be done ? He felt the circle of 
 which he was the centre fast narrowing around him. 
 Must he, then, fall back upon the pistols, and there, in the 
 midst of the country, hunted by gendarmes like a wild 
 beast, blow his brains out '^. What a death for a De Cla- 
 meran ! No ! He would seize the one chance of salvation 
 left him ; a forlorn, desperate, perilous chance, but still 
 a chance — the river. Holding a pistol in either hand, he 
 ran to the edge of a little promontory, projecting a few 
 yards into the Rhone. This cape of refuge was formed 
 by the giant trunk of a fallen tree, which swayed and 
 cracked fearfully under Gaston's weight, as he stood on 
 the further end, and looked back upon his pursuers; there 
 were fifteen of them, some on the right, some on the left, 
 all uttering cries of joy. 
 
 " Do you surrender ? " called out the corporal of gen- 
 darmes. 
 
 Gaston did not answer ; he was weighing his chances. 
 He was above the park of La Verberie : would he be able 
 to swim there, granting that he was not swept away and 
 drowned the instant he plunged into the angry torrent be- 
 fore him ? He pictured Valentine, at that very moment, 
 watching, waiting, and praying for him on the other shore. 
 
 " For the second time do you surrender ? " cried the 
 corporal. 
 
 The unfortunate man did not hear ; he was deafened by 
 che waters which were roaring and rushing pa^t him. He 
 was at that supreme moment, with his foot upon the thresh- 
 old of another world, when a man sees his past life rise 
 before him, and judges himself. Although death stared 
 him in the face, Gaston calmly considered which would be 
 the best spot to take his plunge, and commended his soul 
 to God. 
 
 " He will stand there until we go after him," said a 
 gendarme ; " so we may as well do so at once." 
 
 But Gaston had finished his prayer. He flung his pis- 
 tols in the direction of the gendarmes : he was ready. 
 He made the sign of the cross, and then, with outstretched 
 arms, plunged into the Rhone. The violence of his spring 
 loosened the few remaining roots of the old tree ; it 
 swayed for a moment, turned over, and then rapidly drifted 
 
FILE NO. 113. VJ\ 
 
 away. The spectators uttered a cry of horror and pity 
 rather than of anger. " That is the end of him," muttered 
 one of the gendarmes ; " he is done for ; a man can't fight 
 against the Rhone ; his body will be washed ashore at Aries 
 to-morrow." 
 
 The hussars seemed really grieved at the tragic fate of 
 this brave, handsome, young man, whom a moment before 
 they had pursued so tenaciously. They admired his 
 spirited resistance, his courage, and especially his resig- 
 nation, for, being armed, he might have sold his life dearly. 
 True French soldiers, their sympathies were now all upon 
 the side of the vanquished, and every man of them would 
 have done all in his power to assist in saving the drowning 
 man, and aiding his escape. 
 
 " An ugly piece of work ! " grumbled the old sergeant 
 who had command of the hussars. 
 
 " Bah ! " exclaimed the philosophic corporal, " the Rhone 
 is no worse then the assize-court. Right about my men. 
 The thing that troubles me is the idea of that poor old man 
 who is waiting to hear his son's fate. I would not be the 
 one to tell him what has happened. March ! " 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Valentine knew, that fatal evening, that Gaston would 
 have to walk to Tarascon, to cross the Rhone by the suspen- 
 sion bridge which connects Tarascon with Beaucaire, and 
 did not expect to see him until eleven o'clock, the time which 
 they had agreed upon the previous evening. But, happen- 
 ing to look up at the windows of Clameran, long before the 
 appointed hour, she saw lights hurrying to and fro in the 
 different rooms in a most unusual manner. A presentiment 
 of impending misfortune chilled her blood, and almost 
 stopped the beatings of her heart. A secret and imperious 
 voice within her breast told her that something terrible 
 and extraordinary was going on at the chateau of Cla- 
 meran. What was it ? She could not imagine ; but she 
 knew, she felt, that some dreadful misfortune had hap- 
 pened. With her eyes fastened upon the dark mass loom- 
 ing in the distance she watched the going and coming of 
 the lights, as if their movements would give her a clue to 
 what was taking place within those walls. She even opened 
 
?72 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 her window and listened, as though any tell-tale sound 
 could reach her at such a distance. Alas ! she heard 
 nothing but the roar of the angry river. Her anxiety grew 
 more intolerable every moment, when suddenly the well- 
 known, beloved signal appeared in Gaston's window, in- 
 forming her that her lover was about to swim across the 
 Rhone. She could scarcely believe her eyes, and it was 
 not tiM ^:he signal had been repeated three times that she 
 answered it. Then, more dead than alive, she hastened 
 with trembling limbs through the park to the river bank. 
 Never had she seen the Rhone so furious. Since Gaston 
 was risking his life in order to see her, she could no long- 
 er doubt that something fearful had occurred at Clameran. 
 She fell on her knees, and with clasped hands, and her 
 wild eyes fixed upon the dark waters, besought the pitiless 
 stream to yield up her dear Gaston. Every dark object 
 which she could distinguish floating in the middle of the 
 torrent assumed the shape of a human form. At one time 
 she thought she heard, above the roaring of the water, the 
 terrible, agonized cry of a drowning man. She watched 
 and prayed, but her lover came not. 
 
 While the gendarmes and hussars slowly and silently 
 returned to the chateau of Clameran, Gaston experienced 
 one of those miracles which would seem incredible were 
 they not confirmed by the most convincing proof. When 
 he first plunged into the river, he^ rolled over five or six 
 times, and was then drawn towards the bottom. In a swol- 
 len river the current is not the same at different depths, 
 being much stronger in some places than in others; hence 
 the great danger. Gaston knew it, and guarded against it. 
 Instead of wasting his strength in vain struggles, he held 
 his breath, and let himself go with the flood. It was not 
 till he had been carried some considerable distance that 
 he made a sudden spring which brought him to the surface. 
 Rapidly drifting by him was the old tree. For some sec- 
 onds he was entangled in a mass of rubbish ; an eddy set 
 him free. He did not dream of making for the opposite 
 shore. He determined to land wheresoever he could. 
 With great presence of mind he exerted all his strength and 
 dexterity so as to slowly and carefully take an oblique 
 course, knowing well, however, that there was no hope for 
 him if the current took him crosswise. This fearful cur- 
 rent is, moreover, as capricious as it is terrible ; which ao 
 
FILE NO. 113. 175 
 
 counts for the strange effects of inundations. According to 
 the meanderings of the river, it sometimes rushes to the right, 
 and sometimes to the left, sparing one shore and ravaging 
 the other. Gaston who was familiar with every bend of the 
 river, knew that there was an abrupt turning just below 
 Clameran, and relied upon the eddy formed thereby, to 
 sweep him in the direction of La Verberie. His expecta- 
 tions were not deceived. An oblique current suddenly 
 swept him towards the right bank, and, if he had not been 
 on his guard, would have sunk him. But the eddy did not 
 reach as far as Gaston supposed, and he was still some dis- 
 tance from the shore, when, with the rapidity of lightning, 
 he was swept past the park of La Verberie. As he floated 
 by, he caught a glimpse of a white shadow among the 
 trees : Valentine was waiting for him. It was not till he 
 had been carried a considerable distance that, finding him- 
 self nearer the bank, he attempted to land. Feeling a foot- 
 hold, he twice raised himself, and was each time thrown 
 down by the force of the current. He escaped being swept 
 away by seizing some willow branches, and, clinging to 
 them, climbed up the steep bank. He was safe at last. 
 Without waiting to take breath, he darted off at once in the 
 direction of the park. It was time he arrived. CK-ercome 
 by the intensity of her emotions, Valentine had fainted, and 
 lay apparently lifeless on the ground. Gaston's kisses 
 aroused her. 
 
 " You ! " she cried in a tone that revealed all the love 
 she felt for him. " Is it indeed you ? Then God heard 
 my prayers, and had pity upon us." 
 
 " No, Valentine," he murmured, " God has had no pity." 
 
 The sad tones of Gaston's voice convinced her that her 
 presentiment of evil was well-founded. "What new mis- 
 fortune strikes us now?" she exclaimed. "Why have 
 you thus risked your life — a life far dearer to me than 
 my own ? What has happened ? " 
 
 " This is what has happened, Valentine : our secret is a 
 secret no longer ; our love is the jest of the countr}\" 
 
 She shrank back, and, burying her face in her hands, 
 moaned piteously. 
 
 "This," continued Gaston, forgetting everything but his 
 present misery; "this is the result of the blind enmity of 
 our families. Our noble and pure love, which ought to 
 
174 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 be a glory in the eyes of God and man, has to be con- 
 cealed, as though it were some evil deed." 
 
 " All is known, all is discovered ! " murmured Valentine. 
 
 In the midst of the angry elements, Gaston had pre- 
 served his self-possession ; but the heart-broken tones of 
 his beloved Valentine overcame him. "And I was una- 
 ble," he cried, " to crush the villains who dared to utter youi 
 adored name. Ah, why did I only kill two of the scoun- 
 drels!" 
 
 " You have killed some one, Gaston ! " 
 
 Valentine's tone of horror restored to Gaston a ray of 
 reason. " Yes," he replied, trying to overcome his emo- 
 tion ; " I have killed two men. It was for that reason I 
 swam across the Rhone. I had to save the honor of my 
 name. Only a short time ago all the gendarmes of the 
 place were pursuing me. I have escaped them, and now I 
 am flying the country." 
 
 Valentine struggled to preserve her composure under 
 such unexpected blows. " Where do you hope to fly to ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " I know not. Indeed, God only knows where I am to 
 go, and what will become of me. I must assume a false 
 name and a disguise, and try to reach some foreign land 
 which offers a refuge to murderers." Gaston stopped. 
 He expected an answer to this speech. None came, and 
 he resumed with extraordinary vehemence : " And before 
 disappearing, Valentine, I wished to see you, because now, 
 when I am abandoned by every one else, I have relied 
 upon you, and had faith in your love. A tie unites us, 
 my darling, stronger than all other earthly bonds — the tie of 
 love. Before God you are my wife ; I am yours and you are 
 mine, for life ! Would you let me fiy alone, Valentine t 
 To the pam and toil of exile, to the bitter regrets of a 
 ruined life, could you add the torture of separation ? " 
 
 " Gaston, I implore you — " 
 
 " Ah, I knew it," he interrupted, mistaking the sense of 
 her exclamation ;. " I knew you would not let me go 
 alone. I knew your sympathetic heart would long to 
 share the burden of my miseries. This moment effaces the 
 wretched suffering I have endured. Let us fly ! Having ou: 
 happiness to defend, I fear nothing; I can brave and 
 conquer all. Come, my Valentine, we will escape, or 
 die together ! This is the long-dreamed-of-happiness ! 
 
FILE NC. 113. Vii 
 
 The glorious future of love and liberty opens before 
 us!" 
 
 He had worked himself into a state of delirious excite- 
 ment. He seized Valentine round the wavst, and tried to 
 carry her off. But as his exaltation increased, she man- 
 aged to regain her composure. Gently, and yet with a 
 firmness he had not suspected her capable of, she with- 
 drew herself from his embrace, and said sadly, but reso- 
 lutely : "What you wish, Gaston, is impossible." 
 
 This cold, inexplicable resistance seemed to confound 
 her lover. " Impossible "i " he stammered. 
 
 " You know me well enough, Gaston, to be convinced 
 that sharing the greatest hardships with you would to me be 
 the height of happiness. But above the pleading of yeur 
 voice to which I fain would yield, above the voice of my 
 own heart which urges me to follow you, there is another 
 voice — a powerful, imperious one — which bids me stay : 
 the voice of duty." 
 
 " What ! Would you think of remaining here after the 
 horrible affair of to-night, after the scandal that will be 
 spread abroad to-morrow ! " 
 
 " What do you mean ? That I am lost, dishonored ? Am 
 I any more so to-day than I was yesterday ? Do you think 
 that the jeers and scoffing of the world could make me 
 suffer more than the pangs of my guilty conscience .»* I 
 -have long since passed judgment upon myself, Gaston; 
 and, although the sound of your voice and the touch of your 
 hand made me forget all save the bliss of love, no sooner 
 had you gone than I wept tears of shame and remorse." 
 
 Gaston listened motionless, astounded. He seemed to 
 see a new Valentine standing before him, an entirely dif- 
 lerent woman from the one whose tender soul he thought 
 jae knew so well. ' And your mother 1 " he murmured. 
 
 " It is my duty to her that keeps me here. Do you wish 
 me to prove an unnatural daughter, and desert her now that 
 she is poor, lonely, and friendless, with no one but me to 
 cling to ? Could I abandon her to follow my lover ? " 
 
 " But our enemies will inform her of everything, Valen- 
 tiiie ; she will know all." 
 
 " No matter. The dictates of conscience must be obeyed. 
 Ah, why can I not, even at the price of my life, spare her 
 the agony of learning that her only daughter, her Val- 
 entine, has disgraced her name \ She may be hard,cruei| 
 
176 t^ILE NO. itj. 
 
 pitiless towards me; but have I not deserved it? Oh, 
 my only friend, we have been basking in a dream too 
 beautiful to last ! I have long dreaded this awful awaken- 
 ing. Like two weak, credulous fools, we imagined that 
 happiness could exist beyond the pale of duty. Sooner 
 or later stolen joys must be dearly paid for. We must 
 bow our heads, and drink the cup to the dregs." 
 
 This cold reasoning, this sad resignation, was more than 
 Gaston's fiery nature could bear. " Do not talk like 
 that ! " he cried. " Can you not feel that the bare idea 
 of your suffering this humiliation drives me mad } " 
 
 " Alas ! I must expect greater humiliation yet." 
 
 " What do you mean, Valentine .<* " 
 
 " Know then, Gaston — " But she stopped short, hesi- 
 tated, and then added : " Nothing ! I know not what I 
 say." 
 
 Had Gaston been less excited, he would have suspected 
 some new misfortune beneath Valentine's reticence ; but 
 his mind was too full of his one idea. " All hope is not 
 lost," he resumed. " My father is kind hearted, and was 
 touched by my love and despair. I am sure that my let- 
 ters, together with the intercession of my brother Louis, 
 will induce him to ask Madame de La Verberie for your 
 hand." 
 
 This notion seemed to terrify Valentine. " Heaven 
 forbid ! " she exclaimed, " that the marquis should take 
 this rash step ! " 
 
 " Why, Valentine ? " 
 
 " Because my mother would reject his offer ; because, I 
 must confess it now, she has sworn I shall marry none 
 but a rich man ; and your father is not rich." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " cried Gaston with disgust, " and it 
 is to such a mother that you sacrifice me ? " 
 
 " She is my mother ; that is sufficient. I have not the 
 right to judge her. My duty is to remain with her, and 
 remain I shall " 
 
 Valentine's manner showed such determined resolution, 
 that Gaston saw that further prayers would be in vain. 
 
 ** Alas I '' he cried, as he wrung his hands with despair, 
 "you do not love me ; you have never loved me ! " 
 
 *'' Gaston, Gaston ! you do not think what you say ! '* 
 
 " If you loved me," he cried *' you could never, at this 
 Oioment of separation, have the cruel courage to reasou 
 
FILE NO. 113 177 
 
 and calculate so coldly. Ah, far different is my love for 
 you. Without you the world is void ; to lose you is to 
 die. So let the Rhone take back this life, so miraculously 
 saved ; for it is now a burden to me ! " 
 
 And he would have rushed towards the river, deter- 
 mined to die, had Valentine not held him back. " Is this 
 the way to show your love for me ? " she asked. 
 
 Gaston was absolutely discouraged. *' What is the use 
 of living ? " he murmured dejectedly. " What is left to 
 me now ? " 
 
 " God is left to us, Gaston ; and in His hands lies our 
 future." 
 
 As a shipwrecked man seizes a rotten plank in his des- 
 peration, so Gaston eagerly caught at the word "y}////r<?," 
 as a beacon m the gloomy darkness surrounding him, 
 "Your command shall be obeyed," he cried with sudden 
 enthusiasm. " Away with weakness ! Yes, I will live, 
 and struggle, and triumph. Madame de La Verberie 
 wants gold ; well, in three years I shall either be rich, of 
 dead." With clasped hands Valentine thanked heaven 
 for this determination, which was more than she had dared 
 hope for. *' But," continued Gaston, " before going away 
 I wish to intrust a sacred deposit to your keeping." And 
 drawing the jewels from his pocket and handing them to 
 Valentine, he added : " These jewels belonged to my poor 
 mother ; you, alone, are worthy of wearing them. In my 
 thoughts I intended them for you." And as she refused 
 to accept them, " Take them," he insisted, " as a pledge 
 of my return. If I do not come back within three years, 
 you will know that I am dead, and then you must keep 
 them as a souvenir of him who loved you so fondly." She 
 burst into tears, and took the jewels. " And now," re- 
 sumed Gaston, " I have a last request to make. Every- 
 body believes me dead, but I cannot let my poor old father 
 remain under this impression. Swear to me that you will 
 go yourself to-morrow morning, and tell him that I am still 
 alive." 
 
 " I will tell him," she replied. 
 
 Gaston felt that he must now tear himself away before his 
 courage failed him. He enveloped Valentine in a last fond 
 embrace, and started up. " What is your plan of escape .? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " I shall go to Marseilles, and take refuge in a friend's 
 
 14 
 
I'/S FILE NO. 113. 
 
 house until I can procure a passage on board some foreign* 
 bound vessel." 
 
 " You must have assistance ; I will secure you a guide 
 in whom I have unbounded confidence ; old Menoul who 
 lives near us. He owns the boat which he plies on the 
 Rhone." 
 
 The lovers passed through the little park gate, of which 
 Gaston had the key, and soon reached the boatman's 
 cabin. He was dozing in his easy-chair by the fireside. 
 When Valentine stood before him with Gaston, the old 
 man jumped up, and kept rubbing his eyes, thinking it 
 must be a dream. " M. Menoul," said Valentine, " M. 
 Gaston is compelled to hide himself ; he wants to reach 
 the sea, so that he can embark secretly. Can you take 
 him in your boat as far as the mouth of the Rhone ? " 
 
 " It is impossible," said the old man shaking his head , 
 " I dare not venture on the river in its present state." 
 
 *' But, M. Menoul, you would be rendering an immense 
 service to me ; would you not venture for my sake t " 
 
 " For your sake ? certainly I would. Mademoiselle Val- 
 entine ; I am ready to start." He looked at Gaston, and, 
 seeing his clothes wet and covered with mud, said to him : 
 •' Allow me to offer you some clothes of a son of mine who 
 is dead, sir ; they will, at least, serve as a disguise : come 
 this way." 
 
 In a few minutes old Menoul returned with Gaston, 
 whom no one would have recognized in his sailor dress. 
 Valentine went with them to the place where the boat was 
 moored. While the old man was unfastening it, the dis- 
 consolate lovers tearfully embraced each other for the last 
 time. " In three years," cried Gaston, " in three years ! " 
 
 " Adieu, mademoiselle," interrupted the old boatman ; 
 " and you, sir, hold fast, and keep steady." Then with a 
 vigorous shove of the boat-hook he sent the boat into the 
 middle of the stream. 
 
 Three days later, thanks to the assistance of old Me- 
 noul, Gaston was concealed on board the American three- 
 master, " Tom Jones," Captain Warth, which was to start 
 the next day for Valparaiso. 
 
FILE NO. 113. 179 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Cold and white like a marble statue, Valentine stood on 
 the river-bank, watching the frail bark which was carrying 
 her lover away. It flev/ along the Rhone like a bird in a 
 tempest, and after a few seconds only appeared as a black 
 speck in the midst of a heavy fog which hung over the 
 water. Now that Gaston was gone, Valentine had no 
 motive for concealing her despair ; she wrung her hands 
 and sobbed as if her heart would break. All her forced 
 calmness, her bravery and hopefulness, were gone. She felt 
 crushed and lost, as if something had been torn from her ; 
 as if that swiftly disappearing bark had carried off the 
 better part of herself. For while Gaston treasured in the 
 bottom of his heart a ray of hopCj she felt there was noth- 
 ing to look forward to but shame and sorrow. The horri- 
 ble facts which stared her in the face convinced her that 
 happiness in this life was over ; the future was worse than 
 blank. She wept and shuddered at the prospect She 
 slowly retraced her footsteps through the little gate which 
 had so often admitted Gaston ; and, as she closed it be- 
 hind her, she fancied she was placing an impassable bar- 
 rier between herself and happiness. Before going to her 
 room, Valentine was careful to walk round the chateau, 
 and examine the windows of her mother's chamber. They 
 were brilliantly lighted, as usual at that hour, for Madame 
 de La Verberie passed a part of the night in reading, and 
 did not rise till late in the morning. Enjoying the com- 
 forts of life, which are not expensive in the country, the 
 selfish countess disturbed herself very little about her 
 daughter. Having no fear for her in their isolation, she 
 left her at perfect liberty ; and, day and night, Valentine 
 might go and come, and take long walks, without her 
 mother making a remark. 
 
 But on this night Valentine feared being seen. She 
 would be called upon to explain the torn, muddy condi- 
 tion of her dress, and what answer could she give ? For- 
 tunately she was able to reach her own room without meet- 
 ing any one. She longed for solitude in order to collect 
 her thoughts, and to pray for strength to withstand the 
 angry storm about to burst over her head. Seated before 
 
io PILE NO. 113. 
 
 hei little work-table, she took the purse of jewels from her 
 pocket and mechanically examined them. It would be a 
 sweet, sad comfort to wear the simplest of the rings, she 
 thought ; but could she ? her mother would ask her where 
 it came from. And she would have to deceive her again. 
 She kissed the purse, in memory of Gaston, and then con- 
 cealed the sacred deposit at the bottom of a drawer. She 
 theri remembered that she would have to go to Clameran, 
 to inform the old marquis of the miraculous preservation 
 of his son's life. Blinded by his passion, Gaston did not 
 think, when he requested this service, of the obstacles 
 and dangers to be braved in its performance. But Valen- 
 tine saw them only too clearly ; yet it did not occur to her 
 for an instant to break her promise, or delay to go. At 
 sunrise she dressed herself. When the bell was ringing 
 for early mass, she thought it a good time to start on her 
 errand. The servants were all up, and one of them named 
 Mihonne, who always waited on Valentine, was scrubbing 
 the hall. 
 
 " If my mother asks for me," said Valentine to the girl, 
 " tell her I have gone to early mass." 
 
 As she often went to church at this hour, there was 
 nothing to be feared so far ; Mihonne said nothing. But 
 Valentine knew that she would have a difficulty in return- 
 ing in time for breakfast, for she would have to walk a 
 league before reaching the bridge, and it was another 
 league thence to Clameran ; that is four leagues there and 
 back. She set forth at a rapid pace. The consciousness 
 of performing an extraordinary action, and the feverish anx- 
 iety of incurred peril, increased her haste. She forgot 
 fatigue, and that she had worn herself out with weeping all 
 night. In spite of her efforts, however, it was past eight 
 o'clock when she reached the long avenue leading to the 
 main entrance of the chateau of Clameran. She had only 
 proceeded a few steps along it, when she saw old Jean, the 
 marquis's valet, coming down the path. She stopped and 
 waited for him, and he hastened his steps at sight of her. 
 He looked very much excited, and his eyes were swollen 
 with weeping. To Valentine's surprise, he did not take off 
 his cap to her, but accosted her most rudely. 
 
 " Are you going to the chdteau, mademoiselle ? '^ 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " If you are going after M. Gaston," continued the sery« 
 
FILE NO. 113. 181 
 
 ant with an Insolent sneer, " you ai-e taking useless 
 trouble. M. Gaston is dead^ mademoiselle ; he sacriticed 
 himself for a mistress he had." 
 
 Valentine turned white at this insult, but took no notice 
 of it. Jean, who expected to see her overcome by the 
 dreadful news, was bewildered and indignant at her com- 
 posure. " I am going to the chateau," she resumed 
 quietly, " to speak to the marquis." 
 
 Jean stifled a sob, and said : " Then it is not worth 
 while to go any further." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Because the Marquis de Clameran died at five o'clock 
 this morning." 
 
 Valentine leaned against a tree to prevent herself from 
 falling. " Dead ! " she gasped. 
 
 *' Yes," said Jean fiercely, "yes, dead ! " A faithful 
 servant of the old regime, Jean shared all the passions, 
 weaknesses, friendships, and enmities of his master. He 
 had a horror of the La Verberies. And now he saw in 
 Valentine the woman who had caused the death of the 
 marquis whom he had served for forty years, and of Gas- 
 ton whom he worshipped. " I will tell you how he died," 
 continued the bitter old man. " Yesterday evening, when 
 the news reached the marquis that his eldest son was dead, 
 he who was hardy as an oak dropped down as if struck by 
 lightning. I was there. He beat the air wildly with his 
 hands, and fell without uttering one word. We put him to 
 bed, and M. Louis galloped into Tarascon for a doctor. 
 But the blow had struck too deeply. When Dr. Raget 
 arrived he said there was no hope. At daybreak, the mar- 
 quis recovered consciousness enough to ask for M. Louis, 
 with whom he remained alone for some minutes. His 
 last words were : ' Father and son on the same day, there 
 will be rejoicing at La Verberie.' " 
 
 Valentine might have soothed the faithful servant's sor- 
 row by telling him that Gaston still lived ; but she feared 
 it would be indiscreet, and so, unfortunately, she merely 
 said : " Then, I must see M. Louis." 
 
 These words seemed to anger Jean the more. " You ! " 
 he exclaimed. " You would dare to take such a step, 
 Mademoiselle de La Verberie ? W^hat ! would you pre- 
 sume to appear before him after what has happened ? I 
 wir never allow it ! And you had best, moreover, take m^ 
 
l82 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 advice, and return home at once. I will not answer foT 
 the tongues of the servants here, when they see you." 
 And, without waiting for an answer, he hurried away. 
 
 What could Valentine do ? Humiliated and miserable, 
 she could only wearily drag her aching limbs back the way 
 she had so rapidly come, but a short time before. On 
 the road, she met many country people coming from the 
 town, where they had heard of the events of the previous 
 night ; and at every step the poor girl was greeted with in- 
 sulting looks and mocking bows. When she reached La 
 Verberie, she found Mihonne watching for her. 
 
 " Ah, mademoiselle," said the girl, " make haste. 
 Madame had a visitor this morning, and ever since she left 
 has been calling out for you. Hurry ; but take care what 
 you do, for she is in a violent passion." 
 
 Much has been said in favor of the patriarchal manners 
 of our ancestors. Their manners may have been patri- 
 archal years and years ago ; but our grandames, very dif- 
 ferently to our women now-a-days, had sharp wits, ready 
 hands, and quick tongues, and were never afraid of let- 
 ting their actions suit their words which were not always 
 choice. Madame de La Verberie had preserved the man- 
 ners of the good old times, when grand ladies swore like 
 troopers. When Valentine appeared, she was over- 
 whelmed with coarse epithets and violent abuse. The count- 
 ess had been informed of everything, with many gross addi- 
 tions added by public scandal. An old dowager, her most 
 intimate friend, had hurried over early in the morning to 
 offer her this most poisoned dish of gossip, seasoned with 
 her own pretended condolences. In this sad affair, 
 Madame de La Verberie mourned less over her daughter's 
 loss of reputation than over the ruin of her own projects — ■ 
 projects of arranging a grand marriage for Valentine, and 
 of herself living in luxury the rest of her days. A young 
 girl so compromised would not find it easy to get a hus- 
 band. It would now be absolutely necessary to keep her 
 two years longer in the country before introducing her into 
 Parisian society. The wor.M must have time to forget 
 this shameful affair. 
 
 " You worthless wretch ! " cried the countess, red with 
 fury ; " is it thus you respect the noble traditions of our 
 family? Up to now it has never been considered neces- 
 sary to watch the La Verberies ; they could take care of 
 
FILE NO. 113. 183 
 
 their honor : but it was reserved for you to take advan- 
 tage of your liberty to lower yourself to the level of those 
 harlots who are the disgrace of their sex ! " • 
 
 With a sinking heart, Valentine had foreseen this tirade. 
 She felt that it was only a fitting punishment for her guilty 
 love. Knowing that her mother's indignation was just, 
 she meekly hung her head like a repentant culprit at the 
 bar of justice. Eut this silence only exasperated the angry 
 countess the more. " Why do you not answer me ? " she 
 screamed with a threatening gesture. 
 
 " What can I say, mother .'' " 
 
 " Say, miserable girl ? Say that they lied when they 
 accused a La Verberie of disgracing her name { Speak, 
 defend yourself ! " Valentine mournfully shook her head, 
 but said nothing. " It is true, then ! " shrieked the count- 
 ess, beside herself with rage ; " what they said is true t " 
 
 " Forgive me, mother," moaned the poor girl ; "forgive 
 me." 
 
 " What ! Forgive you ! I have not then been deceived. 
 Forgive you ! Do you own it then, you hussy ! Good 
 heavens ! what blood have you in your veins ? Do 3'^ou 
 not know that some faults should be persistently denied, 
 no matter how glaring the evidence against them ? And 
 you are my daughter ! Can you not understand that an 
 ignominious confession like this should never be forced 
 from a woman by any human power ? But no, you have 
 lovers, and unblushingly avow it. Glory in it, it would be 
 something new ! " 
 
 " Alas ! you are pitiless, mother ! " 
 
 " Did you have any pity for me, my dutiful daughter ? 
 Did it never occur to you that your disgrace might kill 
 me ? Ah ! many a time, I dare say, you and your lover 
 have laughed at my blind confidence. For I had confi- 
 dence in you as in myself. I believed you to be as chaste 
 and pure as when I watched you lying in your cradle. 
 And it has come to this : drunken men make a jest of )'Our 
 name in the wine shops, then fight about you, and kill each 
 Other. I intrusted to you the honor of our name, and 
 what have you done with it ? You have given it to the 
 first comer ! " This was too much for Valentine. The 
 words, "first comer," wounded her pride more than all the 
 other abuse heaped upon her. She tried to protest against 
 t^is unrnQrited insult. " Ah, I have inade 9. riiistak^t 
 
i84 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 Your lover is not the first comer," said the countess. 
 " With the number you had to choose from, you must fix 
 on the heir of our enemies of a hundred years, Gaston de 
 Clameran. A coward, who publicly boasted of your fa- 
 vors ; a wretch, who tried to avenge himself for the hero- 
 ism of our ancestors by ruining you and me — an old woman 
 and a child ! " 
 
 " No, mother, that is false. He loved me, and, had he 
 dared hope for your consent — '* 
 
 " He would have married you ? Ah ! never. I would 
 rather see you fall lower than you are, even to the gutter, 
 than know you to be the wife of such a man ! " Thus the 
 countess expressed her hatred very much in the same 
 terms as the old marquis had used to his son. *' Besides," 
 she added, with a ferocity which only a woman is capable 
 of, " besides, your lover is drowned, and the old marquis 
 is dead, so I have been told. God is just ; we are avenged." 
 
 Old Jean's words, "There will be rejoicing at La Ver- 
 berie," rung in Valentine's ears as she saw the countess's 
 eyes sparkle with malignant joy. This was the crowning 
 blow for the unfortunate young girl. For half an hour 
 she had been exerting all her strength to bear up against 
 her mother's cruel violence ; but her physical endurance 
 was not equal to the task. She turned, if possible, paler, 
 and with half-closed eyes extended her arms as though to 
 find some support, and fell, striking her head against a 
 side table. It was with dry eyes that the countess beheld 
 her daughter stretched at her feet. Her vanity was deeply 
 wounded, but no other emotion disturbed her. Her's was 
 a heart so full of anger and hatred that there was no room 
 for any noble sentiment. Seemg, however, that Valentine 
 remained unconscious, she rang the bell ; and the affrighted 
 maid-servants, who were trembling in the passage at the 
 loud and angry tones of the voice they all dreaded, came 
 running in. 
 
 " Carry mademoiselle to her room," she ordered ; " lock 
 her in, and bring me the key." 
 
 The countess intended keeping Valentine a close pris- 
 oner for a long time. She well knew the mischievous, 
 gossiping propensities of country people, who, from mere 
 idleness, indulge in limitless scandal. A poor fallen girl 
 must eidier leave the place, or drink to the very dregs the 
 cl^ig^ of premeditated humiliation and brutiU irony. 
 
FILE NO. 113. 185 
 
 Each one delights in casting a stone at her. But the 
 countess's plans were destined to be baffled. The servants 
 came to tell her that Valentine had recovered conscious- 
 ness, but seemed to be very ill. She replied that it was 
 all pretence ; whereupon Mihonne insisted upon her go- 
 ing up and judging for herself. She unwillingly went to 
 her daughter's room, and perceived that something serious 
 was the matter. However, she betrayed no apprehension, 
 but sent to Tarascon for Dr. Raget, who was the oracle of 
 the neighborhood ; it was he who had been called in to 
 see the Marquis de Clameran. Dr. Raget was one of those 
 men who leave a blessed memory, which lives long after 
 their departure from this world. Intelligent and noble- 
 hearted, he devoted himself to his art ; wealthy, he never 
 demanded to be paid for his services. At all hours of the 
 night and day, his gray horse and old cabriolet might be 
 seen along the roads, with a hamper of wine and soup un- 
 der the seat for his poorer patients. He was a little, bald- 
 headed man of fifty, with a quick, bright eye, and pleasant 
 face. The servant fortunately found him at home, and 
 brought him back with him. On beholding Valentine, 
 the doctor's face assumed a most serious expression. En* 
 dowed with profound perspicacity, quickened by practice, 
 he studied the young girl and her mother alternately ; and 
 the penetrating gaze which he fixed on the old countess so 
 disconcerted her that she felt her wrinkled face turning 
 very red. 
 
 " This child is very ill," he said, at length. And as 
 Madame de La Verberie made no reply, he added : " I 
 desire to remain alone with her for a few minutes." 
 
 The countess dared not resist the authority of a man of 
 Dr. Raget's character and reputation, and retired to the 
 next room, apparently calm, but in reality disturbed by the 
 most gloomy forebodings. At the end of half an hour — it 
 seemed a century — the doctor entered the room where she 
 was waiting. He, who had witnessed so much suffering 
 and misery, appeared deeply affected. 
 
 " Well ? " asked the countess. 
 
 "You are a mother, madame," he answered sadly — ^ 
 " that is to say your heart is full of indulgence and pardoa 
 Summon all your courage. Mademoiselle Valentine will 
 soon become a mother." 
 
 " The worthless creature I I feared as much." 
 
iS6 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 The doctor was shocked at the dreadful expression of 
 the countess's eye. He laid his hand on her arm, and 
 giving her a penetrating look, beneath which she instantly 
 quailed, he added; "And the child must live." 
 
 The doctor's suspicions were correct. A dreadful idea 
 had flashed across Madame de La Verberie's mind — the 
 idea of destroying this child which would be a living proof 
 of Valentine's sin. Feeling that her evil intention was 
 divined, the proud, stern woman's eyes fell beneath the 
 doctor's obstinate gaze. " I do not understand you, Dr. 
 Raget," she murmured. 
 
 " But I know what I mean, madame ; and I simply 
 wished to tell you that a crime does not obliterate a fault." 
 
 "Doctor!" 
 
 " I merely say what I think, madame. If I was mis- 
 taken in my impression, so much the better for you. At 
 present, your daughter's condition is serious, but not 
 dangerous. Excitement and distress of mind have un- 
 strung her nerves, and she is now in a high fever- which 
 I hope soon to allay." 
 
 The countess saw that the old doctor's suspicions were 
 not dispelled ; so she thought she would try maternal 
 anxiety, and said : " At least, doctor, you can assure me 
 that the dear child's life is not in danger 1 " 
 
 " No, madame," answered Dr. Raget, with cutting irony, 
 "your maternal tenderness need not be alarmed. All the 
 poor child needs is rest of mind, which you alone can give 
 her. A few kind words from you will do her more good 
 than all my prescriptions. But remember, madame, that 
 the least shock of nervous excitement will produce the 
 most fatal consequences." 
 
 " I must confess," said the countess, hypocritically, 
 " that I was unable to control my anger upon first hear- 
 ing that my darling child had fallen a victim to a vile se^ 
 ducer." 
 
 " But now that the first shock is over, madame, being a 
 mother and a Christian, you will do your duty. My duty 
 is to save your daughter and her child, and I will do so. 
 I will call to-morrow." 
 
 Madame de La Verberie had no idea of letting the doc- 
 tor go off in this way. She motioned him to stay, and, 
 without reflecting that she was betraying herself, ex- 
 claimed : " Do you pretend to say, sir, that you will pre- 
 
FILE NO. 113. 187 
 
 vent my taking every means to conceal the . terrible 
 misfortune that has fallen upon me ? Do you wish our 
 shame to be made public — to make us the laughing-stock 
 of the neighborhood ? " , 
 
 The doctor remained a moment withoijt answering ; the 
 condition of affairs was serious. " No, madame," he at 
 length replied ; " I cannot prevent your leaving La Ver- 
 berie — that would be overstepping my duty ; but I rayst 
 hold you to account for the child. You are at liberty-^ 
 go where you please ; but you must give me proof of the 
 child's being alive, or at least that no attempt was made ^ 
 against its life." 
 
 After uttering these threatening words he left the house, 
 and it was in good time, for the countess was choking with 
 suppressed rage. " Insolent upstart ! " she cried, " to pre- 
 sume to dictate to a woman of my rank ! Ah, if I were 
 not completely at his mercy ! " But she was in his power, 
 and she knew well enough that she must forever bid adieu 
 to all her ambitious plans. No more hopes of luxury, 
 of a millionaire-son-in-law, of splendid carriages, rich 
 dresses, and charming card parties, where she could gamble 
 to her heart's content. She would have to die as she had 
 lived, poor, neglected, condemned to a life of privation, 
 all the harder to bear as she would no longer have a 
 brighter future to look forward to. And it was Valentine 
 who brought this misery upon her. This reflection aroused 
 all her inherent bitterness, and she felt for her daughter 
 one of those implacable hatreds which, instead of becom- 
 ing appeased, are strengthened by time. She wished she 
 could see her lying dead before her, and the accursed in- 
 fant as well. But she remembered the doctor's threaten- 
 ing look, and dared not attempt anything. She even forced 
 herself to go and say a few forgiving words to Valen- 
 tine, and then left her to the care of the faithful Mihonne. 
 
 Poor Valentine ! She had suffered so much that she 
 had lost all power of action. She was, however, getting 
 better. She felt that dull, heavy sensation, almost free 
 from pain, which always follows violent mental or physical 
 suffering. When she was able to reflect, she thought to 
 herself : " Well, it is over ; my mother know^s everything. 
 I have no longer her anger to fear, and must trust to time 
 for her forgiveness." This was the secret which Valentine 
 had been unwilling to reveal to Gaston, because she i^\\ 
 
i88 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 certain that he would refuse to leave her if he knew it 
 But she wished him to escape ; and duty at the same time 
 bade her remain. Even now she did not regret having 
 done so. 
 
 The only thought which distressed her was Gaston's 
 danger. Had he succeeded in embarking ? How could 
 she find out ? For two days the doctor had allowed her to 
 get up ; but she could not possibly walk as far as old 
 Menoul's cabin. Happily, the devoted old boatman was 
 intelligent enough to anticipate her wishes. Hearing that 
 the young lady at the chateau was very ill, he set about/ 
 devising some means of informing her of her friend's 
 safety. He went to La Verberie several times on pre- 
 tended errands, and finally succeeded in seeing Valentine. 
 They were not alone, so he could not speak to her ; but he 
 made her understand by a significant, look that Gaston 
 was out of danger. This knowledge contributed more 
 towards Valentine's recovery than all the medicines ad- 
 ministered by the doctor, who, after visiting her daily for 
 six weeks, at length pronounced his patient sufficiently 
 strong to bear the fatigues of a journey. The countess 
 had waited with the greatest impatience for this decision. 
 In order to prevent any delay, she had already realized 
 half of her capital at a loss, and said to herself that the 
 sum thus raised, some twenty-five thousand francs, would 
 suffice for all contingent expenses. For a fortnight she 
 had been calling on all her friends, saying that as soon as 
 her daughter had recovered her health she meant to take 
 her to England to visit a rich old relation, who had ex- 
 pressed a wish to see her. 
 
 Valentine looked forward to this journ«y with terror, 
 and shuddered when her mother said to her, on the even- 
 ing that the doctor gave her permission to set out : " We 
 shall start the day after to-morrow." Only one day left ! 
 And Valentine had been unable to let Louis de Clameran 
 know that his brother was still living. In this extremity 
 she was obliged to confide in Mihonne, and sent her with 
 a letter to Louis. But the faithful servant had a useless 
 walk. The chateau of Clameran was deserted ; all the 
 servants had been dismissed, and M. Louis, whom they 
 now called the marquis, had gone away. 
 
 At last they started. Madame de La Verberie, feeling 
 that she could trust Mihonne, decided to take her with 
 
FILE NO. 113. 189 
 
 them, after making her swear eternal secrecy. It was in 
 a little village near London that the countess, under the 
 assumed name of Mrs. Wilson, took up her abode with 
 her daughter and maid-servant. She selected England, 
 because she had lived there a long time, and was well ac- 
 quainted with the manners and habits of the people, and 
 spoke their language as well as she did her own. She 
 had kept up an acquaintance with some of the English 
 nobility, and often dined and went to the theatre with ber 
 friends in London. On these occasions she always took 
 the humiliating precaution of locking Valentine in ber 
 room. It was in their sad, solitary house, one night in 
 the month of May, that the son of Valentine de La Ver- 
 berie was born. He was taken to the parish priest, and 
 christened Valentin Raoul Wilson. The countess had 
 prepared everything, and for five hundred pounds had en- 
 gaged an honest farmer's wife to bring the child up as her 
 own, and, when old enough, have him taught a trade. 
 Little Raoul was handed over to her a few hours after his 
 birth. The good woman thought him the child of an Eng- 
 lish lady, and there seemed no probability that he would 
 ever discover the secret of his birth. Restored to con- 
 sciousness, Valentine asked for her child. She yearned to 
 clasp it to her bosom ; but the cruel countess was pitiless. 
 "Your child!" she cried, "I do not know what you 
 mean ; you must be dreaming; you are mad !" And as 
 Valentine persisted, she replied : " Your child is safe, and 
 will want for nothing ; let that suffice. You must forget 
 what has happened, as you would forget a painful dream. 
 The past must be wiped out forever. You know me well 
 enough to understand that I mean to be obeyed." 
 
 The moment had come when Valentine ought in some 
 degree to have resisted the countess's continually increas- 
 ing tyranny. She had the idea, but not the courage to do 
 so. If, on one side, she saw the dangers of almost culpa- 
 ble resignation — for she, too, was a mother ! — on the other 
 she felt crushed by the consciousness of her guilt. She 
 yielded ; and surrendered herself forever into the hands 
 of a mother whose conduct she refrained from questioning, 
 to escape the necessity of condemning it. So much suf- 
 fering, so many regrets and internal struggles, for a long 
 time delayed her recovery, but towards the end of June, 
 the countess took her back to La Verberie, This tim.e 
 
igo FILE NO, 113. "■ 
 
 the mischief-makers and gossips were not so sharp as us- 
 ual. The countess went about, complaining of the bad 
 success of her trip to England, and was able to assure her- 
 self that no one suspected her real reason for the journey. 
 Only one man. Dr. Raget, knew the truth ; and, although 
 Madame de La Verberie hated him from the bottom of 
 her heart, she did him the justice to feel sure that he would 
 not prove indiscreet. 
 
 Her first visit was paid to him. When he entered the 
 room, she abruptly threw on the table the official docu- 
 ments which she had procured especially for this purpose. 
 " These will prove to you, sir, that the child is living, and 
 well cared for at a cost that I can ill afford." 
 
 " These are perfectly correct, madame," he replied, 
 after an attentive examination of the papers, " and, if your 
 conscience does not reproach you, of course I have noth- 
 ing to say." 
 
 " My conscience reproaches me with nothing, sir." 
 
 The old doctor shook his head, and gazing searchingly 
 into her eyes, retorted : " Can you say that you have not 
 been harsh, even to cruelty ? " 
 
 She turned away her head, and, assuming her grand 
 air, answered : " I have acted as a woman of my rank 
 should act ; and I am surprised to find in you an advocate 
 of misconduct." 
 
 " Ah, madame," said the doctor, " it is your place to 
 show kindness to the poor girl. What indulgence do you 
 expect from strangers towards your unhappy daughter, 
 when you, her mother, are so pitiless ? " 
 
 Such plain-spoken truths were more than the countess 
 cared to hear, and she rose to leave. " Is that all that 
 you have to say to me. Dr. Raget .'' " she asked haughtily. 
 
 " Yes, madame ; I have done. My only object was to 
 spare you eternal remorse." 
 
 The good doctor was mistaken in his idea of Madame 
 de La Verberie's character. She was utterly incapable of 
 feeling remorse ; but she suffered cruelly when her selfish 
 vanity was wounded, or her comfort disturbed. She re- 
 sumed her old mode of living, but, having disposed of a 
 part of her income, found it difficult to make both ends 
 meet. This furnished her with an inexhaustible text for 
 complaint; and at every meal she reproached Valentine 
 Tpost unmercifully. She seemed to forget her C'\vn com 
 
FILE NO. 113. 191 
 
 mand, that the past should be buried in oblivion, and con- 
 stantly recurred to it for food for her anger ; a day seldom 
 passed, without her saying to Valentine : " Your conduct 
 has ruined us." 
 
 One day her daughter could not refrain from replying : 
 " I suppose you would have forgiven me, had it enriched 
 us." But these revolts on Valentine's part were rare, al- 
 though her life was a series of tortures inflicted with most 
 refined cruelty. Even the memory of Gaston had become 
 a suffering. Perhaps, discovering the uselessness of her 
 sacrifice, of her courage, and her devotion to what she had 
 considered her duty, she regretted not having followed 
 him. What had become of him 1 Why had he not con- 
 trived to send her a letter, a word to let her know that he 
 was still alive ? Perhaps he was dead. Perhaps he had 
 forgfotten her. He had sworn to return a rich man before 
 three years had passed. Would he ever return ? There 
 was a risk in his returning under any circumstances. His 
 disappearance had not put an end to the terrible affair at 
 Tarascon. He was supposed to be dead ; but, as there 
 was no positive proof of his death, and his body could not 
 be found, justice was compelled to listen to the clamor 
 of public opinion. The case was brought before the as- 
 size court; and Gaston de Clameran was contumaciously 
 sentenced to several years' imprisonment. As to Louis 
 de Clameran, no one knew positively what had become of 
 him. Some people said he was leading a life of reckless 
 extravagance at Paris. Informed of these facts by her 
 faithful Mihonne, Valentine became more hopeless than 
 ever. Vainly did she question the dreary future ; no ray 
 appeared upon the dark horizon of her life. All her en- 
 ergy was gone ; and she finally reached that state of pas- 
 sive resignation peculiar to people who are constantly op- 
 pressed. 
 
 In this miserable way, four years passed since the fatal 
 evening when Gaston had escaped in old Menoul's boat. 
 Madame de La Verberie had spent these four years most 
 unprofitably. Seeing that she could not live upon her in- 
 come, and having too much false pride to sell her land, 
 which was so badly managed that it did not even bring her 
 in two per cent, she resigned herself to borrowing and 
 spent her capital with her income. As in such matters, it 
 is only the first step that costs, the countess soon made 
 
192 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 rapid strides, saying to herself, like the late Marqms de 
 Clameran : "After me, the deluge!" She no IcMger 
 thought of anything but taking her ease. She had fre- 
 quent " at homes," and paid many visits to the neighbor- 
 ing towns of Nimes and Avignon ; she sent to Paris for 
 the most elegant toilets, and indulged her taste for good 
 living. She allowed herself all the luxury that she had 
 hoped to obtain by the acquisition of a rich son-in-law. 
 Great sorrows require consolation ! The first year after 
 she returned from London, she did not hesitate to treat 
 herself to a horse ; it was rather old, to be sure, but, when 
 harnessed to a second-hand carriage bought on credit at 
 Beaucaire, made quite a good appearance. She would 
 quiet her conscience, which occasionally reproached her 
 for this constant extravagance, by saying : " I am so un- 
 happy ! " The unhappiness was that this seeming luxury 
 cost her dear, very dear. After having sold the rest of 
 her bonds, the countess first mortgaged the estate of La 
 Verberie, and then the chateau itself. And in less than 
 four years she owed more than forty thousand francs, and 
 was unable even to pay the interest of her debt. 
 
 She was racking her mind to discover some means of 
 escape from her difhculties, when chance came to her res- 
 cue. For some time a young engineer, employed in sur- 
 veys along the Rhone, had made the village close to La 
 Verberie the centre of his operations. Being handsome, 
 agreeable, and of polished manners, he had been warmly 
 welcomed by the neighboring society, and the countess 
 frequently met him at the houses of her friends where she 
 went to play cards of an evening. This young engineer 
 was named Andre Fauvel. The first time he met Valen- 
 tine he was struck by her beauty, and after once looking 
 into her large, melancholy eyes, his admiration deepened 
 into love, though he had not even spoken to her. He was 
 well off ; a splendid career was open to him ; he was free ; 
 and he swore that Valentine should be his. It was to an 
 old friend of Madame de La Verberie, as noble as a Mont- 
 morency and as poor as Job, that he first confided his 
 matrimonial plans. With the precision of a graduate of 
 the polytechnic school, he enumerated all his qualifica- 
 tions for being a model son-in-law. For a long time the 
 old lady listened to him without interruption ; but, when 
 he had finished, she did not hesitate to tell him that hia 
 
FILE NO. 113. 193 
 
 pretensions were most presumptuous. What! he, a man 
 of no pedigree, a Fauvel, a common surveyor, to aspire to 
 the hand of a La Verberie ! After having enumerated all 
 the superior advantages of that superior order of beings, 
 the nobility, she condescended to take a common-sense 
 view of the case, and said : " However, you may succeed. 
 The poor countess owes money in every direction ; scarcely 
 a day passes without the bailiffs calling upon her ; so that, 
 you understand, if a rich suitor appeared, and agreed to 
 her terms respecting the settlements, — well, well, there is 
 no knowing what might happen." 
 
 Andrd Fauvel was young; the old lady's insinuations 
 seemed to him odious. On reflection, however, when he 
 had studied the character of the nobility of the neighbor- 
 hood, who were rich in nothing but prejudices, he clearly 
 saw that pecuniary considerations alone would be strong 
 enough to induce the proud Countess de La Verberie to 
 grant him her daughter's hand. This certainty ended his 
 hesitations, and he turned his whole attention to devising 
 a plan for presenting his claim. He did not find this an 
 easy thing to accomplish. To go m quest of a wife with 
 her purchase-money in his hand, was repugnant to his feel- 
 ings, and contrary to his ideas of delicacy. But he knew 
 no one who could undertake the matter for him, and his 
 love was strong enough to make him swallow his repug- 
 nance. The occasion so anxiously awaited, to explain his 
 intentions, soon presented itself. 
 
 One day as he entered a hotel at Beaucaire to dine, he 
 saw Madame de La Verberie about to seat herself at the 
 table. He blushed deeply, and asked permission to sit 
 beside her, which was granted him with a most encourag- 
 ing smile. Did the countess suspect the love of the young 
 engineer ? Had she been warned by her friend ? Per- 
 haps so. At any rate, without giving Andre time to gradu- 
 ally approach the subject weighing on his mind, she began 
 to complain of the hard times, the scarcity of money, and 
 the grasping meanness of the tradespeople. The truth is, 
 she had come to Beaucaire to borrow money, and had 
 found every cash-box closed against her ; and her lawyer 
 had advised her to sell her land for what it would bring. 
 Anger joined to that secret instinct of the situation of af- 
 fairs which is the sixth sense of a woman, loosened her 
 tongue, and made her m jre communicative to this compara- 
 
194 P^LE NO. 113. 
 
 tive stranger, than she had ever been to her bosom friends. 
 She explained to him the horror of her situation, her pres- 
 ent needs, her anxiety for the future, and above all, her 
 great distress at not being able to marry off her beloved 
 daughter. Andre listened to these complaints with becom- 
 ing commiseration, but in reality he was delighted. With- 
 out giving her time to finish her tale, he began to state 
 what he called his view of the matter. He said that, al- 
 though he sympathized deeply with the countess, he could 
 not account for her uneasiness about her daughter. What "t 
 Could she be disturbed at having no dowry for her .'' Why, 
 the rank and beauty of Mademoiselle Valentine were a 
 fortune in themselves, of which any man might be proud. 
 He knew more than one man w^ho would esteem himself 
 only too happy if Mademoiselle Valentine would accept 
 his name, and confer upon him the sweet duty of relieving 
 her mother from all anxiety and care. Finally, he did 
 not think the situation of the countess's affairs nearly so 
 desperate as she imagined. How much money w^ould be 
 necessar}' to pay off the mortgages upon La Verberie ? 
 About forty thousand francs, perhaps t Indeed ! That 
 was but a mere trifle. Besides, this sum would not be a 
 gift from the son-in-law, but only a loan, because the es- 
 tate would be his in the end, and greatly increased in 
 value. A man, too, worthy of Valentine's love could 
 never let his wife's mother want for the comforts and lux- 
 uries due to a lady of her age, rank, and misfortunes. He 
 would be only too glad to offer her a sufficient income, not 
 only to provide comfort, but even luxur}^ 
 
 As Andre spoke in a tone too earnest to be assumed, 
 it seemed to the countess that a celestial dew was drop- 
 ping upon her pecuniary wounds. Her countenance was 
 radiant with joy, her fierce little eyes beamed with the 
 most encouraging tenderness, her thin lips were wreathed 
 in the most friendly smiles. One thought alone disturbed 
 the young engineer. " Does she understand me .'' Does 
 she think I'm serious ?" he wondered. She certainly did, 
 as her subsequent remarks proved. " Alas ! " she sighed, 
 " forty thousand francs will not save La Verberie ; the 
 principal and interest of the debt amount to at least sixty 
 thousand." 
 
 "Oh, either forty or sixty thousand is nothing worth 
 speaking of," 
 
FILE N'O. \\%. 195 
 
 —Then my son-in-law, the phoenix we are supposing, 
 would he have the forethought to provide for my require- 
 ments ? " 
 
 " I should fancy he would be delighted to add four 
 thousand francs to the income you derive from your es' 
 tate." 
 
 The countess did not reply at once, she was calculating. 
 " Four thousand francs is not much," she said after a 
 pause. " Everything is so dear in this part of the coun- 
 try ! But with six thousand francs — yes, six thousand 
 francs would make me happy ! " 
 
 The young man thought that her demands were becom- 
 ing excessive, but with the generosity of an ardent lover, 
 he replied : " The son-in-law of whom we are speaking 
 would not be very devoted to Mademoiselle Valentine, if 
 the paltry sum of two thousand francs caused him to hesi- 
 tate." 
 
 " You promise too much ! " murmured the countess. 
 A sudden objection, however, occurred to her. " But 
 this imaginary son-in-law," she remarked, " must be pos- 
 sessed of the means to fulfil his promises. I have my 
 daughter's happiness too much at heart to give her to a 
 man who did not produce — what do you call them .'* — secu- 
 rities, guarantees." 
 
 " Decidedly," thought Fauvel with mortification, " we 
 are making a bargain." Then he added aloud : " Of 
 course, your son-in-law would bind himself in the marriage 
 contract to — " 
 
 " Never ! — sir, never ! Think of the impropriety of the 
 thing ! What would the world say ? " 
 
 " Excuse me, it would be stated that it was the interest 
 of a sum received from you." 
 
 " Ah ! yes that might do very well." 
 
 The countess insisted upon seeing Andrd home in her 
 carriage. During the drive, no definite plan was agreed 
 upon beween them ; but they understood each other so 
 well, that, when the countess set the young engineer down 
 at his own door, she invited him to dinner the next day, 
 and held out her skinny hand, which Andr^ kissed with 
 devotion as he thought of Valentine's pretty eyes. When 
 Madame de La Verberie returned home, the servants were 
 dumb with astonishment at her good humor; they had not 
 seen her in this happy frame of mind for years. And h':r 
 
196 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 day*s work was of a nature to elevate her spirits : she had 
 been most unexpectedly raised from a very difficult posi- 
 tion to affluence. She, who boasted of such proud senti- 
 ments, never perceived the shame of the transaction nor 
 the infamy of her conduct. " An annuity of six thousand 
 francs," said she to herself, " and a thousand crowns from 
 the estate, that makes nine thousand francs a year ! My 
 daughter will live m Paris after she is married, and I can 
 go and see my dear children without expense." At this 
 price she would have sold not only one but three daugh- 
 ters, if she had possessed them. But suddenly her blood 
 ran cold at a sudden thought which crossed her mind : 
 " Would Valentine consent ? " 
 
 Her anxiety to set her mind at rest sent her straightway 
 to her daughter's room. She found Valentine reading by 
 the light of a flickering candle. " My daughter," she said 
 abruptly, " a young man of whom I approve has demanded 
 your hand in marriage, and I have promised it to him." 
 
 At this startling announcement, Valentine started up — 
 *' Impossible ! " she murmured, " impossible ! " 
 
 " And why, if you please t " 
 
 *' Did you tell him, mother, what I am ? Did you 
 own — " 
 
 " Your past folly ? No, thank heavens ! and I hope you 
 will have the good sense to keep silent on the subject." 
 
 Although Valentine's spirit was completely crushed by 
 her mother's tyranny, her sense of honor revolted at the 
 idea. " You certainly would not wish me to marry an 
 honest man, mother, without confessing to him everything 
 connected with the past ? I could never practise a decep- 
 tion so base." 
 
 The countess felt very much like flying into a passion ; 
 but she knew that threats would be of no avail in this in- 
 stance, where resistance would be a matter of conscience 
 with her daughter. Instead of commanding, she entreated. 
 *' Poor child," she said, " my poor dear Valentine, if 
 you only knew the dreadful state of our affairs you would 
 not talk in this way. Your folly commenced our ruin ; to- 
 day it is complete. Do you know that our creditors 
 threaten to turn us out of La Verberie .'* Then what will 
 become of us, my poor child ? Must I in my old age go 
 begging from door to door ? We are utterly lost, and this 
 marriage is our only hope of salvation." 
 
FILE NO. 113. 197 
 
 These tearful entreaties were followed by plausible ar- 
 guments. The dear countess made use of strange and 
 subtle theories. What she formerly regarded as a mon- 
 strous crime, she now spoke of as a peccadillo. According 
 to her, girls in Valentine's position were to be met with 
 every day. She could understand, she said, her daughter's 
 scruples if there were any danger of the past being brought 
 to light; but she had taken such precautions, that there 
 was no fear of that. Would it make her love her husband 
 any the less .-^ No. Would he be less happy ? No. 
 Then that being so, why hesitate '^. Shocked, bewildered, 
 Valentine asked herself if this was really her mother, the 
 haughty woman who had always been such a worshipper of 
 honor and duty, who now contradicted every word she had 
 uttered during her life ! Valentine could not understand 
 the sudden change. But she would have understood it, 
 had she known to what base deeds a mind blinded by sel- 
 fishness and vanity can lend itself. The countess's subtle 
 arguments and shameful sophistry neither moved nor con* 
 vinced her ; but she had not the courage to resist the 
 tearful entreaties of that mother, who ended by falling on 
 her knees, and with clasped hands imploring her child to 
 save her. Violently agitated, distracted by a thousand 
 conflicting emotions, daring neither to refuse nor to prom- 
 ise, fearing the consequences of a decision thus forced 
 from her, the unhappy girl begged her mother to grant her 
 a few hours to reflect. 
 
 Madame de La Verberie dared not refuse this request, 
 and acquiesced. 
 
 " I will leave you my daughter," she said, " and I trust 
 your heart will tell you how to decide between a useless 
 confession, and your mother's salvation." With these 
 words she left the room, indignant but hopeful. 
 
 And she had grounds for hope. Placed between two 
 obligations equally sacred, equally binding, but diametri- 
 cally opposed, Valentine's troubled mind could no longer 
 clearly discern the path of duty. Could she reduce her 
 mother to want and misery ? Could she basely deceive the 
 confidence and love of an honorable man ? However she 
 decided, her future life would be one of suffering and re- 
 morse. Alas ! why had she not a wise and kind adviser to 
 point out the right course to pursue, and assist her in strug- 
 gling against evil influences ? Why had she not that gentle, 
 
198 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 discreet friend who had helped her in her first misfortunes, 
 old Dr. Raget ? Formerly, the memory of Gaston had 
 been her guiding star ; but now this far-oif memory was 
 nothing but a sort of vanishing dream. In romance we 
 meet with heroines of life-long constancy ; real life pro- 
 duces few such miracles. For a long time, Valentine's 
 mind had been filled with the image of Gaston. As the 
 hero of her dreams, she dwelt fondly on his memory ; but 
 the mists of time had gradually dimmed the brilliancy of 
 her idol, which was now no more than a cold relic at the 
 bottom of her heart. When she arose the next morning, 
 pale and weak from a sleepless, tearful night, she was al- 
 most resolved to confess everything ; but when the even- 
 ing came, and she found herself in the company of Andr^ 
 Fauvel, and in the presence of her mother's alternately 
 threatening and supplicating glances, her courage failed 
 her. She would say to herself : "I will tell him.'* But 
 later on she added : " I will wait till to-morrow." The 
 countess saw all these struggles, but was not made uneasy 
 by them. She knew by experience, that when a painful 
 duty is put off it is never performed. There was, perhaps, 
 some excuse for Valentine in the horror of her situation. 
 Perhaps, unknown to herself, she felt a faint hope arise 
 within her. Any marriage, even an unhappy one, offered 
 the prospect of a change, of a new life, a relief from the 
 insupportable suffering she was then enduring. Sometimes, 
 in her ignorance of human life, she imagined that time and 
 close intimacy would make it almost easy for her to confess 
 her terrible fault, and that Andre would pardon her and 
 marry her all the same, since he loved her so much. That 
 he sincerely loved her, she knew full well. It was not the 
 impetuous passion of Gaston, with its excitements and 
 terrors, but a calm, steady, and perhaps more lasting af- 
 fection, obtaining a sort a of blissful rest in its legitimacy 
 and constancy. 
 
 Thus Valentine gradually became accustomed to Andre's 
 presence, and was surprised into feeling very happy at 
 the constant delicate attentions and affectionate looks that 
 he lavished upon her. She did not feel any love for him 
 yet; but a separation would have distressed her deeply. 
 During the courtship, the countess's conduct was a master- 
 piece. She suddenly ceased arguing and importuning- 
 and with tearful resignation said she would not attempt 
 
FILE NO. 113. 199 
 
 to influence her daughter's decision ; but she went about 
 sighing and groaning as if she were on the eve of starving 
 to death. She also made arrangements for being tor- 
 mented by the bailiffs. Distress-warrants and legal no- 
 tices poured in at La Verberie, and she would show 
 Valentine all these documents, saying, " God grant we 
 may not be driven frcm the home of our ancestors before 
 your marriage, my darling ! " Knowing that her presence 
 was sufficient to freeze any confession on her daughter's 
 lips, she never left her alone with Andr^. " Once mar- 
 ried," she thought, " they can settle the matter to please 
 themselves." She was as impatient as Andre', and has- 
 tened the preparations for the wedding. She gave Valen- 
 tine no opportunity for reflection. She kept her constantly 
 busy, either in driving to town to purchase some article of 
 dress, or in paying visits. 
 
 At last the eve of the wedding-day found the countess 
 hopeful, though oppressed with anxiety, like the gambler 
 playing for a high stake. On this evening, for the first 
 time, Valentine found herself alone with the man who was 
 to become her husband. It was twilight, and she was sit- 
 ting in the drawing-room, miserable and trembling, anx- 
 ious to unburden her mind, when Andre entered. Seeing 
 that she was agitated, he pressed her hand, and gently 
 begged her to tell him the cause of her sorrow. " Am I 
 not your best friend," he said, " and ought I not to be the 
 confidant of your troubles, if you have any.-* Why these 
 tears, my darling ? " 
 
 At this moment she was on the point of confessing 
 everything. But suddenly she perceived the scandal that 
 would result, the pain she would cause Andr^, and her 
 mother's anger ; she saw her own future life ruined — she 
 exclaimed, like all young girls when the eventful moment 
 draws near : " I am afraid." Imagining that she was 
 merely disturbed by some vague fears, he tried to con- 
 sole and reassure her ; but he was surprised to find that 
 his affectionate words only seemed to increase her distress. 
 But already Madame de La Verberie came to interrupt 
 them : they were wanted to sign the marriage contract. 
 Andr^ Fauvel was left in ignorance. 
 
 On the morrow, a lovely spring day, Andr^ Fauvel and 
 Valentine de La Verberie were married at the village 
 church. Early in the morning, the chateau was filled wif*i 
 
200 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 the bride's friends, who came, according to custom, to as- 
 sist at her wedding toilet. Valentine forced herself to 
 appear calm, even smiling ; but her face was whiter than 
 her veil — her heart was torn by remorse. She felt as 
 though the sad truth were written upon her brow, and 
 that her white dress was but a bitter irony, a galling hu- 
 miliation. She shuddered when her most intimate friend 
 placed the wreath of orange-blossom upon her head. It 
 seemed to her that this emblem of purity would burn her. 
 It did not do so, but one of the wire stems of the flowers 
 badly covered, scratched her forehead which bled a great 
 deal, and a drop of blood fell upon her dress. What an 
 evil omen ! Valentine almost fainted. But presages are 
 deceitful, as it proved with Valentine ; for a year after 
 her marriage she was, according to report, the happiest of 
 wives. Happy ! yes, she would have been completely so 
 could she only have forgotten the past. Andrd adored 
 her. He had gone into business, and everything succeeded 
 with him. But he wished to be immensely rich, not for 
 him«self, but for the wife he loved, whom he longed to sur- 
 rownd with every luxury. Thinking her the most lovely, 
 he wished to see her the most adorned. 
 
 Eighteen months after her marriage, Madame Fauvel 
 had a son. But, alas ! neither this child, nor a second son, 
 born a year after, could make her forget the other one — 
 the poor, forsaken babe who, for a sum of money, a stran- 
 ger had consented to receive. Loving her children pas- 
 sionately, and bringing them up like the sons of princes, 
 she would murmur to herself, " Who knows if the aban- 
 doned one has even bread to eat ? " If she had only known 
 where he was ; if she had only dared inquire ! — but she 
 was afraid. Sometimes, too, she would be uneasy about 
 Gaston's jewels, constantly fearing that their hiding-place 
 would be discovered. Other times she would say to her- 
 self : " I may as well be tranquil ; misfortune has forgot- 
 ten me." Poor deluded woman ! Misfortune is a visitor 
 who sometimes delays his visits, but always comes in the 
 end. 
 
FILE NO. 113. 201 
 
 XV. 
 
 Louis de Clameran, the second son of the marquis, 
 was one of those self-controlled men, who beneath a cool, 
 careless manner, conceal a fiery temperament, and ungov- 
 ernable passions. All sorts of extravagant ideas had be- 
 gun to ferment in his disordered brain, long before the 
 occurrence which decided the destiny of the De Clameran 
 family. Apparently occupied in the pursuit of pleasure, 
 this precocious hypocrite longed for a larger field in which 
 to indulge his evil inclinations, secretly cursing the stern 
 necessity which chained him down to this dreary country 
 life, and the old chateau, which to him was more gloomy 
 than a prison, and as lifeless as the grave. This existence, 
 dragged out in the country and the small neighboring 
 towns, was too monotonous for his restless nature. The 
 paternal authority, though gently exercised, exasperated 
 his rebellious temper. He thirsted for independence, 
 riches, excitement, pleasure, and the unknown. Louis did 
 not love his father, and he hated his brother Gaston. The 
 old marquis, in his culpable thoughtlessness, had kindled 
 this burning envy in the heart of his second son. A strict 
 observer of traditional rights, he had always declared that 
 the eldest son of a noble house should inherit all the fam- 
 ily possessions, and that he intended to leave Gaston his 
 entire fortune. This flagrant injustice and favoritism in- 
 spired Louis with envious hatred for his brother. Gaston 
 always said that he would never consent to profit by this 
 paternal partiality, but would share equally with his brother. 
 Judging others by himself, Louis placed no faith in this 
 assertion, which he called an ostentatious affectation of 
 generosity. Although this hatred was unsuspected by the 
 marquis and Gaston, it was betrayed by acts significant 
 enough to attract the attention of the servants. They 
 were so fully aware of Louis's sentiments towards his 
 brother, that, when the latter was prevented from escaping 
 because of the stumbling horse, they refused to believe it 
 an accident, and muttered under their breath the word : 
 " Fratricide ! " A deplorable scene took place between 
 Louis and Jean, who was allowed, on account of his fifty 
 years' faithful service, to take liberties which he sometimes 
 abused by making rough speeches to his superiors. 
 
202 FILE NO. 113. > 
 
 " It is a great pity," said the old servant, " that a skilful 
 rider like yourself should have fallen at the very moment 
 when your brother's safety depended upon your good 
 horsemanship. La Verdure did not fall." 
 
 At this broad insinuation, Louis turned pale, and threat- 
 eningly exclaimed : " You insolent scoundrel, what do you 
 mean t " 
 
 " You know well enough what I mean, sir," the old man 
 replied significantly. 
 
 " 1 do not know ! Explain yourself." 
 
 The servant only answered by a meaning look, which 
 so incensed Louis, that he rushed towards him with up- 
 raised whip, and would have beaten him unmercifully, had 
 not the other servants interfered, and dragged Jean from 
 the spot. This altercation occurred while Gaston was in 
 the madder-field trying to escape his pursuers. After 
 awhile, the gendarmes and hussars returned, with slow 
 tread and sad faces, and announced that Gaston de Cla- 
 meran had plunged into the Rhone, and was most certainly 
 drowned. This melancholy news was received with groans 
 and tears by every one save Louis, who remained calm 
 and unmoved — not a single muscle of his face quivered ; 
 but his eyes sparkled with triumph. A secret voice cried 
 within him : " Now you are assured of the family posses- 
 sions, and a marquis's coronet." He was no longer the 
 poverty-stricken younger son, but the sole heir of the De 
 Clamerans. 
 
 The corporal of the gendarmes had said : " I would not 
 be the one to tell the poor old man that his son is 
 drowned." 
 
 Louis felt none of the tender-hearted scruples of the 
 brave old scJdier. He instantly went to his father's sick- 
 room, and said, in a firm voice : " Between disgrace and 
 death, my brother has chosen : he is dead." 
 
 Like a sturdy oak stricken by lightning, the marquis tot- 
 tered and fell when these fatal words sounded in his ears. 
 The doctor soon arrived, but, alas ! only to say that 
 science was of no avail. Towards daybreak, Louis, with- 
 out a tear, received his father's last sigh. Louis was now 
 the master. All the unjust precautions taken by the mar- 
 quis to elude the law, and insure beyond dispute the pos- 
 session of his entire fortune to his eldest son, turned 
 against him. By means of a fraudulent dv;ed of trust 
 
FILE NO. 113. 203 
 
 drawn by his dishonest lawyer, M. de Clameran had dis- 
 posed everything so that, on the day of his death, every 
 farthing he owned would be Gaston's. It was Louis who 
 benefited by this precaution. He came into possession 
 without even being called upon for the certificate of his 
 brother's death. He was now Marquis de Clameran ; he 
 was free, he was comparatively rich. He who had never 
 had twenty-five crowns in his pocket at a time, now found 
 himself the possessor of close upon two hundred thousand 
 francs. This sudden and most unexpected fortune so 
 completely turned his head, that he forgot his skilful dis- 
 simulation. His demeanor at the funeral of the marquis 
 attracted general notice. He followed the coffin, with his 
 head bowed down and his face buried in a handkerchief , 
 but his looks belied him, his face was beaming, and one 
 could trace a smile beneath the grimaces of his feigned 
 grief. The day after the funeral, Louis sold off everything 
 that could be disposed of — horses, carriages, and family 
 plate. The next dny he discharged all the old servants, 
 who had hoped to end their days beneath the hospitable 
 roof of Clameran. Several, with tears in their eyes, took 
 him aside, and entreated him to let them stay, even with- 
 out wages. He roughly ordered them to begone. He 
 sent for his father's law^yer, and gave him a power of at- 
 torney to sell the estate, and received in return the sum 
 of twenty thousand francs as the first payment in ad- 
 vance. At the end of the week, he locked up the chateau, 
 with a vow never to enter it again, and left the keys wich 
 Jean, who, owning a little house near Clameran, would 
 continue to live in the neighborhood. 
 
 Poor Jean ! little did he think that, in preventing Val- 
 entine from seeing Louis, he had ruined the prospects of 
 his beloved Gaston. On receiving the keys, he asked but 
 one question : " Shall we not search for your brother's 
 body, sir .-*" he inquired in broken-hearted tones. "And, 
 if it is found, what is to be done with it ? " 
 
 " I shall leave instructions with my lawyer," answered 
 Louis. And he hurried away from Clameran as if the 
 ground burnt his feet. He went to Tarascon, where he 
 had already forwarded his luggage, and took the stage- 
 coach which travelled between Marseilles and Paris, the 
 railroad not then being finished. 
 
 At last he was off. The lumbering vehicle rattled 
 
204 FILE NO. \\y 
 
 along, drawn by six horses ; and the deep gullies made by 
 the wheels seemed so many abysses between the past and 
 the future. Lying back in his corner, Louis de Clameran 
 enjoyed in anticipation the pleasures of which he was 
 about to partake. At the end of the journey, Paris ap- 
 peared before him — radiant, brilliantly dazzling as the 
 sun. For he was going to Paris, the promised land, the 
 city of wonders, where every Aladdin finds a lamp. 
 There, all ambitions are crowned, all dreams are realized, 
 all passions, all desires, good and evil, are satisfied. 
 There the fast-fleeting days are followed by nights of ever- 
 varied pleasure and excitement. In twenty theatres trag- 
 edy weeps, or comedy laughs ; whilst at the opera, the 
 most beautiful women in the world, sparkling with dia- 
 monds, are ready to die with ecstasy at the sound of di- 
 vme music ; everywhere noise, excitement, luxury, and 
 pleasure. What a dream ! The heart of Louis de Cla- 
 meran was overflowing with desire ; and it seemed to him 
 that the horses crawled along like tortoises. He gave 
 neither a thought nor a regret to the past. What mattered 
 it to him how his father and brother had died ? All his 
 mind was devoted to penetrating the mysterious future 
 that awaited him. Was not every chance in his favor } 
 He was young, rich, handsome, and a marquis ; he had a 
 constitution of iron ; he carried twenty thousand francs 
 in his pocket, and would soon have ten times as many 
 more. He, who had always been poor, regarded this sum 
 as an inexhaustible treasure ; and at nightfall, when he 
 jumped from the coach on to the muddy pavement of the 
 brilliantly-lighted Paris street, he seemed to be taking 
 possession of the great city, and felt as though he could 
 buy everything in it. His illusions were those CG,.xi...i^a 
 to all young men who, never having been thrown upon 
 their own resources, suddenly come into possession of a 
 patrimony. It is this ignorance of the real value of 
 money that squanders fortunes, and fritters away the gold 
 so laboriously saved in the frugal provinces. Imbued with 
 his own importance, accustomed to the deference of the 
 country people, the young marquis came to Paris with the 
 expectation of being a lion, on account of his name and 
 fortune. He was mortified to discover his error. To his 
 great surprise, he learnt that he possessed nothing which 
 constituted a position in this immense city. He founcj 
 
FILE NO. 113. 205 
 
 that in the midst of the busy, indifferent crowd, he was as 
 much lost and unnoticed as a drop of water in a torrent. 
 
 But this not very flattering reality could not discourage 
 a man who was determined to gratify his passions at all 
 costs. His ancestral name gained him but one privilege, 
 disastrous for his future ; it opened to him the doors of 
 the aristocratic Faubourg St. Germain. There he became 
 acquainted with men of his own age and rank, whose an- 
 nual incomes almost equalled his entire fortune. Nearly 
 all of them confessed that they only kept up their extrava- 
 gant style of living by dint of skilful economy behind the 
 scenes, and by regulating their vices and follies as judi- 
 ciously as a hosier would arrange his Sunday holidays. This 
 information astonished Louis, but did not open his eyes. 
 He endeavored to imitate the dashing style of these eco- 
 nomically wasteful young men, without attempting to con- 
 form to their prudential rules. He learned how to spend, 
 but not how to reckon as they did. He was Marquis de 
 Clameran, and having given himself a reputation of great 
 wealth, he was well received : if he made no friends, he 
 had at least many acquaintances. At the club where he 
 was proposed and elected shortly after his arrival, he found 
 several obliging persons who took pleasure in initiating 
 him into the secrets of fashionable life, and correcting any 
 little provincialisms betrayed in his manners and conversa- 
 tion. He profited well and quickly by their lessons. At 
 the end of three months he was fairly launched ; his repu- 
 tation as a skilful gambler was fully established ; and he 
 had nobly and gloriously compromised himself with one 
 of the fast women of the day. He had rented handsome 
 apartments in the vicinity of the Madeleine, with a coach- 
 house and stabling for three horses. Although he only 
 furnished this bachelor's establishment with what was ab- 
 solutely necessary, he found that necessaries were very 
 costly ; so that the day he took possession of his apart- 
 ments, and tried to make up his accounts, he made the 
 startling discovery that his short apprenticeship in Paris 
 had cost him fifty thousand francs, one-fourth of his for- 
 tune. And yet he remained, when compared to his brill- 
 iant friends, in a state of inferiority which was mortifying 
 to his vanity, like a worthy countryman who strains every 
 nerve to make his nag keep up with thoroughbreds. 
 Fifty thousand francs ! For a moment Louis had a slight 
 
2o6 FILE NO, 113. 
 
 inclination to retire from the contest. But then, what 2 
 come down ! Besides, his vices bloomed and flourished 
 in these charming surroundings. He had heretofore con- 
 sidered himself wonderfully fast, and now a host of new 
 corruptions were revealed to him. Then the sight of sud- 
 denly acquired fortunes, and the many examples of the 
 successful results of hazardous ventures, inflamed his 
 mind. He thought that in this great, rich city, he certainly 
 could succeed in securing a share of the loaves and fishes. 
 But how .'' He had no idea, and he did not seek to find 
 one. He simply persuaded himself that, like many others, 
 he would have his lucky day. This is another of those 
 errors which it is time to destroy. Fortune is not to be 
 wasted upon idle fools. In this furious race of self-interest 
 it requires great skill to bestride that capricious mare 
 called opportunity, and ride her to the goal. But Louis 
 did not devote so much thought to the matter. As stupid 
 as the man w^ho expected to win the prize at the lottery 
 without having purchased a ticket, he said to himself, 
 "Pshaw! opportunity — chance — a rich marriage will set 
 me right again ! " The rich bride failed to appear, but 
 the turn of the last bank-note arrived. To a pressing de- 
 mand for money, his notary replied by a refusal. " You 
 have nothing left to sell, sir," he wrote, " with the excep- 
 tion of the chateau. It is no doubt very valuable ; but it 
 is difficult, if not impossible, to find a purchaser for so 
 large a building situated as it is now. I will use every ef- 
 fort to secure a purchaser ; and, believe me, sir, &c." 
 Louis was thunderstruck at this final catastrophe, as much 
 surprised as if he had not foreseen it. What was he to 
 do 'i Ruined, witJi nothing to hope for, he imitated those 
 poor fools who each year rise up, shine for a moment, and 
 then suddenly disappear. But Louis could not give up 
 the life of ease and pleasure which he had been leading 
 for the past three years. Fate had decreed that, after 
 leaving his fortune on the battle-field, he should also leave 
 his honor. He first of all lived on the reputation of his 
 dissipated fortune — on the credit that remains to the man 
 who has spent much in a short space of time. This re- 
 source was soon exhausted. The day came when his 
 creditors seized all they could lay their hands upon — the 
 last remains of his opulence, his carriages, horses, and 
 costly furniture. He retired to a very quiet hotel^ but he 
 
FILE NO. 113. 20J 
 
 could not keep away from the wealthy set whom he hac 
 considered his friends. He now lived upon them as he hac 
 lived upon his tradesmen. Borrowing from one louis uf 
 to twenty-five, from anybody who would lend to him, 
 and never attempting to repay them. Constantly bet- 
 ting, no one ever saw him pay a wager. He piloted 
 all the novices who fell into his hands, and utilized, 
 in the most shameful services, an experience which 
 had cost him two hundred thousand francs : he was 
 half a courtier, and half an adventurer. His acquaintances 
 did not cut him, but made him cruelly expiate the favor of 
 being tolerated. No one had the least regard for his feel- 
 ings, or hesitated to say before him what was thought of 
 his conduct ; therefore, whenever alone in his little den, 
 he would give way to fits of violent rage. He could endure 
 all these humiliations, but could not help feeling them. 
 Envy and covetousness had long since stifled every senti- 
 ment of honor and self-respect in him. For a few years 
 of opulence, he felt ready to commit even a crime. 
 
 He did not commit a crime, however, but he became 
 mixed up in a disgraceful affair of swindling and extortion. 
 The Count de Commarin, an old friend of his family, came 
 to his assistance, hushed up the matter, and furnished him 
 with money to take him to England. And what were his 
 means of livelihood in London ? The detectives of the 
 most corrupt capital in the woild could alone tell us. De- 
 scending to the lowest stages of vice, the Marquis de 
 Clameran finally found his level in a society composed of 
 fallen women and of sharpers, whose chances and shame- 
 ful profits he shared. Compelled to quit London, he trav- 
 elled about Europe, \vith no other capital than his au- 
 dacity, his deep depravity, and his skill at cards. Finally, 
 in 1865, having met a nm of good luck at Homburg, he 
 returned to Paris, where he imagined himself entirely for- 
 gotten. Eighteen years had passed since he left France. 
 The first step wliich he took on his return, before even 
 settling himself in Paris, was to make a visit to his old 
 home. Not that he had any relative or even friend in that 
 part of the country, from whom he could expect any assist- 
 iince ; but he remembered the old chateau which his 
 notary had been unable to sell. He thought that perhaps 
 by this time a purchaser had appeared, and he determined 
 to go himself and ascertain the point ; he thought, too^ 
 
$8 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 Aat once in the neighborhood, he would always be able 
 to get something for his property, which had cost more 
 than a hundred thousand francs to build. 
 
 Three days later, on a beautiful October evening, he 
 reached Tarascon, and there learned that he was still the 
 owner of the chateau. Early the next morning, he set out 
 on foot to visit the paternal-home at Clameran, which he 
 had not seen for twenty-five years. Everything was so 
 changed, that he scarcely recognized the locality where 
 he was born, and where he passed his youth ; yet the im- 
 pression was so strong, that this man, tried by such varied, 
 strange adventures, for a moment felt like turning back. 
 He only continued his road because a secret, hopeful voice 
 cried to him, " Onward, onward ! " — as if, at the end of 
 the journey, was to be found a new life and the long-Wished- 
 for good fortune. As Louis advanced, however, the 
 changes appeared less striking ; he began to recognize the 
 ground. Soon, through the trees, he distinguished the 
 village steeple, then the village itself, built upon the gen- 
 tle slope of a hill, crowned by a wood of olive-trees. He 
 recognized the first houses he came to ; the farrier's shed, 
 with its roof covered with vine ; the old parsonage, and 
 farther on the village inn, where he and Gaston used to 
 play billiards on its primitive table. In spite of what he 
 styled his scorn of vulgar prejudices, a thrill of strange 
 emotion oppressed his heart. He could not overcome a 
 feeling of sadness as scenes of the past rose up before him. 
 How many events had occurred since he last walked along 
 this path, and received a friendly bow and smile from every 
 villager ! Then, life appeared to him like a fairy-scene in 
 which his every wish was gratified. And now, he returned, 
 dishonored, worn out, disgusted with the realities of life, 
 having tasted the bitter dregs of the cup of shame, stig- 
 matized, poverty-stricken, and friendless, with nothing to 
 lose and nothing to look forward to. The few villagers 
 whom he met turned and stood gazing after this dust-cov- 
 ered stranger, and wondered who he could be. 
 
 Upon reaching Jean's house, he found the door open ; 
 he walked into the immense kitchen, with its monumental 
 fire-place, and rapped on the table. " Coming ! " answered 
 a voice from another room. 
 
 The next moment a man of about forty years appeared 
 
FILE NO. 113. 209 
 
 in the doorway, and seemed much sinprised at finding a 
 stranger in his kitchen. 
 
 " What do you desire, sir ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Does not Jean, the Marquis de Clameran's old valet, 
 live here ? " 
 
 " My father died five years ago, sir," replied the man 
 in a sad tone. 
 
 This news affected Louis painfully, as if he had ex* 
 pected the old man to restore him. some of his lost youth. 
 He sighed, and said, " I am the Marquis de Clameran." 
 
 The man, at these words, uttered an exclamation of joy. 
 He seized Louis's hand, and pressing it with respectful af- 
 fection, cried : " You are the marquis ! Alas ! why is not 
 my poor father alive to see you .'' — ho would be so happy ! 
 His last words were about his dear masters, and many a 
 time did he sigh and mourn at not receiving any news of 
 you. He is beneath the sod now, resting after a well- 
 spent life ; but I, Joseph, his son, am here to take his place, 
 and devote my life to your service. What an honor it is 
 to have you in my house ! Ah ! my wife will be so happy 
 to see you ; she has all her life heard of the De Clamerans." 
 Here he ran into the garden, and called, " 'Toinette ! I say, 
 'Toinette ! — Come here quickly ! " 
 
 This cordial welcome delighted Louis. So many years 
 had gone by since he had been treated with an expression 
 of kindness, or felt the pressure of a friendly hand. In a 
 fe\r moments a handsome, dark-eyed young woman en- 
 tered the room, and stood blushing with confusion at sight 
 of the stranger. 
 
 " This is my wife, sir," said Joseph, leading her towards 
 Louis ; " but I have not given her time to put on her finery. 
 This is Monsieur the Marquis, Antoinette." 
 
 The young wife bowed, and having nothing to say, 
 gracefully uplifted her brow, upon which the marquis 
 pressed a kiss. 
 
 " You will see the children in a few minutes, Monsieur 
 the Marquis," said Joseph ; " I have sent to the school 
 for them." 
 
 The worthy couple overwhelmed the marquis with at- 
 tentions. After so long a walk he must be hungry, they 
 said : he must take a glass of wine now, and lunch would 
 soon be ready ; they would be so proud and happy if 
 Monsieur the i\Iarquis would partake of a country lunch, 
 H 
 
210 MLE NO. 113. 
 
 And Joseph went to the cellar after the wine, while 'Toinette 
 ran to catch her fattest pullet. In a short time, Louis sat 
 down to a table Laden with the best of everything, waited 
 upon by Joseph and his wife, who watched him with ten- 
 der interest. The children came running in from school, 
 smeared with the juice of berries. After Louis had em- 
 braced them, they stood in a corner and gazed at him 
 with eyes wide open. The important news had spread, 
 and a number of villagers and countrymen appeared at 
 the open door to speak to the Marquis de Clameran. 
 
 " I am such a one, Monsieur the Marquis ; don't you re- 
 member me 1 Ah ! I recognized you at once. The late 
 marquis was very good to me," said an old man. Another 
 asked, " Don't you remember the time when you lent me 
 your gun to go shooting t " 
 
 Louis welcomed with secret delight all these protesta- 
 tions and proofs of devotion, which had not chilled with 
 time. The kindly voices of these honest people recalled 
 many pleasant moments of the past, and made him feel 
 once more the fresh sensations of his youth. No echoes 
 of his stormy life, no suspicions of his shameful career 
 had, then, reached this humble village on the banks of the 
 Rhone. He, the adventurer, the bully, the base accom- 
 plice of London swindlers, delighted in these marks of re- 
 spect and veneration bestowed upon him. as the represen- 
 tative of the house of De Clameran ; it seemed to make 
 him once more feel a little self-respect. Ah ! had he pos- 
 sessed only a quarter of his squandered inheritance, how 
 happy he would have been to peacefully end his days in 
 his native village ! But this rest after so many vain ex- 
 citements, this haven after so many storms and shipwrecks, 
 was denied him. He was penniless. How could he live 
 here when he had nothing to live upon ? This knowledge 
 of his pressing need gave him courage to ask Joseph for 
 the keys of the chateau, that he might go and examine it. 
 
 " You won't need any ke}^ except the one to the iron 
 gate. Monsieur the Marquis," replied Joseph. 
 
 It was but too true. Time had done its work, and the 
 lordly chateau of Clameran was nothing but a ruin. The 
 rain and sun had rotted the doors and shutters so that 
 they were crumbling and dilapidated. Here and there 
 were traces of the friendly hands of Jean and his son, who 
 had tried to retard the total ruin of the old chateau j but 
 
FILE NO. 113. 2U 
 
 what use were their efforts ? Within, the desolation was 
 still greater. All of the furniture which Louis had not 
 dared to sell stood in the position he left it, but in what a 
 state ! All the tapestry hangings and coverings were moth- 
 eaten and in tatters ; nothing seemed left but the dust-cov 
 ered woodwork of the chairs and sofas. Louis was al' 
 most afraid to enter the grand, gloomy rooms, where every 
 footfall echoed lugubriously. He almost expected to see 
 the angry old marquis start up from some dark corner, and 
 heap curses on his head for having dishonored the name. 
 Perhaps his terror had another cause, perhaps he recalled 
 that stumble so fatal to Gaston. His nerves could not 
 bear it, and he hurried out into the open air and sunshine. 
 After awhile, he recovered sufficiently to remember the 
 object of his visit. 
 
 " Poor Jean was foolish not to make use of the furniture 
 left in the chateau. It is now destroyed without having 
 been of use to any one." 
 
 " My father would not have dared to touch anything 
 without permission. Monsieur the Marquis." 
 
 " And he was wrong. As for the chateau, it is fast 
 approaching the condition of the furniture. My fortune, 
 I regret to say, does not permit me to repair it ; I am, 
 therefore, resolved to sell it whilst the walls are still 
 standing." 
 
 Joseph received this information very much as a pro- 
 posal to commit a sacrilege ; but he was not bold of speech, 
 like his father, so he dared not express what he thought. 
 
 " Would there be much difficulty in selling these ruins ? " 
 continued Louis. 
 
 " That depends upon the price you ask. Monsieur the 
 Marquis. I know a man of the neighborhood who would 
 purchase the lot if he could get it cheap." 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 " A person named Fougeroux, who lives on the other 
 side of the Rhone, at Montagnette. He came from Beau- 
 caire, and twelve years ago married a servant-maid of the 
 late Countess de La Verberie. Perhaps Monsieur the 
 Marquis remembers her, — a plump, bright-eyed brunette, 
 named Mihonne." 
 
 Loui-s did not remember Mihonne. " When can we see 
 this Fougeroux ? " he inquired. 
 
 " At any time, by crossing the Rhone on the ferry." 
 
nz FILE ATO. 113. 
 
 " Well, let us go now. I am in a hurry.** 
 
 An entire generation had passed away since Louis had 
 left his old home. It was no longer the old republican 
 sailor, Pilorel, who kept the ferry, but his son. But he 
 also had a respect for tradition ; and when he learnt the 
 "uame of the stranger who accompanied Joseph, he hastily 
 got his boat read}^, and was soon in the middle of the river 
 with his two passengers. Whilst young Pilorel rowed with 
 all his might, Joseph did his best to warn the marquis 
 against the wily Fougeroux. 
 
 " He is a cunning fox," said he. " I have had a bad 
 opinion of him ever since his marriage, which was a 
 shameful affair altogether. Mihonne was over fifty years 
 of age, and he was not twenty-five when he married her ; 
 so you will understand it was the money, and not the wife, 
 that he wanted. She, poor fool, believed that the young 
 scamp really loved her, and gave herself and her money up 
 to him." 
 
 " And he has made good use of it," interrupted Pilorel. 
 
 *' That is true. Fougeroux is not the man to let the 
 money lie idle. He is now very rich ; but he ought, 
 at least, to be thankful to Mihonne for his prosperity. 
 One can easily understand his not feeling any love for her, 
 when she looks like his grandmother ; but that he should 
 deprive her of everything and beat her cruelly is shame- 
 ful." 
 
 " He would like to know her six feet under ground,'* 
 said the ferryman. 
 
 " And he will see her there before long. She has been 
 half dead, the poor old woman, ever since Fougeroux 
 brought home a worthless jade, whose servant she has be- 
 come." 
 
 They had reached the opposite shore ; Joseph and the 
 marquis asked young Pilorel to await their return, and 
 then took the road to Montagnette. They soon arrived 
 at a well-cultivated farm, and Joseph, having inquired for 
 the master, a farm boy said that " M. Fougeroux " was 
 out in the fields, but he would send for him. He soon 
 appeared. He was a very little man, with a red beard, 
 and restless sunken eyes. Although M. Fougeroux pro- 
 fessed to despise the nobility and the clergy, the hope of 
 driving a good bargain made him servilely obsequious 
 He hastened to usher Louis into "his parlor," with man\> 
 
FILE NO. 113. 213 
 
 bows and endless repetitions of " Monsieur the Marquis." 
 Upon entering the room, he roughly ordered an old woman, 
 who was crouching over some dying embers, to make haste 
 and bring some wine for Monsieur the Marquis de Cla- 
 meran. At this name, the old woman started as if she had 
 received an electric shock. She opened her mouth to say 
 something, but a look from her tyrant froze the words up- 
 on her lips. With a wild air, she hobbled out to obey his 
 orders, and in a few minutes returned with a bottle of 
 wine and three glasses. Then she resumed her seat by 
 the fire, and kept her eyes fastened upon the marquis. 
 Could this really be the plump and merry Mihonne, who 
 had been the confidante of the little fairy of La Verberie ? 
 Valentine herself would never have recognized this poor, 
 shrivelled, emaciated old woman. Only those who have 
 lived in the country know what time and worry can do to 
 a woman. 
 
 The bargain, meanwhile, was being discussed between 
 Joseph and Fougeroux. The dealer offered a ridiculously 
 small sum for the chateau, saying that he would only buy 
 it to pull down, and then sell the materials. Joseph 
 enumerated the beams, joists, ashlars, iron-work, and the 
 ground. As for Mihonne, the sight of the marquis was 
 an event in her existence. If the faithful servant had 
 hitherto never breathed a word of the secrets confided to 
 her probity, they had seemed to her none the less heavy 
 to bear. After marrying, and being so harshly treated 
 that she daily prayed for death to come to her relief, she 
 began to blame everybody but herself for her misfortunes. 
 Excessively superstitious, she traced back the origin of 
 her misfortunes to the day when she took the oath on the 
 holy gospel during mass. Having no child, after having 
 ardently longed for one, she was persuaded that God had 
 stricken her with barrenness for having assisted in the 
 abandonment of an innocent, helpless babe. She often 
 thought that, by revealing everything, she might appease 
 the wrath of Heaven, and once more bring happiness to 
 her home. Nothing but her love for Valentine gave her 
 strength to resist this constant temptation. But to-day the 
 sight of Louis decided her. She thought there could be 
 no danger in confiding in Gaston's brother. The bargain 
 was at length struck. It was agreed that Fougeroux should 
 give five thousand two hundred and eighty francs in cash 
 
214 ' F^LE NO. 113. 
 
 for the chateau, and land attached ; and Joseph was to 
 have the remains of the furniture. The marquis and the 
 dealer shook hands as they uttered the final word, 
 " Agreed ! " and Fougeroux at once went himself to get 
 a bottle of extra good wine with which to seal the bargain. 
 
 The occasion was favorable to Mihonne. She walked 
 quickly over to where the Marquis sat, and said, in a nerv- 
 ous whisper, " Monsieur the Marquis, I must speak with 
 you alone." 
 
 *' With me, my good woman ? " 
 
 "With you. It is a secret of life and death. This 
 evening, at dusk, meet me under the walnut-trees over 
 there, and I will tell you everything." 
 
 Hearing her husband's footsteps, she hastened back to 
 her seat. Fougeroux gayly filled the glasses, and drank 
 De Clameran's health. 
 
 As they returned to the boat, Louis debated within him- 
 self whether he should keep this singular appointment. 
 "Joseph, what the deuce can that old witch want with 
 me ? " he asked. 
 
 " Who can tell ? She used to be in the service of a lady 
 who was M. Gaston's mistress, so my father used to say. 
 If I were in your place, sir, I would go. You can dine at 
 my place, and after dinner Pilorel will row you over." 
 
 Curiosity decided Louis ; and about seven o'clock he 
 arrived under the walnut-trees, where old Mihonne had 
 already been waiting a long time. 
 
 " Ah ! here you are at last, my dear good sir," she said, 
 in a tone of joy. "I was beginning to despair." 
 
 " Yes, here I am, my good woman ; what have you to 
 tell me ? " 
 
 " Ah ! many things. Monsieur the Marquis. But first, 
 tell me have you heard from your brother." 
 
 Louis almost regretted having come, supposing that the 
 old woman was wandering. 
 
 " You know well enough that my poor brother was 
 drowned in the Rhone." 
 
 "Good heav^ens ! " cried Mihonne, "are you ignorant, 
 then, of his escape t Yes, he did what will never be done 
 again ; he swam across the swollen Rhone. The next day 
 Mademoiselle Valentine went to Clameran to tell the news ; 
 but Jean prevented her seeing you. Afterwards I took a 
 letter for you, but you had left." 
 
FILE NO. 113. 215 
 
 These revelations, after twenty years, confounded Louis. 
 " Are you sure you are not mistaking your dreams for real 
 events, my good woman ? " he asked gently. 
 
 " No," replied Mihonne, mournfully shaking her head. 
 " If old Menoul were alive, he would tell you how he took 
 charge of M. Gaston until he embarked at Marseilles.' 
 But that is nothing compared to the rest. M. Gaston has 
 a son." 
 
 " My brother, a son ! Really, you are out of your mind." 
 
 " Alas ! no, unfortunately for my happiness in this 
 world and in the world to come. He had a son, and 
 Mademoiselle Valentine was the mother. I received the 
 poor babe in my arms and carried it to a woman abroad, 
 who was paid to take charge of it." 
 
 Then Mihonne told everything — the countess's anger, 
 the journey to London, and the desertion of little Raoul. 
 With the accurate memory natural to people unable to 
 read and write, she related the most minute particulars — 
 the names of the village and the farmer's wife, the child's 
 christian and surname, and the exact date of everything 
 which had occurred. Then she told of Valentine's suffer- 
 ing after her fault, of the impending ruin of the countess, 
 and, finally, of the poor girl's marriage with a gentleman 
 from Paris, who was so rich that he did not know the ex- 
 tent of his fortune, a banker named Fauvel. A piercing 
 and prolonged cry here interrupted the old woman. 
 " Heavens ! " she exclaimed in a frightened voice, " that 
 is my husband calling me," and she hurried back to the 
 farmhouse as fast as her trembling limbs could carry her. 
 
 For several minutes after her departure, Louis stood 
 rooted to the spot. Her recital had filled his wicked 
 mind with an idea so infamous, so detestable, that even 
 his vile nature shrank for a moment from its enormity. 
 He knew the rich banker by reputation, and was calcula- 
 ting the advantages he might gain by the strange informa 
 tion of which he was now possessed. It was a secret which, 
 if skilfully managed, would bring him in a handsome in- 
 come. The few faint scruples he felt were silenced by the 
 prospect of an old age spent in poverty. " But first of 
 all," he thought, '' I must ascertain the truth of the old 
 woman's story ; then I will decide upon a plan." This was 
 why, two days later, having received the 5,280 francs from 
 Fouo;eroux, Louis de Clameran set out for London, 
 
2i6 FILE NO. i\y 
 
 XVI. 
 
 During the twenty years of her married life, Valentine 
 had experienced but one real sorrow ; and this was one 
 which, in the course of nature, must happen sooner or 
 later. In 1859 her mother died from inflammation of the 
 lungs, during one of her frequent journeys to Paris. The 
 countess preserved her faculties to the last, and with her 
 dying breath said to her daughter : " Ah, well ! was I not 
 right in prevailing upon you to bury the past ? Your 
 silence has made my old age peaceful and happy, for 
 which I now thank you, and it assures you a quiet future." 
 
 Madame Fauvel constantly said that, since the loss of 
 her mother, she had never had cause to shed a tear. 
 And what more could she wish for? As years rolled on, 
 Andre's love remained the same as it had been during the 
 first days of their union. To the love that had not dimin- 
 ished was added that sweet intimacy which results from 
 long conformity of ideas and unbounded confidence. 
 Everything prospered with this happy couple. Andre 
 was far more wealthy than he had ever hoped to be, even 
 in his wildest visions ; more so even than he or Valentine 
 desired. Their two sons, Lucian and Abel, were beauti- 
 ful as their mother, noble-hearted and intelligent young 
 men, whose honorable characters and graceful bearing 
 were the glory of their family. Nothing was wanting to 
 insure Valentine's felicity. When her husband and her 
 sons were absent, her solitude was cheered by the com- 
 panionship of an accomplished young girl whom she loved 
 as her own daughter, and who in return filled the place of 
 a devoted child. Madeleine was M. Fauvel's niece, who, 
 when an infant, had lost both parents, poor but very 
 worthy people. Valentine adopted the babe, perhaps in 
 memory of the poor little creature who had been aban- 
 doned to strangers. It seemed to her that God would 
 bless her for this good action, and that Madeleine would be 
 the guardian angel of the house. The day of the little 
 orphan's arrival, M. Fauvel invested for her ten thousand 
 francs, which he presented to Madeleine as her dowry. 
 The banker amused himself by increasing these ten 
 thousand francs in the most tnaryellous ways, He, whQ 
 
FILE NO. 113. 217 
 
 never ventured upon a rash speculation with his own 
 money, always invested his niece's in the most hazardous 
 schemes, and was always so successful that, at the end of 
 fifteen years, the ten thousand francs had become half a 
 million. People were right when they said that the Fau- 
 vel family were to be envied. Time had dulled Valen- 
 tine's remorse and anxiety. In the genial atmosphere of 
 a happy home, she had almost found forgetfulness and a 
 peaceful conscience. She had suffered so much at being 
 compelled to deceive Andr^, that she hoped she was now 
 at quits with fate. She began to look forward to the fu- 
 ture, and her youth seemed but buried in an impenetrable 
 mist, the memory of a painful dream. 
 
 Yes, she believed herself saved, when, one rainy day in 
 November, during an absence of her husband's, who had 
 gone into the provinces on business, one of the servants 
 brought her a letter, which had been left by a stranger, 
 who refused to give his name. Without the faintest pre- 
 sentiment of evil, she carelessly broke the seal, and read : 
 
 " Madame, — Would it be relying too much upon the 
 memo/ies of the past to hope for half an hour of your time } 
 To-morrow, between two and three, I will do myself the 
 honor of calling upon you. — Marquis de Clameran." 
 
 Fortunately, Madame Fauvel was alone. Trembling like 
 a leaf, she read the letter over and over again, as if to con- 
 vince herself that she was not the victim of a horrible hal- 
 lucination. Half a dozen times, with a sort of terror, she 
 whispered that name once so dear — Clameran ! spelling 
 it aloud as if it were a strange name which she could not 
 pronounce. And the eight letters forming the name 
 seemed to shine like the lightning which precedes the 
 thunderbolt. Ah ! she had hoped and believed that the 
 fatal past was atoned for, and buried in oblivion : and now 
 it suddenly stood before her, pitiless and threatening. 
 Poor woman ! as if all human will could prevent what was 
 fated to be ! It was in this hour of security, when she im- 
 agined herself pardoned, that the storm was to burst upon 
 the fragile edifice of her happiness, and destroy her every 
 hope. A long time passed before she could collect her 
 scattered thoughts sufficiently to reflect upon a course of 
 action. Then she began to think she w^s foolreh to be so 
 
2i8 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 frightened. This letter was written by Gaston, of course, 
 therefore she need feel no apprehension. Gaston had re- 
 turned to France, and wished to see her. She could un- 
 derstand this desire, and she knew too well this man, 
 upon whom she had lavished her young affection, to attrib- 
 ute any bad motives to his visit. He would come ; and 
 finding her the wife of another, the mother of a family, 
 they would exchange thoughts of the past, perhaps a few 
 regrets ; she would restore the jewels which she had faith- 
 fully kept for him, and — that would be all. But one dis- 
 tressing doubt beset her agitated mind. Should she con- 
 ceal from Gaston the birth of his son ? To confess was to 
 expose herself to many dangers. It was placing herself 
 at the mercy of a man — a loyal, honorable man, to be 
 sure — confiding to him not only her own honor and happi- 
 ness, but the honor of her husband and her sons. Still, 
 silence would be a crime. After abandoning her child, 
 and depriving him of a mother's care and affection, she 
 would rob him of his father's name and fortune. 
 
 She was still undecided, when the servant announced 
 dinner. But she had not the courage to meet the glances 
 of her sons. She sent word that she was not well, and 
 would not be down to dinner. For the first time in her 
 life she rejoiced at her husband's absence. Madeleine 
 came hurrying into her aunt's room to see what was the 
 matter; but Valentine dismissed her, saying she would 
 try to sleep off her indisposition. She wished to be alone 
 in her trouble, and her mind tried to imagine what the 
 morrow would bring forth. This dreaded morrow soon 
 came. She counted the hours until two o'clock ; then she 
 counted the minutes. At half-past two the servant an- 
 nounced : " Monsieur the Marquis de Clameran." 
 
 Madame Fauvel had promised herself to be calm, even 
 cold. During a long, sleepless night, she had mentally 
 arranged beforehand every detail of this painful meeting. 
 She had even decided upon what she should say. She 
 would reply this, and ask that. But, at the dreaded mo- 
 ment, her strength gave way ; a frightful emotion fixed 
 her to her seat ; she could neither speak nor think. He, 
 however, bowed respectfully, and remained waiting in the 
 middle of the room. He appeared about fifty years of age, 
 with iron-gray hair and mustache, and a cold, severe cast 
 of countenance ; his expression was one of haughty sev^r- 
 
FILE NO. 113. 219 
 
 ity as he stood there in his full suit of black. The agita- 
 ted woman tried to discover in his face some traces of the 
 man whom she had so madly loved, who had pressed her 
 to his heart — the father of her son ; and she was surprised 
 to find in the person before her no resemblance to the 
 youth whose memory had haunted her life — no, nothing. 
 At length, as he continued to remain motionless, she 
 faintly murmured : " Gaston ! " 
 
 But he, shaking his head, replied : "I am not Gaston, 
 madame ; my brother succumbed to the misery and suffer- 
 ing of exile. I am Louis de Clameran." 
 
 What ! it was not Gaston, then, who had written to her 
 — it was not Gaston who stood before her ? She trembled 
 with terror; her head whirled, and her eyes grew dim. It 
 was not he ! And her voice alone, when she called him 
 "Gaston," betrayed her. What, then, could this man 
 want — this brother in whom Gaston had never cared to 
 confide .<* A thousand probabilities, each one more terri- 
 ble than the other, flashed across her brain. Yet she suc- 
 ceeded in overcoming her weakness, so that Louis scarcely 
 perceived it. The fearful strangeness of her situation, 
 the verv imminence of her peril, inspired her mind with 
 extraordinary lucidness. 
 
 Pointing to a chair, she said to Louis with affected in- 
 difference : " Will you be kind enough, then, sir, to explain 
 the object of this most unexpected visit ? " 
 
 The marquis, seeming not to notice this sudden change 
 of manner, took a seat without removing his eyes from 
 Madame Fauvel's face. " First of all, madame," he began, 
 " I nmst ask if we can be overheard by any one ? " 
 
 " Why this question ? You can have nothing to say to 
 me that my husband and children should not hear." 
 
 Louis shrugged his shoulders, and said : " Be good 
 enough to answer me, madame ; not for my sake, but for 
 your own." 
 
 " Speak, then, sir, you will not be heard." 
 
 In spite of this assurance, the marquis drew his chair 
 close to the sofa where Madame Fauvel sat, so as to speak 
 in a very low tone, as if almost afraid to hear his own voice. 
 " As I told you, madame," he resumed, " Gaston is dead ; 
 and it was I who closed his eyes, and received his last 
 wishes. Do you understand ? " 
 
 The poor woman understood only too well, but W4§ 
 
220 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 racking her brain to disc©ver what could be the purpose 
 of this fatal visit. Perhaps it was only to claim Gaston's 
 jewels. 
 
 "It is unnecessary to recall," continued Louis, "the 
 painful circumstances which blasted my brother's life. 
 However happy your own lot has been, you cannot entirel)/ 
 have forgotten that friend of your youth who, unhesita- 
 tingly, sacrificed himself in defence of your honor." 
 
 Not a muscle of Madame Fauvel's face moved ; she ap- 
 peared to be trying to recall the circumstances to which 
 Louis alluded. 
 
 " Have you forgotten, madame ? " he asked with bitter- 
 ness. ''Then I must try and explain myself more clearly. 
 A long, long time ago you loved my unfortunate brother." 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 " Ah, it is useless to deny it, madame. I told you that 
 Gaston confided everything to me — everything^^^ he added 
 significantly. 
 
 But Madame Fauvel was not frightened by this infor- 
 mation. This " everything " could not be of any importance, 
 for Gaston had gone abroad in total ignorance of her secret. 
 She rose, and said with an apparent assurance she was far 
 from feeling : " You forget, sir, that you are speaking to a 
 woman who is now advanced in life, who is married, and 
 Vv'ho is the mother of a family. If your brother loved me, 
 it was his affair, and not yours. If, young and igno- 
 rant, I was led into imprudence, it is not your place to 
 remind me of it. He would not have done so. This past 
 which you evoke I buried in oblivion twenty years ago." 
 
 " Then you have forgotten all that happened ? " 
 
 " Absolutely all." 
 
 " Even your child, madame ? " 
 
 This question, accompanied by one of those looks which 
 penetrate the innermost recesses of the soul, fell upon 
 Madame Fauvel like a thunder-bolt. She dropped trem- 
 blingly into her seat, murmuring : " He knows ! How did 
 he discover it.-' " Had her own happiness alone been at 
 stake, she would have instantly thrown herself upon De 
 Clameran's mercy. But she had her family to defend, and 
 the consciousness of this gave her strength to resist him. 
 " Do you wish to insult me, sir ? " she asked. 
 
 *' It is true, then, you have forgotten Valentin-Raoul ? " 
 
 She saw that this man did indeed know all. How? It 
 
FILE NO. 113. 221 
 
 little mattered. He certainly knew ,• but she determined 
 to deny everything, even in the face of the most positive 
 proofs, if he should produce them. For an instant she had 
 an idea of ordering the Marquis De Clameran to leave the 
 house ; but prudence stayed her. She thought it best to 
 find out what he was driving at. " Well," she asked, with 
 a forced laugh, " what is it you want ? " 
 
 " Listen, madame. Two years ago the vicissitudes of 
 exile took my brother to London. There, at the house of 
 a friend, he met a young man bearing the name of Raoul. 
 Gaston was so struck by the youth's appearance and in- 
 telligence, that he inquired who he was, and discovered 
 that beyond a doubt this boy was his son, and your son, 
 madame." 
 
 " This is quite a romance you are relating." 
 
 "Yes, madame, a romance, the denouement of which is 
 in your hands. The countess, your mother, certainly used 
 every precaution to conceal your secret ; but the best-laid 
 plans always have some weak point. After your depart- 
 ure, one of your mother's London friends came to the vil- 
 lage where you had been staying. This lad}' pronounced 
 your real name before the farmer's wife who was bringing 
 up the child. Thus, everything was revealed. My brother 
 wished for proofs, he procured the most positive, the most 
 unobjectionable." 
 
 He stopped and closely watched Madame Fauvel's face 
 to see the effect of his words. To his astonishment she 
 betrayed not the slightest agitation or alarm ; she was 
 smiling. 
 
 "Well, what next.''" she asked carelessly. 
 
 " Then, madame, Gaston acknowledged the child. But 
 the De Clamerans are poor ; my brother died in a lodging- 
 house ; and I have only an annuity of twelve hundred francs 
 to live upon. What is to become of Raoul, alone without 
 relations or friends to assist him ? This anxiety embit- 
 tered my brother's last moments." 
 
 " Really, sir—" 
 
 " I will conclude," interrupted Louis. " It was then 
 that Gaston opened his heart to me. He told me to seek 
 you. 'Valentine,' said he, 'Valentine will remember; she 
 will not allow our son to want for everything, even bread ; 
 she is wealthy, very wealthy ; I die in peace.' " 
 
 Madame Fauvel rose from her seat, evidently with the 
 
222 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 intention of dismissing her visitor. " You must confess^ 
 sir," she said, " that I have shown great patience." 
 
 This imperturbable assurance amazed Louis so much 
 that he did not reply. 
 
 " I do not deny," she continued, " that I at one time 
 possessed the confidence of M. Gaston de Clameran. I 
 will prove it to you by restoring to you your mother's jewe>Sj 
 with which he entrusted me at the time of his departure." 
 While speaking she took from beneath the sofa-cushion the 
 bag of jewels, and handed it to Louis. " Here they are, 
 sir," she added ; " permit me to express my surprise that 
 your brother never asked me for them." 
 
 Had he been less master of himself, Louis would hav^ 
 shown how great was his surprise. " I was told," he said 
 sharply, " not to mention this matter." 
 
 Madame Fauvel, without making any reply, laid her 
 hand on the bell-rope. " You will allow me, sir," she said, 
 *' to end this interview, which was only granted for the pur- 
 pose of placing in your hands these precious jewels." 
 
 Thus dismissed, M. de Clameran was obliged to take 
 his leave without attaining his object. " As you will, ma- 
 dame," he said ; " I leave you ; but before doing so I must 
 tell you the rest of my brother's dying injunctions : ' If 
 Valentine disregards the past, and refuses to provide for 
 our son, I enjoin it upon you to compel her to do her duty.' 
 Meditate upon these words, madame, for what I have 
 sworn to do, upon my honor, shall be done ! " 
 
 At last Madame Fauvel was alone. She could give vent 
 to her despair. Exhausted by her efforts at self-restraint 
 during De Clameran's presence, she felt weary and crushed 
 in body and spirit. She had scarcely strength to drag 
 herself up to her bed-chamber, and to lock the door. Now 
 there was no room for doubt ; her fears had become reali- 
 ties. She could fathom the abyss into which she was 
 about to be hurled, and knew that in her fall she would 
 drag her family with her. God alone, in this hour of dan- 
 ger, could help her, could save her from destruction. She 
 prayed. "O God," she cried, "punish me, for I am very 
 guilty, and I will evermore adore Thy chastising hand. 
 Punish me, for I have been a bad daughter, an unworthy 
 mother, and a perfidious wife. Smite me, O God, and 
 only me! In Thy just anger spare the innocent; have 
 pity on my husb^ind and my children ! " Wh^t were lie'' 
 
FILE NO. 113. 223 
 
 twenty years of happiness compared to this hour of 
 misery ? A bitter remorse ; nothing more. Ah, why did 
 she Hsten to her mother ? Why did she hold her tongue ? 
 Hope had fled forever. This man who had left her pres- 
 ence with a threat upon his lips would return ; she knew 
 it well. What answer could she give him t To-day she 
 had succeeded in subduing her heart and conscience ; 
 would she again have the strength to master her feelings? 
 She well knew that her calmness and courage were entire- 
 ly due to De Clameran's unskilfulness. Why did he not 
 use entreaties instead of threats ! When Louis spoke of 
 Raoul, she could scarcely conceal her emotion •, her ma- 
 ternal heart yearned towards the innocent child who was 
 expiating his mother's faults. A chill of horror passed 
 over her at the idea of his enduring the pangs of hunger. 
 Her child wanting bread, when she, his mother, was roll- 
 ing in wealth ! Ah, why could she not lay all her posses- 
 sions at his feet 1 With what delight would she undergo 
 the greatest privations for his sake ! If she could but 
 send him enough money to support him comfortably ! 
 But no ; she could not take this step without compromising 
 herself and her family. Prudence forbade her acceptance 
 of Louis de Clameran's intervention. To confide in him, 
 was placing herself, and all she held dear, at his mercy, 
 and this inspired her with instinctive terror. Then she be- 
 gan to ask herself if he had really spoken the truth. In 
 thinking over Louis's story, it seemed improbable and dis- 
 connected. If Gaston had been living in Paris, in the 
 poverty described by his brother, why had he not demand- 
 ed of the married woman the deposit entrusted to the 
 maiden ? Why, when anxious about their child's future, 
 had -he not come to her, since he believed her to be so rich 
 that, on his deathbed, it was she he relied upon. A 
 thousand vague apprehensions beset her mind ; she felt 
 suspicion and distrust of every one and everything. She 
 was aware that a decisive step would bind her forever, 
 and then, what would not be exacted of her 1 For a moment 
 she thought of throwing herself at her husband's feet and 
 confessing all. Unfortunately, she thrust aside this means 
 of salvation. She pictured to herself the mortification 
 and sorrow that her noble-hearted husband would suffer 
 upon discovering, after a lapse of twenty years, how shame- 
 fully he had been deceived. Having been deceived from 
 
224 ■ P^LE NO. 113. 
 
 the very first, would he not^believe that it had been so ever 
 since ? Would he believe in her fidelity as a wife, when 
 he discovered her perfidy as a young girl ? She under- 
 stood Andre well enough to know that he would say noth- 
 ing, and would use every means to conceal the scandal. 
 But his domestic happiness would be gone forever. He 
 would forsake his home ; his sons would shun her presence, 
 and every family bond would be severed. She thought of 
 ending her doubts by suicide ; but her death would not 
 silence her implacable enemy, who, not able to disgrace 
 her while alive would dishonor her memory. 
 
 Fortunately, the banker was still absent ; and, during 
 the two days succeeding Louis's visit, Madame Fauvel was 
 able to keep her room under pretence of illness. But 
 Madeleine, with her feminine instinct, saw that her aunt 
 was troubled by something worse than the nervous attack 
 for which the physician was prescribing all sorts of reme- 
 dies. She noticed, too, that this sudden illness seemed 
 to have been caused by the visit of a stern-looking stran- 
 ger, who had been closeted for a long time with her aunt. 
 Madeleine felt so sure that something was wrong, that, on 
 the second day, seeing Madame Fauvel more anxious still, 
 she ventured to say : "What makes you so sad, dear aunt t 
 Tell me, shall I ask our good priest to come and see you ? " 
 With a sharpness foreign to her nature, which was gentle- 
 ness itself, Madame Fauvel refused to listen to her niece's 
 suggestion. What Louis calculated upon happened. Af- 
 ter long reflection, not seeing any issue to her deplorable 
 situation, Madame Fauvel little by little determined to 
 yield. By consenting to all, she had a chance of saving 
 everything. She well knew that to act thus was to prepare 
 a life of torture for herself ; but she alone would be the 
 victim, and, at any rate, she would be gaining time. In 
 the mean time, M. Fauvel had returned home, and Valen- 
 tine resumed her accustomed ways. But she was no 
 longer the happy mother and devoted wife, whose smiling 
 presence was wont to fill the house with sunshine and coni' 
 fort. She was beset by the most frightful anxieties. 
 Hearing nothing of De Clameran, she expected to see 
 him appear, so to say, at any moment ; trembling at every 
 ring of the bell, turning pale whenever the door opened, 
 and not daring to leave the house, for fear he should come 
 during her absercci. The condemned man, who, each 
 
FILE NO. 1x3. 225 
 
 morning on awaking, asks himself, "Is it for to-day?" 
 does not suffer more dreadful agony. De Clameran did 
 not come ; he wrote, or rather, as he was too prudent to 
 furnish arms which could be used against himself, he had 
 a note written, which Madame Fauvel alone might under- 
 standj in which he said that, bemg ill, he begged she would 
 excuse his being obliged to make an appointment with her 
 for the next day at the Hotel du Louvre. The letter was 
 almost a relief to Madame Fauvel. Anything was prefer- 
 able to suspense. She was ready to consent to everything. 
 She burned the letter, and said to herself : " I will go." 
 
 The next day towards the appointed time, she dressed 
 herself in the plainest of her black dresses, in the bonnet 
 which concealed her face the most, placed a thick veil in 
 her pocket, and started forth. It w^as not until she found 
 herself a considerable distance from her home that she 
 ventured to hail a cab, which soon set her down at the 
 Hotel du Louvre Here her uneasiness increased. Her 
 circle of acquaintances being large, she was in terror of 
 being recognized. What would her friends think, if they 
 saw her at the Hotel du Louvre dressed as she was .'' 
 Any one would naturally suspect an intrigue, a rendezvous ; 
 and her character would be ruined forever. This was the 
 first time since her marriage that she had had occasion for 
 mystery ; and, in her inexperience, her efforts to escape 
 notice were in every way calculated to attract attention. 
 The concierge said that the Marquis de Clameran's room 
 was on the third floor. She hurried up the stairs, glad to 
 escape the scrutinizing glances which she imagined were 
 fixed upon her ; but, in spite of the minute directions given 
 by the concierge, she lost her way in the immense hotel, 
 and for a long time wandered about the interminable cor- 
 ridors. Finally, she found a door bearing the number 
 sought, — 317. She stood leaning against the wall with 
 her hand pressed to her throbbing heart, which seemed 
 ready to burst. Now^, at the moment of risking this de- 
 cisive step, she felt paralyzed with fright. The sight of a 
 stranger traversing the corridor ended her hesitations. 
 With a trembling hand she knocked at the door. 
 
 " Come in," said a voice. 
 
 She entered. But it was not the Marquis de Clameran 
 who stood in the middle of the room, it was quite a young 
 man, almost a youth, who looked at her with a singular ex- 
 
226 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 pression. " Madame Fauvel thought that sh^ had mis' 
 taken the room. " Excuse me, sir," she said, blushing 
 deeply : " I thought that this was the Marquis de Cla- 
 meran's room." 
 
 " It is his room, madame," replied the young man ; then 
 seeing she was silent, and about to leave, he added : " I 
 presume I have the honor of addressing Madame Fau- 
 vel ? " 
 
 She nodded affirmatively, shuddering at the sound of 
 her own name, and frightened at this proof of De Cla- 
 meran's betrayal of her secret to a stranger. With visible 
 anxiety she awaited an explanation. 
 
 " Fear nothing, madame," resumed the j^oung man : 
 " you are as safe here as if you were in your own draw- 
 ing-room. M. de Clameran desired me to make his ex- 
 cuses ; you will not see him." 
 
 " But, sir, from an urgent letter sent by him yesterday, 
 I was led to suppose — I inferred — " 
 
 "When he wrote to you, madame, he had projects in 
 view which he has since renounced forever." 
 
 Madame Fauvel was too surprised, too agitated to think 
 clearly. Beyond the present she could see nothing. " Do 
 you mean," she asked with distrust, "that he has changed 
 his intentions ? " 
 
 The young man's face was expressive of sad compassion, 
 as if he shared the unhappy woman's sufferings. "The 
 marquis has renounced," he said in a melancholy tone, 
 " what he wrongly considered a sacred duty. Believe me, 
 he hesitated a long time before he could decide to apply 
 to you on a subject painful to you both. You repelled 
 him, you were obliged to refuse to hear him. He knew 
 not what imperious reasons dictated your conduct. Blinded 
 by unjust anger, he swore to obtain by threats what you 
 refused to give voluntarily. Resolved to attack your do- 
 mestic happiness, he had collected overwhelming proofs 
 against you. Pardon him : an oath given to his dying 
 brother bound him." He took from the mantlepiece a 
 bundle of papers through which he glanced as he continued 
 speaking: "These proofs that cannot be denied, I now 
 hold in my hand. This is the certificate of the Rev. Mr. 
 Sedley ; this the declaration of Mrs. Dobbin, the farmer's 
 wife ; and these others are the statements of the physician 
 and of several persons who were acquainted with Madame 
 
FILE NO. 113. 227 
 
 de La Verberie during her stay near London. Not a single 
 link is missing. I had great difficulty in getting these 
 papers away from M. de Clameran. Perhaps he had a 
 suspicion of my intentions. This, madame, is what I in- 
 tended doing with these proofs." 
 
 With a rapid motion he threw the bundle of papers into 
 the fire, where they blazed up, and, in a moment, nothing 
 remained of them but a little heap of ashes. "All is now 
 destroyed, madame," he resumed, his eyes sparkling with 
 the most generous resolutions. " The past, if you desire 
 it, is as completely annihilated as those papers. If any 
 one, hereafter, dares accuse you of having had a son be- 
 fore your marriage, treat Him as a vile calumniator. There 
 are no longer any proofs ; you are free." 
 
 Madame Fauvel began to understand the sense of this 
 scene — the truth dawned upon her bewddered mind. This 
 noble youth, who protected her from De Clameran's anger, 
 who restored her peace of mind and the exercise of her 
 own free will, by destroying all proofs of her past, who in 
 fact saved her, was, must be, the child whom she had 
 abandoned — Valentin-Raoul. At this moment she forgot 
 everything. Maternal tenderness, so long restrained, now 
 welled up and overflowed as, in a scarcely audible voice, 
 she murmured : " Raoul ! " 
 
 At this name, uttered in so thrilling a tone, the young 
 man staggered, as if overcome by an unhoped-for happiness. 
 " Yes, Raoul," he cried ; " Raoul, who would rather die a 
 thousand times than cause his mother the slightest pain ; 
 Raoul, who would shed his life's blood to spare her one 
 tear." 
 
 She made no attempt to struggle nor resist; all her body 
 trembled as she recognized her first-born. She opened 
 her arms, and Raoul sprang into them, saying, in a choked 
 voice : " Mother ! my dear mother ! Bless you for this 
 first kiss ! " 
 
 Alas ! this was the sad truth. This dear son she had 
 never seen before. He had been taken from her, despite 
 her prayers and tears, without a mother's embrace ; and 
 this kiss she had just given him was indeed the first. But 
 joy so great, following upon so much anguish, was more 
 than the excited mother could bear ; she sank back in her 
 chair almost fainting, and, with a sort of meditative rapture, 
 gazed in an eager way upon her long-lost son, who was now 
 
328 FILE NO. \\y 
 
 kneeling at her feet. With her hand she stroked his soft 
 curls ; she admired his white forehead, pure as a young 
 girl's, and his large, trembling eyes ; and she hungered 
 after his red lips. 
 
 " O mother ! " he said ; " words cannot describe my feel- 
 ings when I heard that my uncle had dared to threaten 
 you. He threaten you ! Ah ! when my father told him to 
 apply to you, he was no longer in his right mind. I have 
 known you for a long, long time. Often have my father and 
 I hovered around your happy home to catch a glimpse of 
 you through the window. When you passed by in your 
 carriage, he would say to me : * There is your mother, 
 Raoul ! ' To look upon you was our greatest joy. When 
 we knew you were going to a ball, we would wait near the 
 door to see you enter, beautiful and adorned. How often, 
 in the depth of winter, have I raced with your fast horses, 
 to admire you till the last moment ! " 
 
 Tears — the sweetest tears she had ever shed — coursed 
 down Madame Fauvel's cheeks, as she listened to the 
 musical tones of Raoul's voice. This voice was so like 
 Gaston's, that it recalled to her the fresh and adorable 
 sensations of heryjuth. She seemed to live over again 
 those early stolen meetings — to feel once more the beat- 
 ings of her virgin heart. It seemed as though nothing had 
 happened since Gaston folded her in his fond embrace. 
 Andrd, her two sons, Madeleine — all were forgotten in this 
 new-found affection. 
 
 Raoul went on to say : " Only yesterday I learnt that 
 my uncle had been to demand for me a few crumbs of your 
 wealth. Why did he take such a step 1 I am poor, it is 
 true — very poor ; but I am too familiar with poverty to be 
 frightened of it. I have a clear brain and willing hands — 
 they will earn me a living. You are very rich, I have been 
 told. What is that to me ? Keep all your fortune, my 
 darling mother ; but give me a corner in your heart. Let 
 me love you. Promise me that this first kiss shall not be 
 the last. No one will ever know ; be not afraid. I shall 
 be able to hide my happiness." 
 
 And Madame Fauvel had dreaded this son ! Ah ! how 
 bitterly did she now reproach herself for not having sooner 
 flown to meet him. She questioned him regarding the 
 past; she wished to know how he had lived — what he had. 
 been doing. He replied that he had nothing to conceal ; 
 
FILE NO. 113. 229 
 
 Ais existence had been that of every poor man's child. 
 The farmer's wife who had brought him up had always 
 treated him with affection. She had even given him an 
 education superior to his condition in life, and rather be- 
 yond her means, because she thought him so handsome 
 and intelligent. When about sixteen years of age, she 
 procured him a situation in a banking-house ; and he was 
 commencing to earn his own living, when one day a 
 stranger came to him, and said : " I am your father," and 
 took him away with him. Since then nothing was wanting 
 to his happiness, save a mother's tenderness. He had 
 suffered but one great sorrow, and that was the day when 
 Gaston de Clameran — his father — had died in his arms. 
 " But now," he said, " all is forgotten. Have I been un- 
 happy ? I no longer know, since I see you — since I love 
 you." 
 
 Madame Fauvel was oblivious of the lapse of time, but 
 fortunately Raoul was on the watch. " Why, it is seven 
 o'clock ! " he suddenly exclaimed. This exclamation 
 brought Madame Fauvel abruptly back to the reality. 
 Seven o'clock ! What would her family think of this long 
 absence .'* 
 
 " Shall I see you again, mother ? " asked Raoul, as they 
 were about to separate. 
 
 " O yes ! " she replied, fondly ; "yes, often, every day, 
 to-morrow." 
 
 But now. for the first time since her marriage, Madame 
 Fauvel perceived that she was not mistress of her actions. 
 Never before had she had occasion to wish for uncontrolled 
 liberty. She left her heart and soul behind her in the 
 room of the Hotel du Louvre, where she had just found 
 her son. She was compelled to leave him, to undergo the 
 intolerable agony of composing her face to conceal this 
 great happiness, which had changed her whole life and be- 
 ing. Having some difficulty in procuring a cab, it was 
 more than half-past seven when she reached the Rue de 
 Provence, where she found the family waiting dinner for 
 her. She thought her husband silly, and even vulgar, when 
 he joked her upon being late. So strange are the sudden 
 effects of a new passion, that she regarded almost with 
 contempt this unbounded confidence he reposed in her. 
 And she, ordinarily so timorous, replied to his jest with 
 imperturbable calmness, almost without an effort. So intox' 
 
230 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 icating had been her sensations while with Raoul, that in 
 her joy she was incapable of desiring anything else — of 
 dreaming of aught save the renewal of those delightful 
 emotions. No longer was she a devoted wife — an incom- 
 parable mother. She scarcely thought of her two sons. 
 They had always been happy and beloved. They had a 
 father — they were rich ; whilst the other, the other ! oh, 
 how much reparation was owing to him ! In her blind- 
 ness, she almost regarded her family as responsible for 
 Raoul's sufferings. Her folly was complete. No remorse 
 for the past, no apprehensions for the future, disturbed 
 her conscience. To her the future was to-morrow ; eter- 
 nity — the sixteen hours which separated her from another 
 interview. To her, Gaston's death seemed to absolve the 
 past as well as the present. But she regretted she was 
 married. Free, she could have consecrated herself exclu- 
 sively to Raoul She was rich, but how gladly would she 
 have sacrificed her affluence to enjoy poverty with him ! 
 Neither her husband nor sons would ever suspect the 
 thoughts which absorbed her mind ; but she dreaded 
 her niece. She imagined that Madeleine looked at her 
 strangely on her return home. Did she suspect some- 
 thing ? For several days she had asked embarrassing ques- 
 tions. She must beware of her. 
 
 This uneasiness changed the affection which Madame 
 Fauvel had hitherto felt for her adopted daughter into 
 positive dislike. She, so kind and loving, regretted having 
 placed over herself a vigilant spy from whom nothing es- 
 caped. She pondered what means she could take to avoid 
 the penetrating watchfulness of a girl who was accustomed 
 to read in her face every thought that crossed her mind. 
 With unspeakable satisfaction she thought of a way which 
 she imagined would please all parties. During the last 
 two years the banker's cashier and protege. Prosper Ber- 
 tomy, had been devoted in his attentions to Madeleine. 
 Madame Fauvel decided to do all in her power to hasten 
 matters, so that, Madeleine once married and out of the 
 house, there would be no one to criticize her own move- 
 ments. That very evening, with a duplicity of which she 
 would have been incapable a few days before, she began 
 to question Madeleine about her sentiments towards Pros- 
 per. 
 
 " Ah, ah, mademoiselle," she said gayly, "is it thus you 
 
FILE NO. 113. 231 
 
 permit yourself to choose a husband without my permis- 
 sion." 
 
 " But, aunt ! I thought you — " 
 
 " Yes, I know ; you thought I had suspected the trua 
 state of affairs? That is precisely what I had done." 
 Then, in a serious tone, she added : " Therefore, nothing 
 remains but to obtain the consent of Master Prosper. Do 
 you think he will grant it? " 
 
 " He ! aunt. Ah ! if he only dared — " 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! you seem to know all about it, made- . 
 moiselle." 
 
 Madeleine, blushing and confused, hung her head, and 
 said nothing. Madame Fauvel drew her towards her, and 
 continued in her most affectionate voice ; " My dear child, 
 do not be distressed. Is it possible that you, usually so 
 sharp, supposed us to be in ignorance of your secret ? Did 
 you think that Prosper would have been so warmly wel- 
 comed by your uncle and myself, had we not approved of 
 him in every respect ? " 
 
 Madeleine threw her arms round her aunt's neck, and 
 murmured : " Oh, thank you, my dear aunt, thank you ; 
 you are kind, you love m.e ! " 
 
 Madame Fauvel said to herself : '' I will make Andre 
 speak to Prosper, and before two months are over the 
 marriage can take place." 
 
 Unfortunately, Madame Fauvel was so engrossed by her 
 new passion, which did not leave her a moment for reflec- 
 tion, that she put off this project. Spending a portion of 
 each day at the Hotel du Louvre with Raoul, she did not 
 cease devoting her thoughts to insuring him an independ 
 ent fortune and a good position. She had not yet ventured 
 to speak to him on the subject. She imagined that she 
 had discovered in him all his father's noble pride and sen- 
 sitiveness. She anxiously wondered if he would ever ac- 
 cept the least assistance from her. The Marquis de Cla 
 meran quieted her doubts on this point. She had fre- 
 quently met him since the day on which he had so fright- 
 ened her, and to her first aversion had succeeded a secret 
 sympathy. She felt kindly towards him for the affection 
 ne lavished on her son. If Raoul, with the heedlessness 
 of youth, mocked at the future, Louis, the man of the world, 
 seemed very anxious about his nephew's welfare. So that, 
 
232 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 one day, after a few general observations, he approached 
 this serious question. 
 
 " The pleasant life my nephew leads is all very well," 
 he commenced, "but would it not be prudent for him to 
 seek some employment ? He has no fortune." 
 
 " Ah, my dear uncle, do let me enjoy my present happi- 
 ness. What is the use of any change 1 What do I want ? " 
 
 " You want for nothing at present, Raoul ; but when 
 your resources are exhausted, and mine too — which will be 
 in a short time — what will become of you ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I will enter the army. All the De Clamerans are 
 born soldiers ; and if a war breaks out — " 
 
 Madame Fauvel laid her hand upon his lips, and said in 
 a reproachful tone : " Cruel boy ! become a soldier ? 
 Would you, then, deprive me of the joy of seeing you ? " 
 
 " No, mother dear ; no." 
 
 " You see,'' insisted Louis, " that you must listen to us." 
 
 " I am quite willing ; but some other time. I will work 
 and earn no end of money." 
 
 " How, poor foolish boy ? What can you do ? " 
 
 " Oh ! never mind. I don't know now ; but set your 
 mind at rest, I will find a way." 
 
 Finding it impossible to make this self-sufficient youth 
 listen to reason, Louis and Madame Fauvel, after discuss- 
 ing the matter fully, decided that assistance must be forced 
 upon him. It was difficult, however, to choose a profes- 
 sion ; and De Clameran thought it prudent to wait awhile, 
 and study the bent of the young man's mind. In the 
 mean while, it was decided that Madame Fauvel should 
 place funds at the marquis's disposal for Raoul's support. 
 Regarding Gaston's brother in the light of a father to her 
 child, Madame Fauvel soon found him indispensable. 
 She continually wanted to see him, either to consult him 
 concerning some new idea which occurred to her, or to 
 impress upon him some good advice to be given. Thus 
 she was well pleased when one day he requested the hon- 
 or of being allowed to call upon her at her own house. 
 Nothing was easier than to introduce the Marquis de Cla- 
 meran to her husband as an old friend of her family; and, 
 after once being admitted, he could soon become an inti- 
 mate acquaintance. Madame Fauvel soon had reason to 
 congratulate herself upon this arrangement. Unable to 
 '^ontinue to go to Raoul every day, and not daring, if she 
 
FILE NO. 113. 233 
 
 wrote to him, to receive his replies, she obtained news of 
 him through Louis. 
 
 For about a month things went on smoothly, when one 
 day the marquis confessed that Raoul was giving him a 
 great deal of trouble. His hesitating, embarrassed man- 
 ner frightened Madame Fauvel. She thought something 
 had happened, and that he was trying to break the bad 
 news gently. 
 
 " What is the matter "i " she asked. 
 
 *' I am sorry to say," replied De Clameran, " that this 
 young man has inherited all the pride and passions of his 
 ancestors. He is one of those natures who stop at 
 nothing, who find incitement in opposition ; and I can 
 think of no way of checking him in his mad career." 
 
 " Merciful heaven ! what has he been doing } " 
 
 " Nothing particularly censurable ; nothing irreparable, 
 certainly ; but I am afraid of the future. He is still 
 unaware of the liberal allowance which you have placed in 
 my hands for his benefit ; he thinks that I support him, 
 and yet he throws away money as if he were the son of a 
 millionaire." 
 
 Like all mothers, Madame Fauvel attempted to excuse 
 her son. " Perhaps you are a little severe," she said. 
 *' Poor child, he has suffered so much ! He has undergone 
 so many privations during his childhood, that this sud- 
 den happiness and wealth has turned his head ; he seizes 
 on pleasure as a starving man seizes on a piece of bread. 
 Is it so surprising ? Ah, only have patience, and he will 
 soon return to the path of duty ; he has a good heart." 
 
 " He has suffered so much ! " was Madame Fauvel's 
 constant excuse for Raoul. This was her invariable reply 
 to M. de Clameran's complaints of his nephew's conduct. 
 And, having once commenced, he was now constant in his 
 accusations against Raoul. 
 
 " Nothing restrains his extravagance and dissipation," 
 Louis would say in a mournful voice ; " the instant a piece 
 of folly enters his head, it is carried out, no matter at what 
 cost." 
 
 But Madame Fauvel saw no reason why her son should 
 be thus harshly judged. *' We must remember," she 
 replied in an aggrieved tone, " that from infancy he has 
 been left to his own unguided impulses. The unfortunate 
 boy n-ever had a niother to tend and council him. You 
 
234 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 must remember, too, that in his childhood he never knew 
 a father's guidance." 
 
 " There is some excuse for him, to be sure ; but never- 
 theless he must change his present course. Could you not 
 speak seriously to him, madame ? You have more influence 
 over him than I." 
 
 She promised, but did not keep her promise. She had 
 so little time to devote to Raoul, that it seemed cruel to 
 spend it in reprimands. Sometimes she would hurry 
 from home for the purpose of following the marquis's 
 advice ; but, the instant she saw Raoul, her courage failed , 
 a pleading look from his soft, dark eyes silenced the 
 rebuke upon her lips , the sound of his voice banished 
 eveiy anxious thought from her mind. But De Clameran 
 was not a man to lose sight of the main object ; he would 
 have no compromise with duty. His brother had be- 
 queathed to him, as a precious trust, his son Raoul ; he 
 regarded himself, he said, as his guardian, and would be 
 held responsible in another world for his welfare. He 
 entreated Madame Fauvel to use her influence, when he 
 found himself powerless in trying to check the heedless 
 youth in his downward career. She ought, for the sake of 
 her child, to see more of him, in fact, every day. 
 
 " Alas," the poor woman replied, " that would be my 
 heart's desire. But how can I do it ? Have I the right 
 to ruin myself } I have other children, for whom I must 
 be careful of my reputation." 
 
 This answer appeared to astonish De Clameran. A 
 fortnight before, Madame Fauvel would not have alluded 
 to her other sons. " I will think the matter over," said 
 Louis, " and perhaps when I see you next I shall be able 
 to submit to you a plan which will reconcile everything." 
 
 The reflections of a man of so much experience could 
 not be fruitless. He had a relieved, satisfied look, when 
 he called to see Madame Fauvel in the following week. 
 *' I think I have solved the problem," he said. 
 
 " What problem t " 
 
 " The means of saving Raoul." 
 
 He explained himself by saying that as Madame Fauvel 
 could not, without arousing her husband's suspicions, 
 visit Raoul daily, she must receive him at her own house. 
 This proposition shocked Madame Fauvel ; for though she 
 had been imprudent, even culpable, she was the soul ot 
 
FILE NO. 113. 235 
 
 honor, and naturally shrank from the idea of introducing 
 Raoul into the midst of her family, and seeing him wel- 
 comed by her husband, and perhaps become the friend of 
 his sons. Her instinctive sense of justice made her 
 declare that she would never consent to such an infamous 
 step. 
 
 " Yes," said the marquis thoughtfully ; " but then it is 
 the only chance of saving your child." 
 
 But this time, at least, she resisted, and with an indigna- 
 tion and an energy capable of shaking a will less strong 
 than the Marquis de Clameran's. " No," she repeated, 
 "no ; I can never consent." 
 
 Unhappy woman ! little did she know of the pitfalls 
 which stand ever ready to swallow up wanderers from the 
 straight path. Before a week had passed she listened to 
 this project, which at first had filled her with horror, with 
 a willing ear, and even began to devise means for its 
 speedy execution. Yes, after a cruel struggle, she finally 
 yielded to the pressure of De Clameran's politely uttered 
 threats and Raoul's wheedling entreaties. 
 
 " But how ? " she asked, " upon what pretext can I 
 receive Raoul ? " 
 
 " It would be the easiest thing in the world," replied 
 De Clameran, " to introduce him as an ordinary acquaint- 
 ance, as I, myself, have the honor of being. But Raoul 
 must be more than that." 
 
 After torturing Madame Fauvel for a long time, and 
 almost driving her out of her mind, he finally revealed his 
 scheme. " We have in our hands," he said, " the solution 
 of the problem. It is an inspiration." 
 
 Madame Fauvel eagerly scanned his face as she listened 
 with the pitiable resignation of a martyr. 
 
 " Have you not a cousin, a widow lady, who had two 
 daughters, living at St. Remy ? " continued Louis. 
 
 *' Yes, Madame de Lagors." 
 
 " Precisely so. What fortune has she ? " 
 
 " She is poor, sir, very poor." 
 
 " And, but for the assistance you render her secretly, 
 she w^ould be thrown upon the charity of the world." 
 
 Madame Fauvel was bewildered at finding the marquis 
 so well informed of her private affairs. " How could you 
 have discovered this ? " she asked. 
 
 *' Oh, I know all about this affair, and many others be- 
 
236 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 sides. I know, for instance, that your husband knows 
 none of your relatives, and that he is scarcely aware of the 
 existence of your cousin De Lagors. Do you begin to 
 comprehend my plan ? " 
 
 She understood it slightly, and was asking herself how 
 she could resist it. 
 
 " This," continued Louis, " is what I have planned. 
 To-morrow or next day, you will receive a letter from 
 your cousin at St. Remy, telling you that she has sent her 
 son to Paris, and begging you to watch over him. Nat- 
 urally you show this letter to your husband-, and a few 
 days afterwards he warmly welcomes your nephew, Raoul 
 de Lagors, a handsome, rich, attractive young man, who 
 will do everything he can to please him, and who will 
 succeed." 
 
 " Never, sir," replied Madame Fauvel, " my cousin is 
 a pious, honorable woman, and nothing would induce her 
 to countenance so shameful a transaction." 
 
 The marquis smiled scornfully^ and asked : " Who told 
 you that I intended to confide in her ? " 
 
 " But you would be obliged to do so ! " 
 
 " You are very simple, madame. The letter which you 
 will receive, and show to your husband, will be dictated 
 by me, and posted at St. Remy by a friend of mine. If I 
 spoke of the obligations under which you have placed your 
 cousin, it was merely to show you that, in case of accident, 
 her own interest would make her serve you. Do you see 
 any other obstacle to this plan, madame ? " 
 
 Madame Fauvel's eyes flashed with indignation. " Is 
 my will of no account ? " she exclaimed. " You seem to 
 have made your arrangements without consulting me at 
 all." 
 
 " Excuse me," said the marquis with ironical politeness ; 
 " I am sure that you will take the same view of the matter 
 as myself." 
 
 " But it is a crime, sir, that you propose — an abominable 
 crime ! " 
 
 This speech seemed to arouse all the bad passions slum- 
 bering in De Clameran's bosom ; and his pale face had a 
 fiendish expression as he fiercely replied : " I think we 
 do not quite understand each other. Before you begin to 
 talk about crime, think over your past life. You were not 
 §0 timid and scrupulous when you gave yourself up tQ 
 
FILE NO. 113. 237 
 
 your lover. It is true that you did not hesitate to refuse 
 to share his exile, when for your sake he had just jeopar- 
 dized his life by killing two men. You felt no scruples at 
 abandoning your child in London ; although rolling in 
 wealth, you never even inquired if this poor waif had 
 bread to eat. You felt no scruples about marrying M. 
 Fauvel. Did you tell your confiding husband of the lines 
 'A shame concealed beneath your wreath of orange-blos- 
 som ? No ! All these crimes you indulged in ; and, when 
 in Gaston's name I demand reparation, you mdignantly 
 refuse ! It is too late ! You ruined the father; but you 
 shall save the son, or I swear you shall no longer cheat 
 the world of its esteem." 
 
 " I will obey you, sir," murmured the trembling, fright- 
 ened woman. 
 
 The following week Raoul, now Raoul de Lagors, was 
 seated at the banker's dinner-table, between Madame 
 Fauvel and Madeleine. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 It was not without the most acute suffering and self- 
 condemnation that Madame Fauvel submitted to the will 
 of the relentless Marquis de Clameran. She had used 
 every argument and entreaty to soften him ; but he merely 
 looked upon her with a triumphant, sneering smile, when 
 she knelt at his feet, and unplored him to be merciful. 
 Neither tears nor prayers moved his depraved soul. Dis- 
 appointed, and almost desperate, she sought the intercession 
 .of her son. Raoul was in a state of furious indignation 
 at the sight of his mother's distress, and hastened to de- 
 mand an apology from De Clameran. But he had reckoned 
 without his host. He soon returned with downcast eyes, 
 and moodily angry at his own powerlessness, declaring 
 that safety demanded a complete surrender to the tyrant. 
 Now only did the wretched woman fully fathom the abyss 
 into which she was being dragged, and clearly see the 
 labyrinth of crime of which she was becoming the victim. 
 A.nd all this suffering was the consequence of a fault, an 
 mterview granted to Gaston. Ever since that fatal day she 
 had been vainly struggling against the implacable logic of 
 events. Her life had been spent in trying to overcome the 
 
^38 FILE NO \\\ 
 
 past, and now it had risen to crush her. The hardest thing 
 of all to do, the act that most wrung her heart, was showing 
 to her husband the forged letter from St. Remy, and saying 
 that she expected soon to see her nephew, a quite young 
 man, and very rich ! But words cannot paint the torture she 
 endured on the evening she introduced Raoul to her fam- 
 ily. It was with a smile on his lips that the banker wel- 
 comed this nephew, of whom he had never heard before. 
 *' It is natural," said he, as he held out his hand, " when 
 one is young and rich, to prefer Paris to St. Remy." 
 Raoul did his utmost to deserve this cordial reception. 
 If his early education had been neglected, and he lacked 
 those delicate refinements of manner and conversation 
 which home influence imparts, his superior tact concealed 
 these defects. He possessed the happy faculty of reading 
 characters, and adapting his conversation to the minds 
 of his listeners. Before a week had gone by, he was a 
 favorite with M. Fauvel, intimate with Abel and Lucien, 
 and inseparable from Prosper Bertomy, the cashier, who 
 then spent all his evenings with the banker's family. 
 Charmed at the favorable impression made by Raoul 
 Madame Fauvel recovered comparative ease of mind, and 
 at times almost congratulated herself upon having obeyed 
 the marquis, and began once more to hope. Alas ! she 
 rejoiced too soon. 
 
 Raoul's intimacy with his cousins threw him among a 
 set of rich young men, and as a consequence, instead of 
 reforming, he daily grew more dissipated and reckless. 
 Gambling, racing, expensive suppers, made money slip 
 through his fingers like grains of sand. This proud young 
 man, whose sensitive delicacy not long since made him re- 
 fuse to accept aught save affection from his mother, now 
 never approached her without demanding large sums of 
 money. At first she gave with pleasure, without stopping 
 to count the cash. But she soon perceived that her gen- 
 erosity, if she did not keep it within bounds, would be her 
 ruin. This rich woman, whose magnificent diamonds,, 
 elegant toilets, and superb equipages were the admiration 
 and envy of Paris, knew misery in its bitterest form : that 
 of not being able to gratify the desires of a beloved being. 
 Her husband had never thought of giving her a fixed sum 
 for expenses. The day after their wedding he gave her a 
 key to his secretary, and ever since, she had been in the 
 
PILE NO. 113. 235 
 
 habit of freely taking the money necessary for keeping up 
 the establishment, and for her own personal requiremenli. 
 But the fact of her having always been so modest in her 
 personal expenses, that her husband used to jest her on 
 the subject, and of her having managed the household ex- 
 penditure in a most judicious manner, she was not able to 
 sudd<inly dispose of large sums, without giving rise to 
 embarrassing questions. M. Fauvel, the most generous 
 of millionaires, would have delighted to see his wife in- 
 dulge in any extravagance, no matter how foolish ; but he 
 would naturally expect to see traces of the money spent, 
 something to show for it. The banker might suddenly 
 discover that much more than the usual amount of money 
 was used in the house ; and, if he should ask the cause of 
 ihis astonishing outlay, what answer could she give ? 
 
 In three months, Raoul had squandered a little fortune. 
 In the first place, he was obliged to have bachelor's apart- 
 ments, prettily furnished. He was in want of everything, 
 just like a shipwrecked sailor. He asked for a horse 
 and brougham, how could she refuse him ? Then every 
 day there was some fresh whim to be satisfied. 
 
 When she would gently remonstrate, Raoul's beautiful 
 eyes would fill with tears, and in a sad, humble tone he 
 would say : " Alas ! I am a child, a poor fool, I ask too much. 
 I forget that I am only the son of poor Valentine, and not 
 of the rich banker's wife ! " 
 
 This touching repentance wrung her heart. The poor 
 boy had suffered so much that it was her duty to console 
 him, and she would finish by excusing him. She soon dis- 
 covered that he was jealous and envious of his two brothers 
 — for, after all, they were his brothers — Abel and Lucien. 
 
 " You never refuse them anything," he would say ; 
 '' they were fortunate enough to enter life by the golden 
 gate. Their every wish is gratified ; they enjoy wealth, 
 position, home affection, and have a splendid future await- 
 ing them." 
 
 " But what is lacking to your happiness, unhappy child ? " 
 Madame Fauvel v;ould ask in despair. 
 
 "What do I want 1 apparently nothing, in reality ever}'- 
 thmg. Do I possess anything legitimately ? What right 
 have I to your affection, to the comforts and luxuries you 
 heap upon me, to the name I bear ? Have I not, so to say, 
 stolen even my life ? " 
 
240 PILE NO. 113. 
 
 When Raoul talked in this strain, she was ready to do 
 anything, so that he should not be envious of her two other 
 sons. As spring approached, she told him she wished hira 
 to spend the summer in the country, near her villa at St. 
 Germain. She expected he would offer some objection. 
 But not at all. The proposal seemed to please him, and 
 a few days after he told her he had rented a little house at 
 Vdsinet, and intended having his furniture moved into it, 
 
 " Then, just think, dear mother, what a happy summer 
 we will spend tog'ether ! " he said with beaming eyes. 
 
 She was delighted for many reasons, one of which was 
 that the prodigal's expenses would probably diminish. 
 Anxiety as to the exhausted state of her finances made her 
 bold enough to chide him at the dinner-table one day for 
 having lost two thousand francs at the races the day before. 
 
 " You are severe, my dear," said M. Fauvel with the 
 carelessness of a rich man. " Mamma De Lagors will pay ; 
 mammas were created for the special purpose of paying." 
 And, not observing the effect these words had upon his 
 wife, he turned to Raoul, and added : " Don't worry your- 
 self, my boy ; when you want money, come to me, and I 
 will lend you some." 
 
 What could Madame Fauvel say ? Had she not fol- 
 lowed De Clameran's orders, and announced that Raoul 
 was very rich 1 Why had she been made to tell this un- 
 necessary lie ? She all at once perceived the snare which 
 had been laid for her : but now she was caught, and it was 
 too late to struggle. The banker's offer was soon accepted. 
 That same week Raoul went to his uncle, and boldly bor- 
 rowed ten thousand francs. When Madame Fauvel heard 
 of this piece of audacity, she wrung her hands in despair. 
 
 *' What can he want with so much money ? " she moaned 
 to herself. 
 
 For some time De Clameran had kept away from 
 Madame Fauvel's house. She decided to write and ask 
 him to call. She hoped that this energetic, determined 
 man, who was so fully awake to his duties as a guardian, 
 would make Raoul listen to reason. When De Clameran 
 heard what had taken place, his surprise and anger were 
 unbounded. A violent altercation ensued between him and 
 RaouL But Madame Fauvel's suspicions were aroused : 
 she watched them, and it seemed to her — could it be pos- 
 sible — that their anger was feigned ; that, although tliey 
 
FILE NO. 113. 241 
 
 abused and even threatened each other in the bitterest 
 language, their eyes were smiling. She dared not breathe 
 her doubts ; but, like a subtle poison which disorganizes 
 everything with which it comes in contact, this new sus- 
 picion filled her thoughts, and added to her already in- 
 tolerable sufferings. Yet she never once thought of blam- 
 ing Raoul, for she still loved him madly. She accused 
 the marquis of taking advantage of the youthful weak- 
 nesses and inexperience of his nephew. She knew that 
 she would have to suffer insolence and extortion from 
 this man who had her completely in his power ; but she 
 could not penetrate his motive for acting as he did. Pie 
 soon acquainted her with it. 
 
 One day, after complaining more bitterly than usual of 
 Raoul, and proving to Madame Fauvel that it was impos- 
 sible for this state of affairs to continue much longer, the 
 marquis declared that he saw but one way of preventing 
 a catastrophe. This was, that he (De Clameran) should 
 marry Madeleine. Madame Fauvel had long ago been 
 prepared for anything his cupidity could attempt. But if 
 she had given up all hope of happiness for herself, if she 
 consented to the sacrifice of her own peace of mind, it was 
 because she thus hoped to insure the security of those dear 
 to her. This unexpected declaration shocked her. " Do 
 you suppose for an instant, sir," she indignantly exclaimed, 
 " that 1 will consent to any such disgraceful project .'* " 
 
 With a nod, the marquis answered : " Yes." 
 
 " What sort of a woman do you think I am, sir ? Alas ! 
 I was very guilty once, but the punishment now exceeds 
 the fault. And does it become you to be constantly re- 
 proaching me with my long-past imprudence ? So long as 
 I alone had to suffer, you found me weak and timid ; but, 
 now that you attack those I love, I rebel." 
 
 " Would it then, madame, be such a very great misfor- 
 tune for Mademoiselle Madeleine to become the Mar- 
 chioness de Clameran ? " 
 
 " My niece, sir, chose, of her own free will, a husband 
 whom she will shortly marry. She loves M. Prosper 
 Bertomy," 
 
 The marquis disdainfully shrugged his shoulders. " A 
 school-girl-love affair," said he ; " she will forget all aboat 
 it when you wish her to do so." 
 
 " I will never wish it," 
 16 
 
242 t^^LE NO. 113. 
 
 " Excuse me," he replied, in the low, suppressed tone 
 of a man trying to control himself ; " let us not waste time 
 in these idle discussions. Hitherto you have always com- 
 menced by protesting against my proposed plans, and in 
 the end acknowledged the good sense and justness of my 
 arguments. This time, also, you will oblige me by yield- 
 ing." 
 
 " Never," said Madame Fauvel ; " never ! " 
 
 De Clameran paid no attention to this interruption, but 
 went on : " If I insist upon this marriage, it is because it 
 will re-establish your affairs, as well as ours. Of course 
 you see that the allowance you give your son is insuffi- 
 cient for his extravagant style of living. The time ap- 
 proaches when you will have nothing more to give him, 
 and you will no longer be able to conceal from your hus- 
 band your constant encroachments on the housekeeping 
 money. When that day comes, what is to be done } " 
 
 Madame Fauvel shuddered. The dreaded day, of which 
 the marquis spoke, could not be far off. 
 
 " Then," he continued, " you will render justice to my 
 wise forethought, and to my good intentions. Mademoiselle 
 Madeleine is rich ; her dowry will enable me to supply 
 the deficit, and save you." 
 
 " I would rather be ruined than be saved by such 
 means." 
 
 " But I will not permit you to ruin us all. Remember, 
 madame, that we are associated in a common cause — 
 Raoul's future welfare." 
 
 " Cease your importunities," she said, looking him stead- 
 ily in the face. "I have made up my mind irrevocably." 
 
 "To what?" 
 
 " To do everything and anything to escape your shame- 
 ful persecution. Oh ! yoa need not smile. I shall, if 
 necessary, throw myself at M. Fauvel's feet, and confess 
 everything. He loves me, and, knowing how I have suf- 
 fered, will forgive me." 
 
 " Do you think so .'' " asked De Clameran, derisively. 
 
 " You mean to say that he will be pitiless, and banish 
 me from his roof ! So be it ; it will only be what I deserve. 
 There is no torture that I cannot bear, after what I have 
 suffered through you." 
 
 This inconceivable resistance so upset all the marquis's 
 plans that he lost all constraint, and, dropping the mask 
 
FILE NO. 113. 243 
 
 of politeness, appeared in his true character. " Inclet.d ! " 
 he said, in a fierce brutal tone ; " so you have decided to 
 confess to your husband ! A famous idea ! What a pity 
 you did not think of it before ! Confessing everything 
 the first day I called on you, you might have been forgiven. 
 Your husband might have pardoned a youthful fault, 
 atoned for by twenty years of irreproachable conduct; for 
 none can deny that you have been a faithful wife and a 
 good mother. But picture the indignation of your trust- 
 ing husband, when you tell him that this pretended nephew 
 — whom you impose upon his family circle, who sits at 
 his table, who borrows his money — is your illegitimate 
 son ! M. Fauvel is, no doubt, an excellent, kind-hearted 
 man ; but I scarcely think he will pardon a deception of 
 this nature, which betrays such depravity, duplicity, and 
 audacity." 
 
 All that the angry marquis said was horribly true ; yet, 
 Madame Fauvel listened unflinchingly. 
 
 *' Upon my word," he went on, " you must be very 
 much infatuated with this M. Bertomy ! Between the 
 honor of your husband's name, and pleasing this love-sick 
 cashier, you refuse to hesitate. Well, I suppose it will 
 console you when M. Fauvel separates from you, and Abel 
 and Lucien avert their faces at your approach, and blush 
 at being your sons — it will be very sweet to be able to 
 say : ' I have made Prosper happy ! ' " 
 
 " Happen what may, I shall do what is right," said 
 Madame Fauvel. 
 
 " You shall do what I tell you ! " cried De Clameran, 
 threateningly. " Do you suppose that I will allow your 
 sentimentality to blast all my hopes ? Your niece's for- 
 tune is indispensable to us, and, more than that, I love the 
 fair Madeleine." 
 
 The blow once struck, the marquis judged it prudent to 
 await the result. With cool politeness, he added : " I will 
 leave you now, madame, to think the matter over. Be- 
 lieve me, consent to this sacrifice — it will be the last re- 
 quired of you. Think of the honor of your family, and 
 not of your niece's love affairs. I will call in three 
 days for your answer." 
 
 " You will come uselessly, sir. I shall tell my husband 
 <ver}-thing, as soon as he returns." 
 
 If Madame Fauvel had not been so agitated herself 
 
244 PILE NO. 113. 
 
 she would have detected an expression of alarm upon De 
 Clameran's face. But this uneasiness was only moment 
 tary. With a shrug, which meant, "Just as you please," 
 he said : " I think you have sense enough to keep your 
 secret." 
 
 He bowed ceremoniously, and left the room, but slammed 
 the door after him with a violence that betrayed the con- 
 straint he had imposed upon himself. De Clameran had 
 cause for fear. Madame Fauvel's determination was not 
 feigned. " Yes," she cried, with the enthusiasm of a noble 
 resolution; "yes, I will tell Andre everything." 
 
 She believed herself to be alone, but turned round sud- 
 denly at the sound of footsteps, and found herself face 
 to face with Madeleine, who was pale as a statue, and 
 whose eyes were full of tears. " You must obey this man, 
 aunt," she quietly said. 
 
 Adjoining the drawing-room were two little card-rooms, 
 shut off only by heavy silk curtains. Madeleine, unknown 
 to her aunt, was sitting in one of the little rooms when the 
 marquis arrived, and had overheard the conversation. 
 
 " Good heavens ! " cried Madame Fauvel with terror ; 
 ^' do you know — " 
 
 " I know everything, aunt." 
 
 " And you wish me to sacrifice you to this fiend ? " 
 
 *' I implore you to let me save you." 
 
 "You must certainly hate M. de Clameran." 
 
 " I hate him, aunt, and despise him. He will always be 
 for me the basest of men ; nevertheless I will marry him." 
 
 Madame Fauvel was overcome by the magnitude of this 
 devotion. " And what is to become of Prosper, my poor 
 child — Prosper, whom you love .'' " 
 
 Madeleine stifled a sob, and replied in a firm voice : 
 " To-morrow I will break off my engagement with M. Ber- 
 tomy." 
 
 " I will never permit such a wrong," cried Madame 
 Fauvel. " I will not add to my sins by suffering an inno- 
 cent girl to bear their penalty." 
 
 The noble girl sadly shook her head, and replied : 
 ** Neither will I suffer dishonor to fall upon this house, which 
 is my home, while I have power to prevent it. Am I not 
 indebted to you for more than life ? What would I now be 
 had you not taken pity on me ? A factory girl in my na- 
 tive town. You warmly welcomed the poor orphan, and 
 
PILE NO. 113. S45 
 
 became a mother to her. Is it not to your husband that 
 I owe the fortune which excitt-s this villain's cupidity ? 
 Are not Abel and Lucien brothers to me ? And now, 
 when the happiness of us all is at stake, do you suppose 
 I would hesitate ? No. I will become the wife of De 
 Clameran." 
 
 Then began a struggle of self-sacrifice between Madame 
 Fauvel and her niece, as to which should be the victim; 
 and all the more sublime, because each offered her life to 
 the other, not from any sudden impulse, but deliberately 
 and willingly. But Madeleine was bound to triumph, fired 
 as she was by that holy enthusiasm of sacrifice which 
 makes martyrs. 
 
 *' I am responsible to none but myself," said she, well 
 knowing this to be the most vulnerable point she could 
 attack ; " whilst you, dear aunt, are accountable to your 
 husband and children. Think of my uncle's pain and sor- 
 row if he should ever learn the truth ! It would kill hini." 
 
 The generous girl was right. After having sacrificed 
 her husband to her mother, Madame Fauvel was about to 
 immolate her husband and children for Raoul. As a gen- 
 eral thing, a first fault draws many others in its train. As 
 an impalpable snowflake may be the beginning of an ava- 
 lanche, so an imprudence is often the prelude to a great 
 crime. To false situations there is but one safe issue — 
 truth. 
 
 Madame Fauvel's resistance grew weaker and weaker. 
 "But," she faintly argued, " I cannot accept your sacrifice. 
 What sort of a life will you lead with this man ? " 
 
 "We can hope for the best," replied Madeleine, wdth a 
 cheerfulness she was far from feeling ; " he loves me, he 
 says ; perhaps he will be kind to me." 
 
 "Ah, if I only knew where to obtain money! It is 
 money that the grasping man wants ; money alone will 
 satisfy him." 
 
 " Does he not want it for Raoul ? Has not Raoul, by his 
 extravagant follies, dug an abyss which must be bridged 
 over by money ? If I could only believe M. de Cla- 
 meran ! " 
 
 Madame Fauvel looked at her niece with bewildered 
 curiosity. What ! this inexperienced girl had weighed the 
 matter in its different lights before deciding upon a sur- 
 render; whereas, she, a wife and a mother, had blindly 
 
246 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 yielded to the inspirations of her heart ! " What do you 
 mean ? " she asked. 
 
 " I mean this, aunt, that I do not believe that De Cla- 
 mcran has any thought of his nephew's welfare^ Once in 
 possession of my fortune, he may leave you and Raoul to 
 your fates. And there is another dreadful suspicion that 
 tortures my mind." 
 
 " A suspicion ? " 
 
 " Yes, and I would reveal it to you, if I dared ; if I did 
 not fear that you — " 
 
 " Speak ! " insisted Madame Fauvel. " Alas ! misfor- 
 tune has given me strength. I can fear nothing worse 
 than what has already happened. I am ready to hear 
 anything." 
 
 Madeleine hesitated ; she wished to enlighten her cred- 
 ulous aunt, and yet feared to distress her. " I would like 
 to be certain," she said, " that some secret understanding 
 between M. de Clameran and Raoul does not exist, that 
 they are not acting a part agreed upon between them 
 beforehand." 
 
 Love is blind and deaf. Madame Fauvel no longer 
 remembered the laughing eyes of the two men, upon the 
 occasion of the pretended quarrel in her presence. She 
 could not, she would not, believe in such hypocrisy. '' It 
 is impossible," she said : " the marquis is really indig- 
 nant and distressed at his nephew's mode of life, and 
 he certainly would never give him any bad advice. As to 
 Raoul, he is vain, trifling, and extravagant ; but he has 
 a good heart. Prosperity has turned his head, but he 
 loves me. Ah, if you could see and hear him, when I 
 reproach him for his faults, your suspicions would fly to 
 the winds. When he tearfully promises to be more 
 prudent, he means to keep his word. If he breaks his 
 promises, it is because perfidious friends lead him astrav." 
 
 Mothers always blame their children's friends. The 
 friend is the guilty one. Madeleine had not the heart to 
 undeceive her aunt. " God grant that what you say may 
 be true," she said ; "if so, my marriage will not be use- 
 less. We will write to M. de Clameran to-night." 
 
 " Why to-night, Madeleine ? We need not hurry so. 
 Let us wait a little ; something might happen to save us." 
 
 These words — this confidence in chance, in a mere noth- 
 ing — revealed Madame Fauvel's true character, and 9,0 
 
FILE NO. 113. 247 
 
 counted for her troubles. Timid, hesitating, easily swayed, 
 she never could come to a firm decision, form a resolution, 
 and abide by it, in spite of all arguments brought to bear 
 against it. In the hour of peril she would always shut 
 her eyes, and trust to chance for a relief which never came. 
 Quite different was Madeleine's charater. Beneath her 
 gentle timidity, lay a strong, self-reliant will. Once de- 
 cided upon a sacrifice, it was to be carried out to the let- 
 ter ; she shut out all deceitful illusions, and walked straight 
 forward without one look back. 
 
 " We had better end the matter at once, dear aunt," 
 she said, in a gentle but firm tone. " Believe me, the 
 reality of misfortune is not as painful as its apprehension. 
 You cannot bear the shocks of sorrow, and delusive hopes 
 of happiness, much longer. Do you know what anxiety of 
 mind has done to you ? Have you looked in your mirror 
 during the last four months ? " She led her aunt up to a 
 looking-glass, and said : " Look at yourself." Madame 
 Fauvel was, indeed, a mere shadow of her former self. 
 She had reached the perfidious age when a woman's 
 beauty, like a full-blown rose fades in a day. Four 
 months of trouble had made her an old woman. Sorrow 
 had stamped its fatal seal upon her brow. Her fair, soft 
 skin was wrinkled, her hair was streaked with silver. 
 " Do you not agree with me," continued Madeleine, pity- 
 ingly, " that peace of mind is necessary to you ? Do 
 you not see that you are a wreck of your former self t Is 
 it not a miracle that M. Fauvel has not noticed this sad 
 change in you ? " Madame Fauvel, who flattered herself 
 that she had displayed wonderful dissimulation, shook her 
 head. " Alas ! my poor aunt ! did I not discover that you 
 had a secret ? " 
 
 " You, Madeleine } " 
 
 " Yes ! only I thought — Oh ! pardon an unjust suspi- 
 cion, but I was wicked enough to suppose — " She stopjDed, 
 too distressed to finish her sentence ; then, making a. 
 painful effort, she added : " I was afraid that perhaps you 
 loved another man better than my uncle." 
 
 Madame Fauvel sobbed aloud. Madeleine's suspicion 
 might be entertained by others. " My reputation is gone," 
 she moaned. 
 
 "No, dear aunt, no," exclaimed the young girl, "cjg 
 
248 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 not be alarmed. Have courage : we two can fight now ; w| 
 will defend ourselves, we will save ourselves." 
 
 The Marquis de Clameran was agreeably surprised that 
 evening by receiving a letter from Madame Fauvel, say- 
 ing that she consented to everything, but must have a lit- 
 tle time to carry out the plan. Madeleine, she said, could 
 not break off her engagement with M. Bertomy in a day. 
 M. Fauvel would make objections, for he had an affection 
 for Prosper, and had tacitly approved of the match. It 
 would be wiser to leave to time the smoothing away of certain 
 obstacles which a sudden attack might render insurmount- 
 able. A line from Madeleine, at the bottom of her letter, 
 assured him of her consent. 
 
 Poor girl I she did not spare herself. The next day 
 she took Prosper aside, and forced from him the fatal 
 promise to shun her in the future, and to take upon him- 
 self the responsibility of breaking their engagement. He 
 implored Madeleine to at least explain the reason of this 
 banishment, which destroyed all his hopes of happiness. 
 She simply replied that her peace of mind and honor de- 
 pended upon his obedience. He left her sick at heart. 
 As he went out of the house, the marquis entered. Yes, 
 he had the audacity to come in person, to tell Madame 
 Fauvel that, now he had the promise of herself and Made- 
 leine, he would consent to wait awhile. He himself saw 
 the necessity of patience, knowing that he was not liked 
 by the banker. Having the aunt and niece in his power, 
 he was certain of success. He said to himself that the 
 moment would come when a deficit impossible to be re- 
 placed would force them to hasten the wedding. And 
 Raoul did all he could to bring matters to a crisis. Mad- 
 ame Fauvel went sooner than usual to her country-seat, 
 and Raoul at once moved into his house at Vesinet. But 
 living in the country did not lessen his expenses. Grad- 
 ually he laid aside all hypocrisyf and now only came to 
 see his mother when he wanted money; and his demands 
 were frequent and more exorbitant each time. As for the 
 marquis, he prudently absented himself, awaiting the pro- 
 pitious moment. And it was quite by chance that three 
 weeks later, meeting the banker at a friend's, he was in- 
 vited to dinner the next day. 
 
 Twenty people were seated at the table ; and as the 
 4^sert was being served, the banker suddenly turned t^ 
 
FILE NO. 113. 249 
 
 De Clameran and said : " I have a question to ask you, 
 marquis. Have you any relatives bearing your name ? " 
 
 " None that I know of, sir." 
 
 '' I am surprised. About a week ago, I became ac- 
 quainted with another Marquis de Clameran." 
 
 Although so hardened by crime, impudent enough to 
 deny anything, De Clameran was taken aback and turned 
 pale. " Oh, indeed ! That is strange. A De Clameran 
 may exist ; but I carmot understand the title of marquis." 
 
 M. Fauvel was not sorry to have the opportunity of an- 
 noying a guest whose aristocratic pretensions had often 
 piqued him. " Marquis or not," he replied, " the De 
 Clameran in question seems to be able to do honor to 
 the title." 
 
 " Is he rich ? " 
 
 " I have reason to suppose that he is very wealthy. I 
 have been authorized to collect for him four hundred 
 thousand francs." 
 
 De Clameran had a wonderful faculty of self-control ; 
 he had so schooled himself that his face never betrayed 
 what was passing in his mind. But this news was so start- 
 ling, so strange, so pregnant of danger, that his usual as- 
 surance deserted him. He detected a peculiar look of 
 irony in the banker's eye. The only persons who noticed 
 this sudden change in the marquis's manner were Madeleine 
 and her aunt. They saw him turn pale, and exchange a 
 meaning look with Raoul. 
 
 *' Then I suppose this new marquis is a merchant," said 
 De Clameran, after a moment's pause. 
 
 " You ask too much. All- that I know is, that four hun- 
 dred thousand francs are to be deposited to his account 
 by some ship-owners of Havre, after the sale of the cargo 
 of a Brazilian ship." 
 
 " Then he comes from Brazil ? " 
 
 " I do not know, but I can, if you like, give you his 
 Christian name." 
 
 "I would be obliged." 
 
 M. Fauvel rose from the table, and brought from the 
 rext room a memorandum-book, and began to read over 
 the names written in it. 
 
 " Wait a moment," he said : " let me see — the 22d, no, 
 it was later than that. Ah, here it is : De Clameran, Gas- 
 ton. His name is Gaston," 
 
250 FILE NO 113. 
 
 But this time Louis betrayed no emotion or alarm ; he 
 had had sufficient time to recover his self-possession, and 
 nothing could now throw him off his guard. " Gaston ? " 
 he queried carelessly. " I know who he is now. He 
 must be the son of my father's sister, whose husband lived 
 at Havana. I suppose, upon his return to France, he 
 must have taken his mother's name, which is more sonor 
 ous than his father's, that being, if I recollect aright, 
 Moirot or Boirot." 
 
 The banker laid down his memorandum -book, and, re- 
 suming his seat, said : " Boirot or De Clameran, I hope to 
 have the pleasure of inviting you to dine with him before 
 long. Of the four hundred thousand francs which I was 
 ordered to collect for him, he only wishes to draw one 
 hundred, and tells me to keep the rest on current account. 
 I judge from this, that he intends coming to Paris." 
 
 " I shall be delighted to make his acquaintance." 
 
 De Clameran broached another topic, and seemed to 
 have entirely forgotten the news told him by the banker. 
 Although apparently engrossed in the conversation at the 
 table, he closely watched Madame Fauvel and her niece. 
 He saw that they were unable to conceal their agitation, 
 and stealthily exchanged significant looks. Evidently the 
 same terrible idea had crossed their minds. Madeline 
 seemed more nervous and startled than her aunt. When 
 M. Fauvel uttered Gaston's name, she saw Raoul begin 
 to draw back his chair and glance in a frightened manner 
 towards the window, like a detected thief looking for means 
 of escape. Raoul, less experienced than his uncle, was 
 thoroughly discountenanced. He, the original talker, the 
 lion of a dinner-party, never at a loss for some witty speech, 
 was now perfectly dumb ; he sat anxiously watching Louis. 
 At last the dinner ended, and as the guests passed into the 
 drawing-rooms, De Clameran and Raoul managed to re- 
 main last in the dining-room. When they were alone, they 
 no longer attempted to conceal their anxiety. 
 
 " It is he ! " said Raoul. 
 
 " I have no doubt of it." 
 
 " Then all is lost ; we had better make our escape." 
 
 But a bold adventurer like De Clameran had no idea of 
 giving up the ship till forced to do so. " Who knows 
 what may happen ? " he asked thoughtfully. " There is 
 hope yet. Why did not that mudd'e-hf^ded banker tell 
 
FILE NO. 113. 251 
 
 US where this De Clameran is to be found ? " Here he 
 uttered a joyful exclamation. He saw M. Fauvel's mem- 
 orandum-book lying on the side-board. " Watch ! " he 
 said to Raoul. 
 
 Seizing the note-book, he hurriedly turned over the 
 leaves, and, in an undertone, read ; " Gaston, Marquis de 
 Clameran, Oloron, Lower Pyrenees." 
 
 " Well, does finding out his address assist us ? " inquired 
 Raoul eagerly. 
 
 " It may save us : that is all. Let us return to the draw- 
 ing-room ; our absence might be observed. Exert yourself 
 to appear unconcerned and gay. You almost betrayed us 
 once by your agitation." 
 
 " The two women suspect something.'* 
 
 " Well, suppose they do ? " 
 
 " It is not safe for us here." 
 
 " Were you any better in London ? Don't be so easily 
 frightened. I am going to plant my batteries." 
 
 They joined the other guests. But, if their conversation 
 had not been overheard, their movements had been 
 watched. Madeleine had come on tip-toe, and, looking 
 through the half-open door, had seen De Clameran con- 
 sulting her uncle's note-book. But what benefit would she 
 derive from this proof of the marquis's anxiety ? She no 
 longer doubted the villany of the man to whom she had 
 promised her hand. As he had said to Raoul, neither Mad- 
 eleine nor her aunt could escape him. Two hours later, 
 De Clameran was on the road to Vesinet with Raoul, ex- 
 plaining to him his plans. 
 
 "It is he, and no mistake," he said. "But we are too 
 easily alarmed, my fine nephew." 
 
 " Nonsense ! the banker is expecting him ; he may be 
 among us to-morrow." 
 
 " Don't be an idiot ! " interrupted De Clameran. "Does 
 he know that Fauvel is Valentine's husband ? That is 
 what we must find out. If he knows that little fact, we 
 must take to our heels ; if he is ignorant of it, our case is 
 not desperate." 
 
 " How can we find out ? " 
 
 " By simply going and asking him." 
 
 " That is a brilliant idea," said Raoul, admiringly ; " but 
 dangerous." 
 
 " It is not as dangerou3 as not doing it. And, as to run- 
 
252 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 ning away at the first suspicion of alarm, it would be down' 
 right imbecility." 
 
 "And who will go and see him ? " 
 
 " I will ! " 
 
 " Oh, oh, oh ! " exclaimed Raoul in three different tones. 
 De Clameran's audacity confounded him. " But what am 
 I to do ? " he inquired. 
 
 " You will oblige me by remaining here. At the least 
 sign of danger, I will send you a telegram, and then you 
 must make off." 
 
 As they parted at Raoul's door, De Clameran said : " It 
 is then understood you will remain here. But mind, so long 
 as my absence lasts, become once more the best of sons. 
 Set yourself against me, calumniate me if you can. But 
 no nonsense. No demands for money. So now, good-by ! 
 To-morrow night I shall be at Oloron and shall have seen 
 this De Clameran." 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 After leaving Valentine de La Verberie, Gaston under- 
 went great peril and difficulty in effecting his escape. But 
 for the experienced and faithful Menoul, he never would 
 have succeeded in embarking. Having left his mother's 
 jewels with Valentine, his sole fortune consisted of not 
 quite a thousand francs ; and it is not with a paltry sum 
 like that that a fugitive who has just killed two men can 
 pay for his passage on board a ship. But Menoul was a 
 man of experience. While Gaston remained concealed in 
 a farm house at Camargue, Menoul went to Marseilles, 
 and the same evening learnt that a three-masted American 
 vessel was in the roadstead, whose commander. Captain 
 Warth, a not over-scrupulous person, would be glad to wel- 
 come on board an able-bodied man who would be of assist- 
 ance to him at sea, and would not trouble himself about 
 his antecedents After visiting the vessel and taking a 
 glass of rum with the captain, old Menoul returned to 
 Gaston. 
 
 " If it was a question of myself, sir," he saidy " I should 
 avail myself of the opportunity, but you — " 
 
 " What suits you, suits me," interrupted Gaston, 
 
 " You see, the fact is, you will be obliged to work very 
 
FILE NO. 113. 253 
 
 hard. You will only be a common sailor, you know ! And 
 I must confess that the ship's company is not the most 
 moral one I ever saw. The captain, too, seems a regular 
 swaggering bully." 
 
 "I have no choice," said Gaston. "I will go on board 
 at once." 
 
 Old Menoul's suspicions were correct. Before Gaston 
 had been on board the " Tom Jones " forty-eight hours, 
 he saw that chance had cast him among a collection of the 
 most depraved bandits and cut-throats. The crew, recruit- 
 ed seemingly anywhere, contained specimens of the ras- 
 cals of almost every country. But Gaston's mind was un- 
 disturbed as to the character of the people with whom his 
 lot was cast for several months. It was only his body that 
 the vessel was carrying to another land. His heart and 
 soul rested in the shady park of La Verberie, beside his 
 beloved Valentine. And what would become of her now, 
 poorchild, when he was no longer there to love, console, 
 and defend her ? Happily, he had no time for sad reflec- 
 tions. His every moment was occupied in learning the 
 rough apprenticeship of a sailor's life. All his energies 
 were spent in bearing up under the heavy burden of labor 
 allotted to him. This was his salvation. Physical suf- 
 fering calmed and deadened his mental agony. The few 
 hours relaxation granted him were spent in sleep. At rare 
 intervals, when the weather was calm, and he was relieved 
 from his constant occupation of trimming the sails, he 
 would anxiously question the future. He had sworn that 
 he would return before the end of three years, rich enough 
 to satisfy the exactions of Madame de La Verberie. 
 Would he be able to keep this boastful promise 1 Though 
 desire has wings, reality crawls upon the ground. Judging 
 from the conversation of his companions, he was not now 
 on the road to the fortune he so much desired. The " Tom 
 Jones " was sailing for Valparaiso, but certainly went in a 
 roundabout way to reach her destination. The real fact 
 was, that Captain Warth proposed visiting the Gulf of 
 Guinea. A friend of his, a black prince, he said, with a 
 loud laugh, was waiting for him at Badagri, to exchange a 
 cargo of " ebony " for some pipes of rum, and a hundred 
 flint-lock muskets which were on board. Gaston soon saw 
 that he was serving his apprenticeship on one of the numei' 
 Qu$ slavers equipped yearly by the free and philanthropic 
 
254 P^LE NO. 113. 
 
 Americans. Although this discovery filled Gaston with 
 indignation and shame, he was prudent enough to conceal 
 his impressions. His remonstrances, no matter how elo- 
 quent, would have made no change in Captain Warth's 
 opinions regarding a traffic which brought him in more 
 than cent, per cent., in spite of the French and English 
 cruisers, the damages, sometimes entire loss of cargoes, 
 and many other risks. The crew had a certain respect for 
 Gaston when the story of his having killed two men, as 
 related by Menoul to the captain, transpired. To have 
 given vent to his feehngs would have incurred the enmity 
 of the whole of his shipmates, without bettering his own 
 situation. He therefore kept quiet, but swore mentally, 
 that he would desert on the first opportunity. This oppor- 
 tunity, like everything impatiently longed for, came not. 
 By the end of three months Captain Warth found Gaston 
 indispensable. Seeing him so intelligent he took a fancy 
 to him, he liked to have him at his own table, he listened 
 to his conversation with pleasure, and was glad of his com- 
 pany in a game of cards. The mate of the ship dying, 
 Gaston was chosen to replace him. In this capacity he 
 made two successive voyages to Guinea, bringing back a 
 thousand blacks, whom he superintended during a trip of 
 fifteen hundred leagues, and finally landed clandestinely 
 on the coast of Brazil. When Gaston had been about three 
 years on board, the " Tom Jones " put into Rio Janeiro. 
 He now had an opportunity of leaving the captain, who 
 was after all a worthy man, and never would have engaged 
 in the diabolical traffic of human beings, but for his little 
 daughter's sake, his little Mary, an angel, whose dowry he 
 wished to make a magnificent one. Gaston had saved 
 twelve thousand francs out of his share of the profits, when 
 he landed in Brazil. As a proof that the slave trade was 
 repugnant to his nature he left the slaver the moment he 
 possessed a little capital with which to enter some honest 
 business. But he was no longer the high-minded, pure- 
 hearted Gaston, who had been so beloved by the little fairy 
 of La Verberie. It is useless to deny that evil examples 
 are pernicious to morals. The most upright characters are 
 unconsciously influenced by bad surroundings. As the ex- 
 posure to rain, sun, and sea-air first darkened and then 
 hardened his skin, so did wicked associates first shock and 
 then destroy the refinement and purity of Gaston's rnind, 
 
FILE NO. 113. 255 
 
 His heart had become as hard and coarse as his sailor 
 hands. He still remembered Valentine, and sighed for 
 her presence ; but though she was still the most beloved, 
 she was no longer the one woman in the world to him. 
 However, the three years, after which he had pledged him- 
 self to return, had passed ; perhaps Valentine was expect- 
 ing him. Before deciding on any definite project, he wrote 
 to an intimate friend at Beaucaire to learn what hadhap- 
 pened during his long absence. He also wrote to his father, 
 to whom he had already sent several letters, whenever he 
 had an opportunity of doing so. At the end of a year, he re 
 ceived his friend's reply. It told him that his father was 
 dead, that his brother had left France, that Valentine was 
 married, and, finally, that he, Gaston, had been sentenced 
 to several years' imprisonment for manslaughter. Hence- 
 forth he was alone in the world, with no country, disgraced 
 by a public sentence. Valentine was married, and he had 
 no further object in life ! He would hereafter have faith 
 in no one, since she, Valentine, had cast him off and for- 
 gotten him, had lacked the courage to keep her promise 
 and wait for him. In his despair, he almost regretted the 
 " Tom Jones." Yes, he sighed for the wicked slaver crew, 
 his life of excitement and peril, the dangers and triumphs 
 of those bold corsairs who die on sacks of dollars or strung 
 up to the yard-arm. 
 
 But Gaston was not a man to be long cast down. " I 
 will earn money, then," he cried with rage, " since money is 
 the only thing in this world which never deceives ! " And 
 he set to work with a greedy activity, which increased 
 every day. He tried all the many speculations open to 
 adventurers. Alternately he traded in furs, worked a mine, 
 and cultivated lands. Five times he went to bed rich, 
 and waked up ruined ; five times, with the patience of the 
 beaver, whose hut is swept away by the current, he recom- 
 menced the building of his fortune. Finally, after long, 
 weary years of toil and struggle, he was worth about a 
 million in gold, besides immense facts of land. He had 
 often said that he would never leave Brazil, that he wanted 
 to end his days in Rio. He had forgotten that love for 
 his native land never dies in a Frenchman s breast. Now 
 that he was rich, he wished to die in France. He 
 made inquiries, and found that the law of limitations 
 would permit him to return without b«:og disturbed by 
 
356 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 the authorities. He realized what he could of his property, 
 and, leaving the rest in charge of an agent, he embarked 
 for France. Twenty-three years and four months had 
 elapsed since he fled from home, when, on a bright day in 
 January, 1866, he stood upon the quays at Bordeaux. He 
 had departed a young man, with his heart brimful of hope ; 
 *he returned gray-haired, and believing in nothing. His 
 health, too, on his arrival, began to suffer from the sudden 
 change of climate. Rheumatism confined him to his bed 
 for several months. As soon as he could sit up, the phy- 
 sicians sent him to some baths, where they said he would 
 regain his health. When cured, he felt that inactivity 
 would kill him. Charmed with the beauty of the Pyrenees, 
 and the lovely valley of Aspe, he resolved to take up his 
 abode there. An iron-foundry was for sale near Oloron, 
 on the banks of the Gave ; he bought it with the intention 
 of utilizing the immense quantity of wood, which for want 
 of means of transport was wasting in the mountains. 
 
 He had been settled some weeks in his new home, when 
 one evening his servant brought him the card of a stranger 
 who desired to see him. He read the name on the card : 
 Louis de Clamerait. Many years had passed since Gaston 
 had experienced such violent agitation. His blood rushed to 
 his head, and he trembled like a leaf. The old home affec- 
 tions which he thought dead now sprung up anew in his 
 heart. A thousand confused memories rushed through his 
 mind. Words rose to his lips, but he was unable to utter 
 them. " My brother ! " he at length gasped, " my brother ! " 
 Hurriedly passing by the frightened servant, he ran down 
 stairs. In the hall a man, Louis de Clameran, stood wait- 
 ing. Gaston threw his arms round his neck and held him 
 in a close embrace for some minutes, and then drew him 
 into a room. Seated close beside Louis, and tightly clasp- 
 ing his two hands, Gaston gazed on his face as a fond 
 mother would gaze at her son just returned from the bat- 
 tle-field. 
 
 " And is this really Louis ? " he cried. " My dearly 
 loved brother ? Why, I should have recognized you among 
 a thousand ; the expression of your face has not in the 
 least changed, your smile is the same as it used to be.'" 
 
 Louis did indeed smile, just as he perhaps smiled on that 
 fatal night when his horse stumbled, and prevented Gas- 
 ton's escape. He smiled now as if he was perfectly happy j 
 
FILE NO. 113. 257 
 
 he seemed overjoyed. He had exerted all the courage he 
 possessed to venture upon this meeting. Nothing but the 
 most terrible necessity would have induced him to present 
 himself thus. His teeth chattered and he trembled in 
 every limb when he rang Gaston's bell, and handed the 
 servant his card, saying, " Take this to your master." 
 The few moments that elapsed before Gaston's appear- 
 ance seemed to him centuries. He said to himself, " Per- 
 haps it is not he. And if it is, does he know t Does he 
 suspect anything ? " He was so anxious that, when he saw 
 Gaston rushing down stairs, he felt like ficeing from the 
 house. Not knowing the nature of Gaston's feelings tow- 
 ards him, he stood perfectly motionless. But one glance 
 at his brother's face convinced him that he was the same 
 affectionate, credulous, trusting Gaston of old ; and, now 
 that he was almost certain that his brother harbored no 
 suspicions, he recovered himself and smiled. 
 
 " After all," continued Gaston, " I am not alone in the 
 world ; I shall have some one to love, some one to care for 
 me." Then, as if suddenly struck by a thought, he 
 asked, " Are you married, Louis ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " That is a pity, a great pity. It would so have added te 
 my happiness to see you the husband of a good, affection- 
 ate woman, the father of bright, lovely children ! It would 
 have been a comfort to have a happy family about me. 
 I should have looked upon them all as my own. To live 
 alone, without a loving wife to share one's joys and sor- 
 rows, is not living at all. Oh, the sadness of having only 
 one's self to care for ! But what am I saying ? I have 
 you, Louis, and is not that enough ? I have a brother, a 
 friend with whom I can talk aloud, as I have for so long 
 talked to myself." 
 
 " Yes, Gaston, yes, a good friend ! " 
 
 " Of course ! for are you not my brother ? So you are not 
 married ! Then we will keep house together. We will 
 live like two old bachelors, as we are, and be as happy as 
 kings; we will amuse each other, we will thoroughly enjoy 
 ourselves. What a capital idea ! You make me feel young 
 again, barely twenty. I feel as active and strong as I did 
 the night I swam across the swollen Rhone. And that 
 was long, long ago; and since, I have struggled, I have 
 suffered, I have cruelly aged and changed." 
 17 
 
258 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 " You I " interrupted Louis ; " why, you have not aged 
 as much as I have." 
 
 " You are jesting." 
 
 " I assure you." 
 
 " Would you have recognized me ?" 
 
 " Instantly. You are very little changed." 
 
 And Louis was right. He himself had a worn-out, used- 
 up appearance rather than an aged one ; while Gaston, in 
 spite of his gray hair and weather-beaten face, was a ro- 
 bust man, in his prime. It was a relief to turn from Louis's 
 restless eyes and crafty smiles to Gaston's frank, honest 
 face. 
 
 " But," said Gaston, " how did you know that I was liv- 
 ing? What kind fairy guided you to my house .'' " 
 
 Louis was prepared for this question. During his eight- 
 een hours' ride in the train he had had time to arrange 
 all his answers. " We must thank Providence for this 
 happy meeting," he replied. " Three days ago, a friend 
 of mine returned from some baths, and mentioned that he 
 had heard that a Marquis de Clameran was near there, in 
 the Pyrenees You can imagine my surprise. I instantly 
 supposed that some impostor had assumed our name. I 
 took the next train, and finally found my way here." 
 
 " Then you did not expect to see me ? " 
 
 " My dear brother, how could I hope for that ? I thought 
 that you were drowned twenty-three years ago." 
 
 " Drowned ! Mademoiselle de La Verberie certainly told 
 you of my escape. She promised that she would go her- 
 self, the next day, and tell my father of my safety." 
 
 Louis assumed a distressed look, as if he hesitated to 
 tell the sad truth, and murmured in a regretful tone : 
 " Alas ! she never told us." 
 
 Gaston's eyes flashed with indignation. He thought 
 that perhaps Valentine had been glad to get rid of him. 
 " She did not tell you ? " he exclaimed. " Did she have 
 the cruelty to let you mourn my death ? to let my old 
 father die of a broken heart ? Ah ! she must have been 
 very fearful of the world's ©pinion. She sacrificed me, 
 then, for the sake of her reputation." 
 
 " But why did you not write to us ? " asked Louis. 
 
 " I did write as soon as I had an opportunity ; and La- 
 fourcade wrote back, saying that my father was dead, and 
 that you had left the neighborhood." 
 
FILE NO. 113. 259 
 
 " I left Clameran because I believed you to be dead." 
 
 Gaston rose, and walked up and down the room as if to 
 shake off a feeling of sadness ; then he said cheerfully : 
 " Well, it's of no use mourning over the past. All the 
 memories in the world, good or bad, are not worth one 
 slender hope for the future ; and thank heaven^ we have 
 a bright future before us." 
 
 Louis was silent. His footing was not sure enough to 
 risk any questions. 
 
 " But here I have been talking incessantly for an hour," 
 said Gaston, "and I dare say that you have not dined." 
 
 " No, I have not, I own." 
 
 " Why did you not say so before ? I forgot that I had 
 not dined myself. I will not let you starve, the first day of 
 your arrival. Ah ! I have some splendid old Cape wine." 
 
 He pulled the bell, and ordered the servant to hasten 
 dinner ; and within half-an-hour the two brothers were 
 seated at a sumptuous repast. Gaston kept up an unin- 
 terrupted stream of questions. He wished to know all, 
 that had happened during his absence. 
 
 "What about Clameran ? " he abruptly asked. 
 
 Louis hesitated a moment. Should he tell the truth^ or 
 not ? "I have sold Clameran," he finally said. 
 
 " The chateau too ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "You acted as you thought best," said Gaston, sadly; 
 " but it seems to me that, if I had been in your place, I 
 should have kept the old homestead. Our ancestors lived 
 there for many generations, and our father died there." 
 Then seeing Louis appeared sad and distressed, he quickly 
 added : " However, it is just as well ; it is in the heart 
 that memory dwells, and not in a pile of old stones. I my- 
 self had not the courage to return to Provence. I could 
 not trust myself to go to Clameran, where I would have 
 to gaze on the park of La Verberie. Alas, the only happy 
 moments of my life were spent there ! " 
 
 Louis's countenance immediately cleared. The cer- 
 tainty that Gaston had not been to Provence relieved his 
 mind of an immense weight. The next day he telegraphed 
 to Raoul ; " Wisdom and prudence. Follow my directions. 
 All goes well. Be sanguine." 
 
 All was going well ; and yet Louis, in spite of his skil- 
 fully plied questions, had obtained none of the informa' 
 
260 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 tion which he had come to seek. Gaston was communica' 
 tive on every subject except the one in which Louis was 
 most interested. Was this silence premeditated, or sim- 
 ply unconscious ? Louis, like all villains, was ever ready 
 to attribute to others the bad motives by which he himself 
 would be influenced. Anything was better than this un- 
 certainty ; he determined to ask his brother what he in- 
 tended doing. They had just sat down to lunch, and he 
 thought the moment an opportune one. 
 
 " Do you know, my dear Gaston," he began by saying ; 
 "that thus far we have spoken of everything except serious 
 matters ? " 
 
 " Why do you look so solemn, Louis ! What are the 
 grave subjects you allude to ? " 
 
 " Well, there is this : believing you to be dead, I in- 
 herited all our father left." 
 
 " Is that what vou call a serious matter ? " asked Gas- 
 ton with an amused smile. 
 
 " Certainly. I owe you an account of your share ; you 
 have a right to half." 
 
 " I have," interrupted Gaston, " a right to ask you never 
 to allude to the subject again. What you have is yours by 
 limitation." 
 
 " No, I cannot accept it." 
 
 " But you must. Our father wished to have only one 
 of us to inherit his property ; we will be carrying out his 
 wishes by not dividing it." Seeing that Louis's face still 
 remained clouded, Gaston added : " Come now, you must 
 be very rich, or think me very poor, to insist thus." 
 
 Louis started at this remark. What could he say so as 
 not to commit himself ? 
 
 " I am neither rich nor poor," he finally observed. 
 
 " I am delighted to hear it," exclaimed his brother. 
 " I wish you were as poor as Job, so that I might share 
 what I have with you." 
 
 Luncheon over, Gaston rose and said : " Come, I want 
 to show you my — that is, our property." 
 
 Louis uneasily followed. It seemed to him that Gaston 
 obstinately shunned anything like an explanation. Could 
 all this brotherly affection be assumed to blind him as to 
 his real plans ? Louis's fears were again aroused, and he 
 almost regretted his hasty telegram. But his calm, smil- 
 ing face betrayed none of the anxious thoughts which 
 
FILE KO. 113. 261 
 
 filled his mind. He was called upon to examine every- 
 thing. First he was taken over the house and then the 
 servants' quarters, the stables, kennels, and the vast, 
 beautifully laid-out garden. Across a pretty meadow was 
 the iron-foundry in full operation. Gaston, with all the 
 enthusiasm of a new proprietor, explained everything. 
 down to the smallest file and hammer. He detailed all 
 his projects ; how he intended substituting wood for coal, 
 and how, besides having plenty to work the forge, he 
 could make immense profits by felling the forest trees, 
 which had hitherto been considered impracticable. Louis 
 approved of everything ; but only answered in monosylla- 
 bles, " Ah, indeed ! excellent idea ! quite a success ! " 
 His mind was tortured by a new pain ; he was paying no 
 attention to Gaston's remarks, but enviously comparing 
 all this wealth and prosperity with his own poverty. He 
 found Gaston rich, respected, and happy, enjoying the 
 price of his own industry ; whilst he — Never had he so 
 cruelly felt the misery of his condition, which was of his 
 own making. After a lapse of twenty-three years, all the 
 envy and hate he had felt towards Gaston, when they 
 were boys together, revived. 
 
 " What do you think of my purchase ? " asked Gaston, 
 when the inspection was over. 
 
 " I think you possess, my dear brother, a most charm- 
 ing property, situated in the loveliest spot in the world. 
 It is enough to excite the envy of any poor Parisian." 
 
 " Do you really think so .'' " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Then, my dear Louis," said Gaston joyfully, " this 
 property is yours, as well as mine. You like it, then live 
 here always. Do you really care for your foggy Paris ? 
 Do you not prefer this beautiful Be'ara sky ? The scanty 
 and paltry luxury of Paris is not equnl to the good and 
 plentiful living you will find here. You are a bachelor, 
 therefore you have no ties. Remain, we shall want for 
 nothing. And, to employ our time, there is the foundry. 
 Does my plan suit you ? " 
 
 Louis was silent. A year ago, this proposal would have 
 been eagerly welcomed. How gladly he would have seized 
 this offer of a comfortable, luxurious home, after having 
 been buffeted about the world so long ! How delightful 
 it would have been to turn over a new leaf, and become 
 
262 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 an honest man ! But he saw, with disappointment and 
 rage, that he would now be compelled to decline it. No, 
 he was no longer free. He could not leave Paris. He 
 had become entangled in one of those hazardous plots 
 which are lost if neglected, and the loss of which generally 
 leads the projector into penal servitude. Alone, he could 
 easily remain where he was ; but he was trammelled with 
 an accomplice. 
 
 " You do not answer me," said Gaston, with surprise ; 
 -^* are there any obstacles to my plans ? " 
 
 " None." 
 
 '* What is the matter, then ? " 
 
 * The matter is, my dear brother, that the salary of an 
 appointment which I hold in Paris is all that I have to 
 support me." 
 
 " Is that your only objection ? Yet, you just now 
 wanted to pay me back half of the family inheritance ! 
 Louis, that is unkind ; you are not acting as a brother 
 should." 
 
 Louis hung his head. Gaston was unconsciously tell- 
 ing the truth. " I should be a burden to you, Gaston." 
 
 " A burden ! Why Louis, you must be mad ! Did I not 
 tell you I was very rich .'' Do you suppose that you have 
 seen all I possess ? This house and the iron-works do 
 not constitute a fourth of my fortune. Do you think that 
 I would have risked my twenty years' savings in an ex- 
 periment of this sort? I have invested, in state securities, 
 an income of twenty-four thousand francs. And that is 
 not all ; it seemi that I shall be able to sell my grants in 
 Brazil ; I am lucky ! My agent has already forwarded 
 me four hundred thousand francs." 
 
 Louis trembled with pleasure. He was, at last, to 
 know the extent of the danger menacing him. *' What 
 agent ? " he asked, with assumed indifference. 
 
 " Why, my old partner at Rio, of course. The money 
 is now at my Paris banker's, quite at my disposal." 
 
 " Some friend of yours ? " 
 
 " Well, no. He was recommended to me by my banker 
 at Pau, as a very rich, prudent, and reliable man. His 
 name is — let me see — Andr^ Fauvel, and he lives in the 
 Rue de Provence." 
 
 Master of himself as he was, and prepared for what he 
 was about to hear, Louis turned pale and red by turns. 
 
FILE NO. 113. 263 
 
 " Do you know this banker ? " asked Gaston, who, full 
 of his own thoughts, did not notice his brother's condi- 
 tion. 
 
 " Only by reputation." 
 
 "Then, we can shortly make his acquaintance together; 
 for I think of accompanying you to Paris, when you return 
 there to wind up your affairs, before establishing yourself 
 here." 
 
 At this unexpected announcement of a step which would 
 prove his utter ruin, Louis managed to maintain his self- > 
 possession. It seemed to him that his brother was look- 
 ing him through and through. " You are going to Paris t " 
 he uttered. 
 
 " Certainly I am. What is there extraordinary in that .'' " 
 
 "Oh! nothing." 
 
 " I hate Paris, although I have never been there ; but 
 I am called there by interest, by sacred duties," he hesi- 
 tatingly said. " The truth is, I understand that Made- 
 moiselle de La Verberie lives in Paris, and I wish to see 
 her again." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 Gaston was silent and thoughful for some moments, 
 and then resumed, nervously, " I can tell you, Louis, why 
 I wish to see her. When I went away, I left our mother's 
 jewels in her keeping." 
 
 " And you intend, after a lapse of twenty-three years, to 
 claim these jewels ?" 
 
 " Yes — or rather no ; that is only a vain excuse for see- 
 ing her, with which I try to satisfy myself. I must see 
 her, because — because — I loved her ; that is the truth." 
 
 " But how will you find her ? " 
 
 " Oh ! that is easy enough. _ Any one almost can tell 
 me her husband's name, and then I will go to see her. I 
 will write to-morrow, to Beaucaire, for the information." 
 
 Louis made no reply. Men of his character, when 
 brought face to face with imminent danger, always weigh 
 their words, and say as little as possible, for fear of com- 
 mitting themselves by some indiscreet remark. Above all 
 things, Louis was careful to avoid raising any objections 
 to his brother's proposed trip to Paris. To oppose a man's 
 wishes has generally the effect of fixing them more firmly 
 in his mind. Each argument is like striking a nail with a 
 hammer. Knowing this, Louis changed the conversatior^ 
 
264 I'^ILE NO. 113. 
 
 and nothing more during the day was said of Valentine 01 
 Paris. At night, alone in his room, he brought his cunning 
 mind to bear upon the difficulties of his situation, and 
 wondered by what means he could extricate himself. At 
 first sight, it seemed hopeless. During the twenty years 
 Louis had been at war with society, trusted by none, living 
 upon his wits and the credulity of foolish men, he had, 
 many a time, found himself in a desperate position. He 
 had been caught at the gaming-table with his hands full of 
 marked cards ; he had been tracked all over Europe by 
 the police, and obliged to fly from city to city under an 
 assumed name ; he had sold to cowards his skilful hand 
 ling of the sword and pistol ; he had been thrown into a 
 prison, and had miraculously made his escape. He had 
 braved everything, and feared nothing. He had often 
 conceived and carried out the most criminal plans, without 
 the slightest hesitation or remorse. And now, here he sat, 
 utterly bewildered — unable to think clearly , his usual im- 
 pudence and ready cunning seemed to have deserted him. 
 Thus driven into a corner, he saw no means of escape, and 
 was almost tempted to give in, and retire from the struggle. 
 He asked himself if it would not be wiser to borrow a 
 large sum from Gaston, and fly the country. Vainly did 
 he think over the wicked experience of the past ; none of 
 his former successful stratagems could be resorted to in 
 the present case. Fatally, inevitably, he was about to be 
 caught in a trap laid by himself. The future was fraught 
 with ruin and disgrace. He had to fear the wrath of M. 
 Fauvel, his wife, and niece. Gaston would have speedy 
 vengeance the moment he discovered the truth ; and 
 Raoul, his accomplice, would certainly turn against him 
 in the hour of misfortune, and become his most implacable 
 enemy. Was there no possible way of preventing a meet- 
 ing between Valentine and Gaston ? No, none that he 
 could think of. And their meeting would be his destruc- 
 tion. 
 
 Lost in reflection, he paid no attention to the flight of 
 time. Daybreak found him sitting at the window, expos- 
 ing to the morning breeze his burning brow, which seemed 
 on the point of bursting. " It is useless for me to think," 
 he muttered. " There is nothing to be done but gain 
 time, and wait for an opportunity." The fall of the h^^ se 
 at Clameran was, no doubt, what Louis called " an oppor« 
 
FILE NO. 113. 265 
 
 tunity." He closed the window, threw himself upon the 
 bed, and so accustomed was he to danger, that he soon 
 slept. At the breakfast-table, his calm, smiling face bore 
 no traces of a wakeful, anxious night. He was in a gayer, 
 more talkative, and affectionate mood than sual, and said 
 he would like to ride about the country. Before leaving 
 the table, he had planned several excursions in the neigh' 
 borhood. The truth is, he hoped to keep Gaston so 
 amused and occupied, that he would forget all about going 
 to Paris in search of Valentine. He thought that, with 
 time, and skilfully put objections, he could dissuade his 
 brother from seeking out his former love. He relied upon 
 being able to convince him that this absolutely unneces- 
 sary interview would be painful to both, embarrassing 10 
 him, and dangerous to her. As to the jewels, if Gaston 
 persisted in claiming them, Louis could safely offer to go 
 and get them for him, as he well knew where they were. 
 But his hopes and plans were soon scattered to the winds. 
 
 " You know," said Gaston, one morning, " I have writ- 
 ten." 
 
 Louis knew well enough to what he alluded, but pretend- 
 ed to be very much surprised, and said, '' Written ? To 
 whom ? Where ? What for 1 " 
 
 " To Beaucaire, to ask Lafourcade the name of Valen- 
 tine's husband." 
 
 " You are, then, still thinking of her ? " 
 
 " Always." 
 
 " You have not given up your idea of going to see 
 her ? " 
 
 " Not in the least." 
 
 " Alas ! brother, you forget that she whom you once 
 loved ^s now the wife of another, and possibly the mother 
 of a family. How do you know that she will consent to 
 see you ? Why run the risk of destroying her domestic 
 happiness, and planting seeds of remorse in your own 
 bosom ? " 
 
 " I know I am a fool, but my folly is dear to me." 
 
 The quiet determination of Gaston's tone convinced 
 Louis that all remonstrances would be unavailing. Yet, he 
 remained the same in his manner and behavior, appar- 
 ently engrossed in pleasure parties ; but, in reality, his 
 only thought was of the letters delivered at the house. 
 He always managed to be near the door when the post 
 
266 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 man came. When he and Gaston were out together at 
 the time of the postman's visit, he would hurry into the 
 house first, so as to look over the letters delivered in their 
 absence. His watchfulness was at last rewarded. The fol- 
 lowing Sunday, among the letters handed to him by the 
 postman, was one bearing the postmark of Beaucaire. 
 He quickly slipped it into his pocket ; and, although he was 
 on the point of mounting his horse to ride with Gaston, h(s 
 found a pretext for running up to his room, so as to gratify 
 his impatient desire to read the letter. He tore it open,' 
 and, seeing " Lafourcade " signed at the bottom of three 
 closely written pages, hastily devoured the contents. After 
 reading a detailed account of events entirely uninterest- 
 ing to him, Louis came to the following passage relating 
 to Valentine : — " Mademoiselle de La Verberie's husband 
 is an eminent banker, named Andre Fauvel. I have not 
 the honor of his acquaintance, but I intend going to see 
 him shortly. I am anxious to submit to him a project that 
 I have conceived for the benefit of this part of the country. 
 If he approves of it, I shall ask him to invest in it, as his 
 name will be of great assistance to the scheme. I suppose 
 you have no objections to my mentioning your name as a 
 reference." Louis trembled like a man who had just had 
 a narrow escape from death. He well knew that he would 
 have to fly, if Gaston received this letter. But though the 
 danger was warded off for the while, it might return and 
 destroy him at any moment. Gaston would wait a week 
 or so for an answer, then he would write again ; Lafour- 
 cade would instantly reply to express surprise that his first 
 letter had not been received ; all this correspondence 
 would occupy, at the most, not more than twelve days. 
 And then, Lafourcade's visit to Paris was another source 
 of danger, for the instant he mentioned the name of De 
 Clameran to the banker, everythmg would be discovered. 
 
 But Gaston was getting tired of waiting. "Are you 
 coming ? " he cried. 
 
 " I am coming now," replied Louis. 
 
 Hastily thrusting Lafourcade's letter into a secret com- 
 partment of his trunk, Louis ran down to his brother. He 
 had made up his mind to borrow a large sum from Gaston, 
 and go off to America ; and Raoul might get out of the 
 scrape as best he could. The only thing which he re- 
 gretted was the sudden failure of the most skilful -^umbi 
 
FILE NO. 113. 267 
 
 nation he had ever conceived ; but he was not a man to 
 fight against destiny, so he determined to make the best 
 of the emergency, and hope for better fortune in his next 
 scheme. The following day, about dusk, while walking 
 along the pretty road leading from the foundry to Oloron, 
 he commenced the prologue of a little story, which was to 
 conclude by asking Gaston to lend him two hundred thou- 
 sand francs. As they went slowly along, arm in arm, about 
 half a mile from the foundry they met a young laborer, 
 who bowed as he passed them. Louis started back so 
 violently that his brother asked him in surprise what was 
 the matter. 
 
 " Nothing, except I struck my foot against a stone, and 
 it hurt me." 
 
 Gaston might have known, by the tremulous tones of 
 Louis's voice, that this was a lie. Louis cle Clameran had 
 reason to tremble, for in the workman he recognized Raoul 
 de Lagors. Instinctive fear paralyzed and overw'helmed 
 him. His volubility was gone ; and he silently walked 
 along by his brother's side, like an automaton, totally in- 
 capable of thinking or acting for himself. He seemed to 
 listen — he did listen ; but the words fell upon his ear un- 
 meaningly ; he could not understand what Gaston was say- 
 ing, and mechanically answered " yes " or " no," like one 
 in a dream. Whilst necessity — absolute necessity — kept 
 him at Gaston's side, his thoughts were all with the young 
 man who had just passed by. What had brought Raoul 
 to Oloron ? What plot was he hatching ? Why was he 
 disguised as a laborer t Why had he not answered the 
 many letters which Louis had written him from Oloron 1 
 He had ascribed this silence to Raoul's carelessness, but 
 now he saw it was premeditated. Something disastrous 
 must have happened at Paris ; and Raoul, afraid to com- 
 mit himself by writing, had come himself to bring the bad 
 news. Had he come to say that the game was up, and 
 they must fly? But, after all, he might have been mis- 
 taken. Perhaps it was some workman bearing a strong 
 resemblance to Raoul. If he could only run after the 
 stranger, and speak to him ! His anxiety increased, min- 
 ute by minute, and at length became intolerable. Fortu- 
 nately, Gaston was rather tired that evenmg, and returned 
 home much earlier than usual. He went to his own room 
 at once. At last, Loijis wa§ free ! He lit a cigar, and^ 
 
«6S , FILE NO. 113. 
 
 telling the servant not to sit up for him, went out. He 
 expected that Raoul, if it was Raoul, would be prowling 
 near the house, waiting for him. He was not mistaken, 
 He had hardly proceeded thirty yards, when a man sud 
 denly sprang from behind a tree, and stood before him 
 The night was clear, and Louis at once recognized Raoul 
 
 " What is the matter 1 " he impatiently demanded 
 I** what has happened 1 " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 "What! Do you mean to say that nothing has gone 
 wrong in Paris .'' " 
 
 '' Nothing whatever. I will add, too, that, but for your 
 inordinate greed of gain, everything would be going on 
 swimmingly." 
 
 " Then why have you come here ? " cried Louis, fiercely. 
 " Who gave you permission to desert your post, at the risk 
 of ruining us both ? " 
 
 " That is my business," said Raoul, coolly. 
 
 Louis seized the young man's wrist, and almost crushed 
 *hem in his vice-like grasp. " Explain this strange conduct 
 of yours," he exclaimed, in a tone of suppressed rage. 
 
 Without apparent effort, Raoul released his hands from 
 their imprisonment, and jeeringly said : " Gently, my friend ! 
 I don't like being roughly treated, and I have other means 
 of answering you." At the same time, he drew a revolver 
 from his pocket. 
 
 " You must and shall explain yourself," insisted Louis ; 
 " if you don't — " 
 
 "Well, if I don't.-* Now, you might just as well spare 
 yourself the trouble of trying to frighten me. I intend to 
 answer your questions when I choose ; but it certainly 
 won't be here, in the middle of the road, with the bright 
 moonlight showing us off to advantage. How do you 
 know people are not watching us this very minute 1 Come 
 this way." 
 
 They strode through the fields, regardless of the plants, 
 which they trampled under foot in order to take a short 
 cut. 
 
 " Now," began Raoul, when they were at a safe distance 
 from the road, " now, my^lear uncle, I will tell you what 
 brings me here. I have received and carefully read your 
 letters, and read them more than once. You wished to be 
 prudent, and the consequence w^s that your letters wor? 
 
FILE NO. 113. 2(^ 
 
 unintelligible. Only one thing did I understand clearly : 
 we are in danger." 
 
 " Only the more reason for your watchfulness and obedi- 
 ence." 
 
 "Very well put. Only, before braving danger, my ven> 
 erable and beloved uncle, I want to know its extent. I 
 am not a man to retreat in the hour of peril, but I want to 
 know exactly how much risk I am running." 
 
 " Did I not tell you to keep quiet ? " 
 
 "'But to do this would imply that I have perfect confi 
 dence in you, my dear uncle," said Raoul, sneeringly. 
 
 " And why should you not ? What reasons for distrust 
 have you, after all that I have done for you ? Who went 
 to London, and rescued you from a state of privation and 
 ignominy? I did. Who gave you a name and position 
 when you had neither ? I did. And who is working even 
 now to maintain your present life of ease, and insure you 
 a splendid future ? I am." 
 
 " Superb, magnificent, inimitable ! " said Raoul with 
 mocking admiration. " But, while on the subject, why 
 don't you prove that 3^ou have sacrificed yourself for my 
 sake ? You did not need me as a tool for carrying out 
 plans for your own benefit ; did you ? oh no, not at all ! 
 Dear, kind, generous, disinterested uncle ! You ought to 
 have the Montyon prize ; I must recommend you for it." 
 
 De Clameran was so enraged that he feared to trust 
 himself to speak. 
 
 " Now, my good uncle," continued Raoul more seriously, 
 " we had better end this child's play, and come to a clear 
 understanding. I followed you here, because I thoroughly 
 understand your character, and have just as much confidence 
 in you as you deserve, and not a particle more. If it were 
 for your advantage to ruin me, you would not hesitate one 
 instant. If danger threatened us, you would fly alone, and 
 leave your dutiful nephew to make his escape the best way 
 he could. Oh ! don't look shocked, and pretend to deny 
 it ; your conduct is perfectly natural, and in your place I 
 would act the same way. Only remember this, that I am 
 not a man to be trifled with. Now let us cease these un- 
 necessary recriminations, and come to the point : what 
 has been happening here ? " 
 
 Louis saw that his accomplice was too shrewd to be de- 
 ceived, and that the safest course was to trust all to him, 
 
«70 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 and to pretend that he had intended doing so all aiong. 
 Without any show of anger, he briefly and clearly related 
 all that had occurred at his brother's. He told the truth 
 about everything except the amount of his brother's for- 
 tune, the importance of which he lessened as much as 
 possible. 
 
 " Well," said Raoul, when the report was ended, "we 
 are in a nice fix. And you expect to get out of it, do you ? ''' 
 
 " Yes, if you don't betray me." 
 
 " I wish you to understand, marquis, that I have never 
 betrayed any one yet. What steps will you take to get free 
 of this entanglement .'* " 
 
 " I don't know yet ; but something will turn up. Oh, 
 don't be alarmed ; I'll find some means of escape : so you 
 can return home with your mind set at rest. You run no 
 risk in Paris, and I will stay here to watch Gaston." 
 
 Raoul reflected for some moments, and then said : " Are 
 you sure I am out of danger in Paris ? " 
 
 " What are you afraid of "i We have Madame Fauvel 
 so completely in our power that she would not dare speak 
 a word against us, even if she knew the whole truth, which 
 no one but you and I know : she would not not open her 
 lips, but be only too glad to hush up matters so as to es- 
 cape punishment for her fault from her deceived husband 
 and a censuring world." 
 
 " That is so. I know we have a secure hold on her," 
 said Raoul. *' It is not of her I am afraid." 
 
 " Of whom, then ? " 
 
 " An enemy of your own making, my respected uncle, a 
 most implacable enemy — Madeleine." 
 
 " Fiddlesticks ! " replied De Clameran disdainfully. 
 
 " It is all very well for you to treat her with contempt," 
 said Raoul gravely ; " but I can tell you, you are much 
 mistaken in your estimate of her character. I have studied 
 her lately, and see that she has devoted herself to save her 
 aunt ; but she has not given in. She has promised to 
 marry you, she has discarded Prosper, who is broken- 
 hearted, it is true ; but she has not given up hope. You 
 imagine her to be weak and yielding, easily frightened ? 
 It's a great mistake : she is self-reliant and fearless. 
 More than that, she is in love, my good uncle ; and a 
 woman will defend her love as a tigress defends her young. 
 There is the danger," 
 
FILE NO. 113. 271 
 
 " She is worth five hundred thousand francs." 
 
 " So she is ; and at five per cent, we would each have aw 
 income of twelve thousand five hundred francs. But, for 
 all that, you had better take my advice, and give up Made- 
 leine." 
 
 " Never, I swear by heaven ! " exclaimed De Clameran. 
 " Rich or poor, she shall be mine ! I first wanted her for 
 her money, but now I want her — I love her for herself, 
 Raoul ! " 
 
 Raoul seemed to be amazed at this declaration of his 
 iincle. He raised his hands, and started back with aston- 
 ishment. " Is it possible," he said, " that you are in love 
 with Madeleine ? — you ! " 
 
 " Yes," replied Louis in a tone of suspicion. " Is there 
 anything so very extraordinary in it ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ; certainly not ! only this sentimental state you 
 are in explains your strange behavior. So, you love Made- 
 leine ! Then, my venerable uncle, we may as well surren- 
 der at once." 
 
 " Why so ? " 
 
 " Because you know the axiom, ' When the heart is in- 
 terested, the head is lost.' Generals in love always lose 
 their battles. The day is not far off when your infatuation 
 for Madeleine will make you sell us both for a smile. 
 And, mark my words, she is shrewd, and watching us as 
 only an enemy can watch." 
 
 With a forced laugh De Clameran interrupted his 
 nephew. 
 
 *' Just see how you fire up for nothing," he said. " You 
 must dislike the charming Madeleine then very much." 
 
 " She will prove lo be our ruin ; that is all." 
 
 " You might as well be frank, and say you are in love 
 with her yourself." 
 
 " I am only in love with her money," retorted Raoul 
 with an angry frown. 
 
 " Then what are you complaining of ? I shall give you 
 half her fortune. You will have the money without being 
 troubled with the wife ; the profit without the burden." 
 
 "I am not over fifty years old," said Raoul conceit* 
 edly. 
 
 " Enough of this," interrupted Louis, angrily. " The 
 day I relieved your pressing wants, and brought you to 
 Paris, it was agreed that I should be the master." 
 
2*^2 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 " Yes ; but you forget that my liberty, perhaps my life, 
 is at stake. You may hold the cards, but I must have the 
 right of advising you." 
 
 It was midnight before the accomplices separated. " It 
 won't do to stand idle," said Louis. " I agree with you 
 that something must be done at once ; but I can't decide 
 what it shall be on the spur of the moment. Meet me here 
 at this hour, to-morrow night, and I will have some plan 
 ready for you." 
 
 " Very good. I will be here." 
 
 " And remember, don't be imprudent ! " 
 
 " My costume ought to convince you that I am not anx- 
 ious to be recognized by any one. I left such an ingen- 
 ious alibi, that I defy anybody to prove that I have been 
 absent from the house at Vesinet. I even took the pre- 
 caution of travelling here third-class. Well, good-night ; I 
 am going to the inn." 
 
 Raoul went off after these words, apparently uncon- 
 scious of having aroused suspicion in the breast of his ac- 
 complice. During his adventurous life, De Clameran had 
 transacted " business " with too many scamps not to know 
 the precise amount of confidence to place in a man like 
 Raoul. The old adage, " Honor among thieves," seldom 
 holds good after the " stroke." There is always a quar- 
 rel over the division of the spoils. The distrustful De 
 Clameran foresaw already a thousand reasons for fear and 
 disputes. " Why," he pondered, " did Raoul assume this 
 disguise ? Why this alibi at Paris ? Can he be laying a 
 trap for me "i It is true that I have a hold upon him ; 
 but then I am completely at his mercy. Those accursed 
 letters which I have written to him, while here, are so many 
 proofs against me. Can he be thinking of cutting loose 
 from me, and making oif with all the profits of our enter- 
 prise ? " 
 
 Louis never once during the night closed his eyes ; but 
 by daybreak he had fully made up his mind how to act, 
 and with feverish impatience waited for night. His anx- 
 iety made him so restless, that the unobserving Gaston 
 finally noticed it, and asked him what the matter was ; if he 
 was ill, or troubled about anything. At last evening came, 
 and Louis was able to join Raoul, whom he found lying on 
 the grass smoking in the field where they had talked on 
 the preceding evening. 
 
FILE NO. 113. 273 
 
 " Well," he carelessly asked, as Louis approached, "have 
 you decided upon anything ? " 
 
 " Yes, I have two projects, either of which is, I think, 
 sure of success." 
 
 " I am listening." 
 
 Louis was silent for a minute, as if arranging his thoughts 
 so as to present them as clearly and briefly as possible. 
 " My nrst plan," he began, "depends upon your approval. 
 What would you say, if I proposed to you to give up the 
 affair altogether ? " 
 
 "What!" 
 
 " Would you consent to disappear, leave France, and 
 return to London, if I paid you a good round sum 1 " 
 
 " What do you call a good round sum .? " 
 
 " I could give you a hundred and fifty thousand francs." 
 
 " My respected uncle," said Raoul, with a contemptuous 
 shrug, " I am distressed to see how little you know me ! 
 You try to deceive me, to outwit me, which is ungenerous 
 and foolish on your part — ungenerous, because it fails to 
 carry out your agreement ; foolish, because, as you ought 
 to know by now, my power equals yours." 
 
 " I don't understand you." 
 
 " I am sorry for it. I understand myself, and that is 
 sufficient. Oh, I know you, my dear uncle ! I have 
 watched you with careful eyes, which are not to be de- 
 ceived ; I see through you clearly. If you offer me one 
 hundred and fifty thousand francs, it is because you intend 
 to walk off with a million for yourself." 
 
 "You are talking like a fool," said De Clameran, with 
 virtuous indignation. 
 
 " Not at all ; I only judge the future by the past. Of 
 all the large sums extorted from Madame Fauvel, often 
 against my wishes, I have scarcely received a tenth part." 
 
 " But you know we have a reserve fund." 
 
 " All very good ; but you have the keeping of it, my good 
 uncle. If our little plot were to be discovered to-morrow, 
 you would walk off with the money-box, and leave your 
 devoted nephew to be sent to prison." 
 
 " Ungrateful fellow ! " muttered Louis, as if distressed 
 at these undeserved reproaches. 
 
 "Bravo!" cried Raoul; "you said it splendidly. But 
 we have not time for this nonsense. I will end the matter 
 by proving how you have been trying to deceive me." 
 18 
 
274 PILE NO. 113. 
 
 " I would like to hear you do so, if you can." 
 
 " Very good. In the first place, you told me that yom 
 brother only possessed a modest competency. Now, I 
 learn that Gaston has an income of at least sixty thousand 
 francs ; it is useless for you to deny it. And how much is 
 this property worth ? A hundred thousand crowns. He 
 has four hundred thousand francs deposited in M. Fauvel's 
 bank. Total, seven hundred thousand francs. And be- 
 sides all this, the broker in Oloron has instructions to buy 
 up a large amount of government stock for him. I have 
 not wasted my day, as you see." 
 
 Raoul's information was too concise and exact for Louis 
 to deny it. 
 
 "You might have sense, enough," Raoul went on, "to 
 know how to manage your forces if you undertake to be a 
 commander. We had a splendid game in our hands ; and 
 you, who held the cards, have made a perfect muddle of it." 
 
 " I think—" 
 
 " That the game is lost t That is my opinion too, and all 
 through you." 
 
 " I could not control events." 
 
 " Yes, you could, if you had been shrewd. Fools sit 
 down and wait for an opportunity ; sensible men make 
 one. What did we agree upon in London ? We were to 
 implore my good mother to assist us a little, and if she 
 complied with our wishes, we were to be flattering and af- 
 fectionate in our devotion to her ; but, at the risk of killing 
 the golden goose, you have made me torment the poor 
 woman, until she is almost crazy." 
 
 " It was prudent to hasten matters." 
 
 " You think so, do you ? Was it also to hasten matters 
 that you took it into your head to marry Madeleine } That 
 made it necessary to let her into the secret ; and, ever 
 since, she has advised and set her aunt against us. I 
 would not be surprised if she makes her confess everything 
 to M. Fauvel, or even inform against us at the Prefecture of 
 Police." 
 
 " I love Madeleine ! " 
 
 "You told me that before. And suppose you do love 
 her. You led me into this piece of business without hav- 
 ing studied its various bearings — without knowing what 
 you were about. No one but an idiot, my beloved uncle, 
 would go and put his foot into a trap, and then say, ' If 1 
 
FILE NO. 113. 275 
 
 had only known about it ! ' You should have made it your 
 business to know everything. You came to me, and said, 
 *Your father is dead.' But not at all, he is living: and, 
 after what we have done, I dare not appear before him. 
 He would have left me a million, and now I shall not get 
 a sou. He will find his Valentine, and then good-by." 
 
 " Enough ! " angrily interrupted Louis. " If I have made 
 a mistake, I know how to redeem it. I can save everything 
 yet." 
 
 " You can ? How so ? " 
 
 " That is my secret," said Louis, gloomily. 
 
 Louis and Raoul were silent for a minute ; and this si- 
 lence between them, in this lonely spot, at dead of night, 
 was so horribly significant, that both of them shuddered. 
 An abominable thought had flashed across their evil minds, 
 and, without a word or look they understood each other. 
 
 Louis broke the ominous silence by abruptly saying : 
 " Then you refuse to disappear if I pay you a hundred 
 and fifty thousand francs ? Think it over before deciding ; 
 it is not too late yet." 
 
 " I have fully thought it over. I know you will not at- 
 tempt to deceive me any more. Between certain ease, and 
 the probability of an immense fortune, I choose the lat- 
 ter at all risks. I will share your success or your failure ; 
 we will swim or sink tOijether." 
 
 " And you will follow my instructions ?" 
 
 " Blindly." 
 
 Raoul must have been very certain of Louis's intentions, 
 for he did not ask him a single question. Perhaps he dared 
 not. Perhaps he preferred doubt to shocking certainty, as 
 if he could thus escape the remorse attendant upon crim- 
 inal complicity. 
 
 "In the first place," said Louis, "you must at once re- 
 turn to Paris." 
 
 " I will be there in forty-eight hours." 
 
 "You must be constantly at Madame FauveFs and keep 
 me informed of everything that takes place in the family." 
 
 " I understand." 
 
 Louis laid his hand on Raoul's shoulder, as if to impress 
 upon his mind what he was about to say. " You have a 
 sure means of being restored to your mother's confidence 
 and affection, by blaming me for everything that has hap- 
 pened to distress her. Abuse me constantly. The more 
 
276 PILE NO. 113. 
 
 odious you render me in her eyes and those of Madeleine, 
 the better you will serve me. Nothing would please me 
 more than to be denied admittance to the house when I re. 
 turn to Paris. You must say that you have quarrelled with 
 me, and that if I still come to see you, it is because you 
 cannot prevent it. That is the scheme : you can develop 
 it." 
 
 Raoul listened to these strange instructions with astonish- 
 ment. " What ! " he cried ; " you adore Madeleine, and 
 take this means of winning her good graces ? An odd way 
 of earring on a courtship, I must confess ! I will be shot if 
 I can comprehend." 
 
 " There is no necessity for your comprehending." 
 
 "All right," said Raoul, submissively. "If you say 
 so." 
 
 Then Louis reflected that no one could properly execute 
 a commission without having at least, an idea of its nature. 
 "Did you ever hear," he asked Raoul, "of the man who 
 burned down his lady-love's house so as to have the bliss 
 of carrying her out in his arms .'' " 
 
 " Yes ; what of it ? " 
 
 " At the proper time, I will charge you to set fire morally 
 to Madame Fauvel's house ; and I will rush in, and save 
 her and her niece. Now, in the eyes of those women, my 
 <:onduct will appear more magnanimous and noble in pro- 
 portion to the contempt and abuse they have heaped upon 
 me. I gain nothing by patient devotion ; I have every- 
 thing ^o hope from a sudden change of tactics. A well- 
 raanaged stroke will transform a demon into an angel." 
 
 " Very well ; a good idea ! " said Raoul, approvingly, 
 when his uncle had finished. 
 
 " Then you understand what is to be done ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but you will write to me ? " 
 
 " Of course ; and if anything should happen at Paris — " 
 
 " I will telegraph to you." 
 ' "And never lose sight of my rival, the cashier." 
 
 " Prosper .? Not much danger of our being troubled by 
 him, poor boy ! He is just now my most devoted friend. 
 Trouble has driven him into a path of life which will soon 
 prove his destruction. Every now and then I pity him 
 from the bottom of my soul." 
 
 "Pity him as much as you like." 
 
 The two men shook hands and separated, apparently the 
 
FILE NO. 113. 277 
 
 best friends in the world ; in reality, the bitterest enemies. 
 Raoul would not forgive Louis for having attempted to ap- 
 propriate all the booty and leave him in the lurch, when 
 it was he who had risked the greatest dangers. Louis, on 
 his part, was alarmed at the attitude taken by Raoul. Thus 
 far he had found him tractable, and even blindly obedient; 
 and now he had suddenly become rebellious and threaten- 
 ing. Instead of ordering Raoul, he was forced to consult 
 and bargain with him. What could be more wounding to 
 his vanity and self-conceit than the reproaches, well found- 
 ed though they were, to which he had been obliged to listen 
 from a mere youth ? As he walked back to his brother's 
 house, thinking over vvhc^t had just occurred, Louis swore 
 that sobner or later he would be revenged, and that as soon 
 as he could, he would take means of getting rid of Raoul 
 forever. But for the present he was so afraid of his young ac- 
 complice that, according to his promise, he wrote to him the 
 next day, and every succeeding day, full particulars of every- 
 thing that happened. Seeing how important it was to re- 
 store his shaken confidence, Louis entered into the most 
 minute details of his plans. The situation remained the 
 same : the dark cloud hung threateningly near, but grew no 
 larger. 
 
 Gaston seemed to have forgotten that he had written to 
 Beaucaire, and never mentioned Valentine's name once. 
 Like all men accustomed to a busy life, Gaston was miser- 
 able except when occupied, and spent his whole time in the 
 foundry, which seemed to absorb him entirely. It was 
 losing money when he purchased it ; but he determined to 
 work it until it should be equally beneficial to himself and 
 the neighborhood. He engaged the services of an intel- 
 ligent engineer, and, thanks to untiring energy and new 
 improvements in machinery, his receipts soon more than 
 equalled his expenses 
 
 " Now that we are doing so well," said Gaston joyously, 
 " we shall certainly make twenty-five thousand francs next 
 year." 
 
 Next year ! Alas, poor Gaston ! Five days after Raoul 's 
 departure, one Saturday afternoon, Gaston was suddenly 
 taken ill. He had a sort of vertigo, and was so dizzy that 
 he was forced to lie down. 
 
 " I know what is the matter," he said. " I have often 
 been ill in this way at Rio, A couple of hours' sleep will 
 
278 PILE NO. 113. 
 
 cure me. I will lie down, and you can send some one to 
 awaken me when dinner is ready, Louis." 
 
 Bat when the servant came to announce dinner, he found 
 Gaston much worse. He had a violent headache, a chok- 
 ing sensation in his throat, and dimness of vision. But his 
 worst symptom was dysphonia ; he would try to articulate 
 one word, and find himself using another. His jaw-bones 
 became so stiff, that it was with the greatest difficulty that 
 he opened his mouth. Louis came up to his brother's room, 
 and urged him to send for the physician. " No," said 
 Gaston, " I won't have any doctor to make me ill with all 
 sorts of medicines. I know what is the matter with me, and 
 my indisposition will be cured by a simple remedy which I 
 have alwavs used." At the same time he ordered Manuel, 
 his old Spanish servant, who had lived with him for ten 
 years, to prepare him some lemonade. 
 
 The next day Gaston appeared to be much better. He 
 ate his breakfast, and was about to take a walk, when the 
 pains of the previous day suddenly returned in a more vio- 
 lent form. Without consulting his brother, Louis sent to 
 
 Oloron for Dr. C , whose wonderful cures had won him 
 
 a wide reputation. The doctor declared that there was no 
 danger, and merely prescribed a dose of valerian, and a blis- 
 ter with some grains of morphine sprinkled on it. But in 
 the middle of the night, all the symptoms suddenly changed 
 for the worse. The pain in the head was succeeded by a 
 fearful oppression, and the sick man suffe-red torture in 
 trying to get his breath. Daybreak found him still tossing 
 
 restlessly from pillow to pillow. When Dr. C came 
 
 early in the morning, he appeared very much surprised at 
 this change for the worse. He inquired if they had not 
 used too much morphine. Manuel said that he had put the 
 blister on his master, and the doctor's directions had been 
 accurately followed. The doctor, after having examined 
 Gaston, and found his breathing heavy and irregular, pre- 
 scribed leeches and a heavy dose of sulphate of quinine ; 
 he then retired, saying he would return the next day. As 
 soon as the doctor had gone, Gaston sent for a friend of 
 his, a lawyer, to come to him^ as soon as possible. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake ! what do you want with a lawyer "i " 
 inquired Louis. 
 
 " I want his advice, brother. It is useless to try and de- 
 ceive ourselves ; I know I am extremely ill. Only timid 
 
FILE NO, 113. 279 
 
 fools are superstitious about making their wills. I would 
 rather have the lawyer at once, and then my mind will be 
 at rest." 
 
 Gaston did not think he was about to die ; but, know- 
 ing the uncertainty of life, determined to be prepared for 
 the worst. He had too often imperilled his life, and 
 been face to face with death, to feel any fear now. He 
 had made his will while ill at Bordeaux ; but now that he 
 had found Louis, he wished to leave him all his property, 
 and sent for his business man to advise as to the best 
 means of disposing of his wealth for his benefit. The 
 lawyer was a shrewd, wiry little man, very popular, and 
 perfectly familiar with all the intricacies of the law. 
 Nothing delighted him more than to succeed in eluding 
 some stringent article of the Code ; and he often sacrificed 
 large fees for the sake of outwitting his opponent, and 
 controverting the justness of a decision. Once aware of 
 his client's wishes and intentions, he had but one idea, 
 and that was to carry them out as inexpensively as possi- 
 ble, by skilfully evading the heavy costs to be paid by 
 the inheritor of the estate. He explained to Gaston that 
 he could, by an act of partnership, associate Louis in his 
 business enterprises, by signing an acknowledgment that 
 half of the money invested in these various concerns be- 
 longed to and had been advanced by his brother ; so that 
 in the event of Gaston's death, Louis would only have to 
 pay taxes on half the fortune. Gaston eagerly took ad- 
 vantage of this fiction ; not that he thought of the money 
 saved by the transaction if he died, but this would be a 
 favorable opportunity for sharing his riches with Louis 
 without wounding his delicate sensibility. A deed of 
 partnership between Gaston and Louis de Clameran, for 
 the working of a cast-iron mill, was drawn up ; this deed 
 acknowledged Louis to have invested five hundred thou- 
 sand francs as his share of the capital. 
 
 When Louis was called in to sign the paper, he violently 
 opposed his brother's project. " Why do you distress me 
 by maKing these preparations for death, merely because 
 you are suffering from a slight indisposition ? Do you 
 think that I would consent to accept your wealth during 
 your lifetime ? If you die, I am your heir ; if you live, I 
 enjoy your property as if it were my owrio What more 
 car. you wish } " 
 
28o FILE NO. 113. 
 
 Vain remonstrances. Gaston was not a man to be per- 
 suaded from accomplishing a purpose upon which he had 
 fully set his heart. When, after mature deliberation, he 
 made a resolution, he always carried it out in spite of all 
 opposition. After a long and heroic resistance, which 
 showed great nobleness of character and rare disinter- 
 estedness, Louis, urged by the physician, finally yielded, 
 and signed his name to the papers drawn up by the law- 
 yer. It was done. Now he was legally Gaston's partner, 
 and possessor of half his fortune. No court of law could 
 deprive him of what had been deeded with all the legal 
 formalities, even if his brother should change his mind 
 and try to get back his property. The strangest sensations 
 now filled Louis's breast. He was in a state of delirious 
 excitement, often felt by persons suddenly raised from 
 poverty to affluence. Whether Gaston lived or died, Louis 
 was the lawful possessor of an income of twenty-five 
 thousand francs, without counting the eventual profits of 
 the iron-works. At no time in his life had he hoped for 
 or dreamed of such wealth. His wildest wishes were sur- 
 passed. What more could he want ? Alas ! he wanted 
 the power of enjoying these riches in peace : they had 
 come too late. This fortune, fallen from the skies, should 
 have filled his heart with joy, whereas it only made him 
 melancholy and angry. This unlooked-for happiness 
 seemed to have been sent by cruel fate as a punishment 
 for his past sins. Although his conscience told him that 
 he deserved this misery, he blamed Gaston entirely for 
 his present torture. Yes, he held Gaston responsible for 
 the horrible situation in which he found himself. His let- 
 ters to Raoul for several days expressed all the fluctua- 
 tions of his mind, and revealed glimpses of coming evil. 
 
 " I have twenty-five thousand francs a year," he wrote 
 to him, a few hours after signmg the deed of partnership ; 
 " and I possess in my own right five hundred thousand 
 francs. One-fourth of this sum would have made me the 
 happiest of men a year ago ; now it is of no use to me. 
 All the gold on earth could not remove one of the difficul- 
 ties of our situation. Yes, you were right. I have been 
 imprudent ; but I pay dear for my precipitation. Rich or 
 poor, I have cause to tremble as long as there is any risk 
 of a meeting between Gaston and Valentine. How can 
 they be kept apart ? Will niy brother renounce his plan 
 
FILE NO. 113. 281 
 
 of discovering the whereabouts of this woman whom he so 
 loved?" 
 
 No ; Gaston would never be turned from his search for 
 his first love, as he proved by calling for her in the most 
 beseeching tones when he was suffering his worst parox- 
 ysms of pain. He grew no better. In spite of the most 
 careful nursing his symptoms changed, but showed no 
 improvement. Each attack was more violent than the 
 preceding one. Towards the end of the week, however, 
 the pains left his head, and he felt well enough to get up 
 and partake of a slight nourishment. But poor Gaston 
 was a mere shadow of his former self. In one week he 
 had aged ten years. His strong constitution was broken. 
 He, who ten days ago was boasting of his vigorous health, 
 was now weak and bent like an old ^man. He could 
 hardly drag himself along, and shivered in the warm sun 
 as if he were bloodless. Leaning on Louis's arm, he 
 slowly walked down to look at the forge, and, seating 
 himself before a furnace at full blast, he declared that he 
 felt very much better, that this intense heat revived him. 
 His pains were all gone, and he could breathe without 
 difficulty. 
 
 His spirits rose, and he turned to the workmen gathered 
 around, and saidycheerfully : " I was not blest with a good 
 constitution for nothing, my friends, and I shall soon be 
 well again." 
 
 When the neighbors called to see him, and insisted 
 that this illness was entirely owing to change of climate, 
 Gaston replied that he supposed they were right, and that 
 he ought to return to Rio as soon as he was well enough 
 to travel. What hope this answer roused in Louis's 
 breast ! " Yes," he eagerly said, " I will go with you. A 
 trip to Brazil would be charming ! " 
 
 But the next day Gaston had changed his mind. He told 
 Louis that he felt almost well, and was determined not to 
 leave France. He proposed going to Paris to consult the 
 best physicians, and then he would see Valentine. As 
 his illness increased, he became more surprised and troub- 
 led at not hearing from Beaucaire. He wrote again in 
 the most pressing terms, and asked for a reply by return 
 of post. This letter was never received by Lafourcade. 
 That night, Gaston's sufferings returned with renewed 
 violence, and for the first time Dr. C was uneasy. A 
 
282 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 fatal termination seemed possible. Gaston's pain left him 
 in a measure, but he was growing weaker every moment 
 His heart beat slower, and his feet were as cold as ice. 
 On the fourteenth day of his illness, after lying in a stupor 
 for several hours, he revived sufficiently to ask for a 
 priest, saying that he would follow the example of his an- 
 cestors, and die like a Christian. The priest left him af- 
 ter half an hour's interview, and all the workmen were sun> 
 tnoned to receive their master's farewell. Gaston spoke 
 a few kind words to them all, saying that he had provided for 
 them in his will. After they had gone, he made Louis 
 promise to carry on the iron-works, embraced him for the 
 last time, and sank back on his pillow in a dying state. 
 As the bell toiled for noon he quietly breathed his last. 
 Now Louis was in reality Marquis de Clameran, and a 
 millionaire besides. Two weeks later, having made ar- 
 rangements with the engineer in charge of the iron-works 
 to attend to everything during his absence, he took his 
 seat in the train for Paris. He had sent the following 
 significant telegram to Raoul the night previous : " I ar- 
 rive to-morrow." 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Faithful to the programme laid down by his accom- 
 plice, while Louis watched at Oloron, Raoul remained in 
 Paris with the purpose of recovering Madame Fauvel's 
 confidence and affection, and of lulling any suspicions 
 which might have arisen in her breast. The task was dif- 
 ficult, but not impossible. Madame Fauvel had been dis- 
 tressed by Raoul's wild extravagance, but had never 
 ceased to love him. Whatever faults he had committed, 
 whatever future follies he might indulge in, he would always 
 remain her best loved child, her first-born, the living 
 image of her noble, handsome Gaston, the lover of her 
 youth. She adored her two sons, Lucien and Abel ; but 
 she could not overcome an indulgent weakness for the un- 
 fortunate child, torn from her arms the day of his birth, 
 abandoned to the mercies of hired strangers, and for 
 twenty years deprived of home influences and a mother's 
 love. She blamed herself for Raoul's miscondux^t, and ac 
 cepted the responsibilitv of it, saying to herself " It is mf 
 
FILE NO. 113. 283 
 
 fault." Knowing these to be her sentiments, Raoul did 
 not hesitate to lake advantage of them. Never were more 
 irresistible fascinations employed for the accomplishment 
 of a wicked object. Beneath an air of innocent frankness, 
 this precocious scoundrel concealed wonderful astuteness 
 and penetration. He could at will adorn himself with the 
 confiding artlessness of youth, so that angels might have 
 yielded to the soft look of his large dark eyes. There were 
 few women living who could have resisted the thrilling 
 tones of his sympathetic voice. During the month of 
 Louis's absence, Madame Fauvel was in a state of compar 
 ative happiness. Never had this mother and wife — this 
 pure, innocent woman, in spite of her first and only fault 
 — enjoyed such tranquillity. She felt as one under the 
 influence of enchantment, while revelling in the sun- 
 shine of filial love, which almost bore the character of 
 a lover's passion ; for Raoul's devotion was ardent and 
 constant, his manner so tender and winning, that any one 
 would have taken him for Madame Fauvel 's suitor. As 
 she was still at her country house, and M. Fauvel went to 
 town every morning, she had the whole of her time to de- 
 vote to Raoul. When she had spent the morning with him 
 at his house in Vesinet, she would often bring him home 
 to dine and spend the evening with her. All his past faults 
 were forgiven, or rather the whole blame of them was laid 
 upon De Clameran ; for, now that he was absent, had not 
 Raoul once more become her noble, generous, and affec- 
 tionate son ? Raoul enjoyed the life he was leading, and 
 took such an interest in the part that he was playing, that 
 his acting was perfect. He possessed the faculty which 
 makes cheats successful — faith in his own impostures. 
 Sometimes he would stop to think whether he was telling 
 the truth, or acting a shameful comedy. His success was 
 U'onderful. Even Madeleine, the prudent, distrustful IVIad- 
 tleine. without being able to shake off her prejudice 
 against the young adventurer, confessed that perhaps she 
 had been influenced by appearances, and had judged un- 
 justly. Raoul never asked for money now. He seemed 
 to live on nothing. 
 
 Affairs were in this happy state when Louis arrived 
 from Oloron. Although now immensely rich, he resolved 
 to make no change in his style of living, but returned to 
 his apartments at the Hotel du Louvre. His only outlay 
 
2^4 P^LE NO. 113. 
 
 was the purchase of a handsome carriage ; and this was 
 driven by Manuel, who consented to enter his service, al- 
 though Gaston had left him a sufficient sum to support him 
 comfortably. Louis's dream, the height of his ambition, 
 was to be ranked among the great manufacturers of France. 
 He was prouder of being called " iron-founder " than of 
 his marquisate. During his adventurous life, he had met 
 with so many titled gamblers and cut-throats, that he no 
 longer believed in the prestige of nobility. It was impos- 
 sible to distinguish the counterfeit from the genuine. He 
 thought what was so easily imitated was not worth the 
 having. Dearly bought experience had taught him that 
 our unromantic century attaches no value to armorial 
 bearings, unless their possessor is rich enough to display 
 them upon a splendid coach. One can be a marquis 
 without a marquisate, but it is impossible to be forge-mas- 
 ter without owning a forge. Louis now thirsted for the 
 homage of the wodd. All the badly digested humiliations 
 of the past weighed upon him. He had suffered so much 
 contempt and scorn from his fellow-men, that he burned to 
 avenge himself. After a disgraceful youth, he longed to 
 live a respected and honored old age. His past career 
 disturbed him little. He was sufficiently acquainted with 
 the world to know that the sound of his carriage wheels 
 would silence the jeers of those who knew his former life. 
 These thoughts fermented in Louis's brain as he journeyed 
 from Pau to Paris. He troubled his mind not in the least 
 about Raoul, determining to use him as a tool so long as 
 he needed his services, and then pay him a large sum if he 
 would consent to leave him. All these plans and thoughts 
 were afterwards found noted down in the diary which he 
 had in his pocket at the time of the journey. 
 
 The first interview between the accomplices took place 
 at the Hotel du Louvre. Raoul, having a practical turn of 
 mind, said he thought that they ought both to be contented 
 with the result already obtained, and that it would be folly 
 to try and secure anything more. " What more do we 
 want ? " he asked his uncle. " We now possess over a 
 million ; let us divide it and keep quiet. We had better 
 be satisfied with our good luck, and not tempt Provi- 
 dence." 
 
 But ibis moderation did not suit Louis. " I am rich,'' 
 lie replied, " but I desire more than vvealtb. \ am detef 
 
FILE NO, 113. 285 
 
 mined to marry Madeleine : I swear she shall be my wife ! 
 In the first place, 1 madly love her ; and then, as the 
 nephew of the most eminent banker in Paris, I at once 
 gain high position and public consideration." 
 
 " I tell you, uncle, your courtship will involve you in 
 great risks." 
 
 " I don't care if it does. I choose to run them. My 
 intention is to share my fortune with you ; but I will not 
 do so till the day after my wedding. Madeleine's dowry 
 will be your share." 
 
 Raoul was silent. De Clameran held the money, and 
 was therefore master of the situation. " You don't seem 
 to anticipate any difficulty in carrying out your wishes," 
 he resumed, discontentedly; "how are you to account for 
 your suddenly acquired fortune ? M. Fauvel knows that 
 a De Clameran lived at Oloron, and had money in his 
 bank. You told him that you never heard of this person 
 bearing your name, and then, at the end of a month, you 
 come and say you have inherited his fortune." 
 
 " You are an innocent youth, nephew ; your ingenuous- 
 ness is amusing." 
 
 "Explain yourself." 
 
 " Certainly. The banker, his wife, and Madeleine must 
 be informed that the De Clameran of Oloron was a natu- 
 ral son of my father, consequently my brother, born at 
 Hamburg, and recognized during the emigration. Of 
 course, he wished to leave his fortune to his own family. 
 This is the story which you must tell Madame Fauvel to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " That is a bold step to take." 
 
 " How so ? " 
 
 " Inquiries might be made." 
 
 "•Who would make them ? The banker would not troub- 
 le himself to do so. What difference is it to him whether 
 I had a brother or not ? My title as heir is legally authen- 
 ticated ; and all he has to do is to pay the money he holds, 
 and there his business ends." 
 
 " I am not afraid of his giving trouble." 
 
 " Do you think that Madame Fauvel and her niece will 
 ask any questions ? Why should they ? They have no 
 grounds for suspicion. Besides, they cannot take a step 
 without compromising themselves. If they knew all our 
 secrets, I would not have the least fear of their making 
 
286 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 revelations. They have sense enough to know that they 
 had best keep quiet." 
 
 Not finding any other objections to make, Raoul said : 
 "Very well, then, I will obey you ; but I am not to call 
 upon Madame Fauvel for any more money, am I .? " 
 
 " And why not, pray ? " 
 
 " Because, my uncle, you are rich now." 
 
 " Suppose I am rich," replied Louis triumphantly ; 
 " what does that matter ? Have we not pretended to have 
 quarrelled, and have you not abused me sufhciently to 
 justify you in refusing my assistance ? Ah ! 1 foresaw 
 everything, and when I explain my present plan, you will 
 say with me, ' Success is certain.'" Louis de Clameran's 
 scheme was very simple, and therefore, unfortunately, pre- 
 sented the strongest chances of success. " We will go 
 back, and look at our balance-sheet. As heretofore, my 
 brilliant nephew, you seem to have misunderstood my 
 management of this affair, I will now explain it to you." 
 
 " I am listening." 
 
 " In the first place, I presented myself to Madame Fau- 
 vel, and said, not ' Your money or your life,' but ' Your 
 money or your reputation ! ' It was a rude blow to strike, 
 but effective. As I expected, she was frightened, and re- 
 garded me with the greatest aversion." 
 
 " Aversion is a mild term, uncle." 
 
 " I know that. Then I brought you upon the scenCj 
 and, without flattering you in the least, I must say that 
 your opening act was a perfect success. I was concealed 
 behind the curtain, and saw your first interview ; it was 
 sublime ! She saw you, and loved you; you spoke a few 
 words, and won her heart." 
 
 " And but for you — " 
 
 " Let me finish. This was the first act of our comedy. 
 Let us pass to the second. Your extravagant follies — 
 your grandfather would have said your dissoluteness — 
 soon changed our respective situations. Madame Fauvel, 
 without ceasing to worship you — you resemble Gaston so 
 closely — was frightened of you. She was so frightened 
 that she was forced to come to me for assistance." 
 
 " Poor woman ! " 
 
 " I acted my part very well, as you must confess. I 
 was grave, cold, indignant, and represented the distressed 
 uncle to perfection, I spoke of the old probity of the D? 
 
FILE NO. 113. 287 
 
 Clamerans, and bemoaned that the family honor should be 
 dragged in the dust by a degenerate descendant. For a 
 short time I triumphed at your expense. Madame Fauvel 
 forgot her former prejudice against me, and soon showed 
 that she esteemed and Uked me." 
 
 " That was a long time ago." 
 
 Louis paid no attention to this ironical interruption. 
 " Now we come to the third act," he went on to say, "the 
 time when Madame Fauvel, having Madeleine for an ad- 
 viser, nearly judged us at our true value. Oh ! you need 
 not flatter yourself that she did not fear and despise us 
 both. If she did not hate you, Raoul, it was because a 
 mother's heart always forgives a sinful child. A mother 
 can despise and worship her son at the same time." 
 
 " She has proved it to me in so many touching ways, 
 that I — yes, even I, hardened as I am — was moved, and 
 felt remorse." 
 
 " No doubt. I have felt some pangs myself. Where 
 did I leave off .'' Oh, yes ! Madame Fauvel was fright- 
 ened, and Madeleine, bent on sacrificing herself, had dis- 
 carded Prosper, and consented to marry me, when Gaston's 
 existence was suddenly revealed to us. And what has 
 happened since ? You have succeeded in convincing 
 Madame Fauvel that you are purer than an angel, and 
 that I am blacker than hell. She is blinded by your noble 
 qualities, and she and Madeleine regard me as your evil 
 genius, whose pernicious influence led you astray." 
 
 " You are right, my venerated uncle ; that is precisely 
 the position you occupy." 
 
 * Very good. Now we come to the fifth act, and our 
 comedy needs entire change of scenerv. We must veer 
 around." 
 
 " Change our tactics ? " 
 
 *' You think it difficult, I suppose ? Nothing easier. 
 Listen attentively, for the future depends upon your skil- 
 fulness." 
 
 Raoul leaned back in his chair with folded arms, as if 
 prepared for anything, and said : " I am ready." 
 
 " The first thing for you to do," said Louis, " is to go to 
 Madame Fauvel to-morrow, and tell her the story about 
 my natural brother. She will not believe you, but that 
 makes no difference. The iinportant thing is for you to 
 appear convinced of the truth of what you tell her," 
 
2§8 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 " Consider me convinced,'* 
 
 " Five days hence, I will call on M. Fauvel, and con* 
 firm the notification sent him by my notary at Oloron, that 
 the money deposited in the bank now belongs to me. I 
 will repeat, for his benefit, the story of the natural brother, 
 and ask him to keep the money for me, as I have no oc- 
 casion for it at present. You, who are so distrustful, my 
 good nephew, may regard this deposit as a guarantee of 
 my sincerity." 
 
 " We will talk of that another time. Go on." 
 
 " Thfcn I will go to Madame Fauvel, and say, * Being 
 very poor, my dear madame, necessity compelled me to 
 claim your assistance in the support of my brother's son, 
 who is also yours. This youth is worthless and extrava- 
 gant." ' 
 
 "Thanks, my good uncle.'' 
 
 " He has poisoned your life when he should have added 
 to your happiness ; he is a constant anxiety and sorrow to 
 your maternal heart. I have come to offer my regrets 
 for your past trouble, and to assure you that you will have 
 no annoyance in the future. I am now rich, and hence- 
 forth take the whole responsibility of Raoul upon my- 
 self." 
 
 " Is that what you call a scheme ? '' 
 
 " Wait, you will soon see whether it is. After listening 
 to this speech, Madame Fauvel will feel inclined to throw 
 herself in my arms, by way of expressing her gratitude and 
 joy. She will refrain, however, on account of her niece. 
 She will ask me to relinquish my claim on Madeleine's 
 hand, now that I am rich. I will roundly tell her, 'No.' 
 I will make this an opportunity for an edifying display of 
 magnanimity and disinterestedness. I will say, * Madame 
 you have accused me of cupidity. I am now able to prove 
 your injustice. I have been infatuated, as every man 
 must be, by the beauty, grace, and intelligence of Made- 
 moiselle Madeleine ; and — I love her. If she were penni- 
 less, my devotion would only be the more ardent. She 
 has been promised to me, and I must insist upon this one 
 article of our agreement. This must be the price of my 
 silence. And, to prove that I am not influenced by her 
 fortune, I give you my sacred promise that the day after 
 the wedding I wi^l send Raoul sufficient to secure him an 
 income of twenty-five thousand francs per annum." 
 
FILE NO. 113. 2Sq 
 
 Louis expressed himself with such convincing candor, 
 that Raoul, an artist in knavery, was charmed and aston- 
 ished. " Beautifully done," he cried, clapping his hands 
 with glee. " That last sentence may create a chasm be- 
 tween Madame Fauvel and her niece. The promise of a 
 fortune for me will most likely bring my mother over to 
 our side." 
 
 " I hope so," said Louis with pretended modesty. " And 
 I have strong reasons for hoping so, as I shall be able to 
 furnish the good lady with excellent arguments for excus- 
 ing herself in her own eyes. You know when some one 
 proposes some little — what shall we call it ? — transaction 
 to an honest person, it must be accompanied by justifica- 
 tions sufficient to quiet all qualms of conscience. I shall 
 prove to Madame Fauvel and her niece that Prosper has 
 shamefully deceived them. I shall prove to them that he 
 is cramped by debts, dissipated, and a reckless gambler, 
 openly associating with a woman of no character." 
 
 " And very pretty, besides, by Jove ! You must not 
 neglect to expatiate upon the beauty and fascinations 
 of the adorable Gipsy ; that will be your strongest 
 point." 
 
 " Don't be alarmed ; I shall be more eloquent than a 
 popular divme. Then I will explain to Madame Fauvel 
 that if she really loves her niece, she will persuade her to 
 marry, not an insignificant cashier, but a man of position, 
 a great manufacturer, a marquis, and, more than this, one 
 rich enough to establish you in the world." 
 
 Raoul was dazzled by this brilliant prospect. " If you 
 don't decide her, you will at least make her waver,'' he 
 said. 
 
 "Oh ! I don't expect a sudden change. I only intend 
 planting the germ in her mind ; thanks to you, it will de- 
 velop, flourish, and bear fruit." 
 
 "Thanks to me?" 
 
 " Allow me to finish. After makitig my speeches I shall 
 disappear from the scene, and your role will commence. 
 Of course your mother will repeat the conversation to you, 
 and then we can judge of the effect produced. But re- 
 member, you must scorn to receive any assistance from me. 
 You must swear that you will brave all privations, want, 
 famine even, rather than accept anything from a base man 
 whom you hate and despise •, a man who — But you 
 19 
 
200 FILE NO- iiy 
 
 know exactly what you are to say. I can rely upon you 
 for good acting." 
 
 " No one can surpass me when I am interested in my 
 part. In pathetic roles I am always a success, when I 
 have had time to prepare myself." 
 
 " I know you are. But this disinterestedness need not 
 prevent you from resuming your dissipations. You must 
 gamble, bet, and lose more money than you ever did before. 
 You Twust increase your demands, and say that you must 
 have money at all costs. You need not account to me for 
 any ^oney you can extort from her. All you get is your 
 owr to spend as you please." 
 
 " You don't say so ! If you mean that — " 
 
 " You will expedite matters, I'll be bound." 
 
 " I can promise you, no time shall be wasted." 
 
 " Now listen to what you are to do, Raoul. Before 
 the end of three months, you must have exhausted the re- 
 sources of these two women. You must force from them 
 every franc they can raise, so that they will be wholly un- 
 able to procure money to supply your increasing demands. 
 In three months, I must find them penniless, absolutely 
 ruined, without even a jewel left." 
 
 Raoul was startled at the passionate, vindictive tone of 
 Louis's voice as he uttered these last words. " You must 
 hate these women, if you are so determined to make them 
 miserable," he said. 
 
 " J hate them ?" cried Louis. "Can't you see that I 
 madly love Madeleine, love her as only a man of my age 
 can love ? Is not her image ever in my mind .'' Does not 
 the very thought of her fire my heart, and her name burn 
 my lips when I pronounce it.-* " 
 
 "Your great devotion does not prevent you planning the 
 destruction of her present happiness." 
 
 *' Necessity compels me to do so. Nothingbut the most 
 cruel deceptions and the bitterest suffering would ever in- 
 duce her to become my wife. The day on which you have 
 led Madame Fauvel and her niece to the extreme edge of 
 the precipice, pointed out its dark depths, and convinced 
 them that they are irretrievably lost, I shall appear, and 
 rescue them. Why, it wall be the crowning scene of our 
 drama. I will play my part with such grandeur, such lofty 
 magnanimity, that Madeleine will be touched. When she 
 finds that it is her sweet self, and not her money, that I 
 
FCLE NO. 113. 2g\ 
 
 want, she will soften, and no longer despise me. No true 
 woman can be indifferent to agrand passion. I don't pre- 
 tend to say that she will love, but she wdll give herself to 
 me without repugnance ; that is all I ask for." 
 
 Raoul was shocked at the cold-blooded perversity of his 
 uncle ; but De Clameran showed his immense superiority 
 in wickedness, and the apprentice admired the master, 
 " You would certainly succeed, uncle," he said, " were it 
 not for the cashier. Between you and Madeleine, Prosper 
 will always stand ; if not in person, certainly in memory." 
 
 Louis smiled scornfully, and, throwing away his cigar 
 which had gone out., said : " I don't mind Prosper, or at- 
 tach any more importance to him than to that cigar." 
 
 " But she loves him." 
 
 " So much the worse for him. Six months hence, sh8 
 will despise him ; he is already morally ruined, and at the 
 proper tmie I will make an end of him socially. Do you 
 know whither the road of dissipation leads, my good 
 nephew .'' Prosper supports Gipsy, who is extravagant ; he 
 gambles, keeps fast horses, and gives suppers. Sooner or 
 later he will have a night of bad luck ; the losses at bac- 
 carat must be paid within twenty-four hours, he w'ill wish 
 to pay, and he — has charge of the banker's safe." 
 
 Raoul protested against this insinuation. 
 
 " It is useless to tell me that he is honest. I daresav he 
 IS. I was honest myself until I learned to gamble. A 
 scamp would have married Madeleine long ago, and sent 
 us flying, bag and baggage. You say she loves him ? No 
 one but a coward would be defrauded of the woman he 
 loved and who loved him. Ah, if I had once felt Made- 
 leine's hand tremble m mine, if her rosy lips had once 
 pressed a kiss upon my brow, the whole world could not 
 take her from me. Woe to him who dares stand ni my 
 path ! As it is, Prosper annoys me, and I intend to sup- 
 press him. With your aid I will so cover him with dis« 
 grace and infamy, that Madeleine 'will drive every thought 
 of him from her mind." 
 
 Louis's tone of rage and vengeance startled Raoul, 
 and made him regard the affair in a worse light than ever, 
 " You have given me a shameful, dastardly role to play," 
 he said after a long pause. 
 
 " My honorable nephew has scruples, I suppose," 
 sneered De Clameran. 
 
292 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 " Not exactly scruples ; yet I confess — " 
 
 " That you want to retreat ? Rather too late to sing 
 that tune, my friend. You wish to enjoy ever luxury, 
 have your pockets filled with gold, cut a line figure in high 
 society, and remain virtuous. You should have been born 
 with a golden spoon in your mouth then. Fool ! have 
 you ever seen men like us draw millions from the pure 
 fount of virtue. We must fish in muddy waters, and 
 cleanse ourselves afterwards." 
 
 " I have never been rich enough to be honest," said 
 Raoul humbly ; " but I must say it goes hard with me to 
 torture two defenceless, frightened women, and ruin the 
 character of a poor devil who regards me as his best friend. 
 It is a low business ! " 
 
 This resistance exasperated Louis to the last degree. 
 " You are the most absurd, ridiculous fool I ever met," 
 he cried. *' An opportunity occurs for us to make an 
 immense fortune. AH we have to do is to stretch out our 
 hands and take it ; when you must needs prove refractory, 
 like a whimpering baby. Nobody but an ass would refuse 
 to drink when he is thirsty, because he sees a little mud 
 at the bottom of the bucket. I suppose you prefer theft 
 on a small scale. And where will your system lead you .? 
 To the poor-house or the police-station. You prefer living 
 from hand to mouth, supported by Madame Fauvel, hav- 
 ing small sums doled out to you to pay your little gambling 
 debts." 
 
 " I am neither ambitious nor cruel." 
 
 " And suppose Madame Fauvel dies to-morrow ; what 
 will become of you r Will you go cringing up to the wid- 
 ower, and implore him to contmue your allowance ? " 
 
 " Enough said," cried Raoul, angrily interrupting his 
 uncle. " I never had any idea of retreating. I made 
 these objections to show you what infamous work you ex- 
 pect of me, and, at the same time, prove to you that with- 
 out my assistance you can do nothing." 
 
 " I never pretended otherwise." 
 
 " Then, my noble uncle, we might as well settle what 
 my share is to be. Oh ! it is not worth while for you to 
 indulge in idle protestations. What will you give me in 
 case of success ? and what if we fail ? " 
 
 " I told you before. I will give you twenty-five thou- 
 
PILE NO, 113. 293 
 
 sand francs a year, and all you can secure between now 
 and my wedding-day." 
 
 " This arrangement suits me very well ; but where are 
 your securities ? " 
 
 This question was discussed a long time, without being 
 satisfactorily settled by the accomplices, who had every 
 reason to distrust each other. 
 
 " What are you afraid of t " asked De Clameran. 
 
 " Everything," replied Raoul. " Where am I to obtain 
 justice, if you deceive me .'* From this pretty little poniard ? 
 No, thank you. I would be made to pay as dear for your 
 hide, as for that of an honest man." 
 
 Finally, after a long debate and much recrimination, 
 the matter was arranged, and they shook hands before 
 separating. Alas ! Madame Fauvel and her niece soon 
 felt the evil effects of the understanding between the vil- 
 lains. Everything happened as Louis had arranged. 
 Once more, when Madame Fauvel had begun to breathe 
 freely, and to hope that her troubles were over, Raoul's 
 conduct suddenly changed ; he became more extravagant 
 and dissipated than ever. Formerly, Madame Fauvel 
 would have said, " I wonder what he does with all the 
 money I give him ? " Now, she saw where it went. 
 Raoul was reckless in his wickedness ; he was intimate 
 with actresses, openly lavishing money and jewellery upon 
 them ; he drove about with four horses, and bet heav- 
 ily on every race. Never had he been so exacting and 
 exorbitant in his demands for money ; Madame Fauvel 
 had the greatest difficulty in supplying his wants. He 
 no longer made excuses and apologies for spending so 
 much ; instead of coaxingly entreating, he demanded 
 money as a right, threatening to betray Madame Fauvel 
 to her husband if she refused him. At this rate, all that 
 she and Madeleine possessed soon disappeared. In one 
 month, all their money had been squandered. Then they 
 were compelled to resort to the most shameful expedients 
 in the household expenses. They economized in every 
 possible way, making purchases on credit, and making 
 tradesman wait; then they changed figures in the bills, 
 and even invented accounts of things never bought. 
 These imaginary costly whims increased so rapidly, that 
 M. Fauvel one day said, with a smile, " You are becoming 
 very coquettish, my dears." Poor women ! For months 
 
294 P^LE NO. 113 
 
 they had bought nothing, but had lived upon the remains 
 of their former splendor, having all their old dresses al- 
 tered to keep up appearances in society. More clear- 
 sighted than her aunt, Madeleine saw j^lainly that the day 
 would soon come when everything would be discovered. 
 Although she knew that the sacrifices of the present would 
 avail nothing in the future, she was silent. A high-minded 
 delicacy made her conceal her apprehensions beneath an 
 assumed calmness. The fact of her sacrificing herself 
 made her refrain from uttering anything like a com- 
 plaint or censure. "As soon as Raoul sees we have noth- 
 ing more to give," she would say to her aunt, " he will 
 come to his senses, and stop all this extravagance." The 
 day came, however, when Madame Fauvel and Madeleine 
 found it impossible to give another franc. The previous 
 evening, there had been a dinner-party, and they, with 
 difficulty, scraped together enough mone}^ to defray the 
 expenses. Raoul appeared, and said that he was in the 
 greatest need of money, being forced to pay a debt of two 
 thousand francs at once. In vain they implored him to 
 wait a few days, until they could, with propriety, ask M. 
 Fauvel for money. 
 
 " But I have no way of getting it for you," said Madame 
 Fauvel, desperately ; " you have taken everything from 
 me. I have nothing left but my diamonds : do you want 
 them ? If they can be of use, take them." 
 
 Harc^ened as the young villain was, he blushed at these 
 words. He felt pity for this unfortunate woman, who had 
 always been so kind and indulgent to him — who had so 
 often Uvished upon him her maternal caresses. He felt 
 for the noble girl, who was the innocent victim of a vile 
 plot. But he was bound by his promise ; he knew that 
 a powerful hand would save these women at the brink of 
 the precipice. More than this, he saw an immense fortune 
 at the end of his road of crime, and quieted his conscience 
 by saying that he would redeem his present cruelty by 
 honest kindness in the future. Stifling his better impulses, 
 he said harshly to Madame Fauvel : " Give me the jew- 
 els ; I will take them to the pawnbroker's." She handed 
 him a box containing a set of diamonds. It was a present 
 from her husband the day he became worth a million. 
 And so pressing was the want of these women who were 
 surrounded by princely luxury, with their ten servants, 
 
FI^.J^ NO. T13. 295 
 
 beautiful horses, and jewels which were the admiration of 
 Paris, that they im:Dlored him to bring them some of the 
 money which he would procure on the diamonds. He 
 promised, and kept his word. But they had revealed a 
 new source — a mine to be worked ; he took advantage oi 
 it. One by one all Madame Fauvel's jewels followed the 
 way of the diamonds ; and, when hers were all gone, those 
 belonging to Madeleine were given up. Madame Fauvel 
 had no defence against the scoundrels who were torturing 
 her, save prayers and tears ; these availed her little. 
 Sometimes, though, she betrayed such heart-broken suffer- 
 ing when Raoul begged her for money which she had no 
 means of obtaining, that he would hurry away disgusted at 
 his own brutal conduct, and say to De Clameran, " You 
 must end this dirty business ; I cannot stand it any 
 longer. Let us steal with both hands as much as you like ; 
 but as to killing by agony and fright, these two poor mis- 
 erable women, wdiom I am really fond of, I am not going 
 to do it.'' 
 
 De Clameran showed no surprise at these remonstrances. 
 " It is not pleasant, I know," he replied ; " but necessity 
 knows no law. Have a little more perseverance and 
 patience ; we have almost got to the end." 
 
 The end was nearer than De Clameran supposed. 
 Towards the latter part of November, Madame Fauvel 
 saw that it was impossible to postpone the catastrophe any 
 longer, and as a last effort determined to apply to the 
 marquis for assistance. She had not seen him since his 
 return from Oloron, except once, when he came to an- 
 nounce his accession to wealth. At that time, persuaded 
 that he was Raoul 's evil genius, she had received him 
 very coldly, and did not invite him to repeat his visit. 
 She hesitated before speaking to her niece of the step she 
 intended taking, because she feared violent opposition. 
 To her great surprise Madeleine warmly approved of it. 
 Trouble had made her keen-sighted and suspicious. Re- 
 flecting on past events, comparing and weighing ever}' act 
 and speech of Raoul, she was now convinced that he was 
 De Clameran's tool. She thought that Raoul was too 
 shrewd to be acting in this shameful way, ruinously to his 
 own interests, if there were not some secret motive at the 
 bottom of it all. She saw that this persecution was more 
 feigned than real. So thoroughly was she convinced of 
 
296 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 this, that, had it only concerned herself alone, she would 
 have firmly resisted the oppression, confident that the 
 threatened exposure would never take place. Recalling, 
 with a shudder, certain looks of De Clameran, she guessed 
 the truth, that the object of all this underhand work was 
 to force her to become his wife. Determined on making 
 the sacrifice, in spite of her repugnance towards the man, 
 she wished to have the deed done at once : anything was 
 preferable to the intolerable existence which Raoul made 
 her lead. She felt that her courage might fail if she 
 waited and suffered much longer. 
 
 " The sooner you see M. de Clameran the better for us, 
 aunt," she said, after talking the project over. 
 
 The next day Madame Fauvel called on the marquis at 
 the Hotel du Louvre, having sent him a note announcing 
 her intended visit. He received her with cold, studied 
 politeness, like a man who had been misunderstood and 
 had been unjustly wounded. After listening to her report 
 of Raoul's scandalous behavior, he became very indig- 
 nant, and swore that he would soon make him repent of 
 his heartlessness. But, when Madame Fauvel told him 
 that Raoul applied to her because he would take nothing 
 from his uncle, De Clameran seemed confounded. 
 
 " The worthless rascal ! " he exclaimed, " the idea of 
 his audacity. Why, during the last four months, I have 
 given him more than twenty thousand francs, which I 
 would not have done except to prevent him from apply- 
 ing to you, as he constantly threatened to do." 
 
 Seeing an expression of doubt upon Madame Fauvel's 
 face, Louis arose and took from a desk some receipts 
 signed by Raoul, which he showed her. The total 
 amount was twenty-three thousand five hundred francs. 
 Madame Fauvel was shocked and amazed. 
 
 " He has obtained about forty thousand francs from 
 me," she faintly said, " 50 that altogether he has spent 
 at least sixty thousand francs in four months." 
 
 " I can't imagine what he does with it," said De Cla. 
 meran, " unless he spends it on actresses." 
 
 " Good heavens ! what can those creatures do with all 
 the money lavished on them ? " 
 
 " That is a thing one never knows." 
 
 He appeared to pity Madame Fauvel sincerely ; he 
 promised that he would at once see Raoul, and make hira 
 
FILE NO. 113. 297 
 
 alter his behavior. Finally, after many protestations of 
 friendship, he wound up by placing his fortune at her dis- 
 posal. Although Madame Fauvel refused his offer, she 
 appreciated the kindness of it, and on returning home 
 said to Madeleine, " Perhaps we have mistaken his char- 
 acter ; he may be a good man after all." Madeleine sadly 
 shook her head. She had anticipated just what happened. 
 De Clameran's magnanimity and generosity confirmed 
 her presentiments. 
 
 Raoul called on his uncle, and found him radiant. 
 " Everything is going on swimmingl}'', my smart nephew," 
 said the marquis ; " your receipts act like a charm. Ah, 
 you are a partner worth having. I congratulate you upon 
 your success. Forty thousand francs in four months ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Raoul carelessly. " I got about that much 
 from her and the pawnbrokers." 
 
 " Hang it ! Then you must have a nice little sum laid 
 by ; for the young lady, I presume, is a myth." 
 
 " That is my business, uncle. Remember our agree- 
 ment. I can tell you this much ; Madame Fauvel and 
 Madeleine have turned everything they can into money ; 
 they have nothing left, and I have had enough of my 
 role." 
 
 " Your role is ended. I forbid you to hereafter ask for 
 a single centime." 
 
 " What are you about to do t What has happened 1 " 
 
 " The mine is loaded, nephew, and I am only awaiting 
 an opportunity to set fire to it." 
 
 Louis de Clameran relied upon making his rival, Pros- 
 per Bertomy, furnish him with this ardently desired oppor- 
 tunity. He loved Madeleine too passionately to feel 
 aught sav'e the bitterest hate towards the man whom she 
 had freely chosen, and who still possessed her heart. De 
 Clameran knew that he could marry her at once if he chose ; 
 but in what way ? By holding a sword of terror over her 
 head, and forcing her to be his. He became frenzied at 
 the idea of possessing her person, while her heart and 
 soul would always be with Prosper. Thus he swore that, 
 before marrying, he would so cover Prosper with shame 
 and ignominy that no honest person would speak to him. 
 He had at first tliought of killing him, but he preferred to 
 disgrace him. He imagined that there would be no difficul- 
 ty in ruining the unfortunate young man, He sooa found 
 
298 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 himself mistaken. Though Prosper led a life of reckless 
 dissipation, he preserved order in his disorder. If in a 
 state of miserable entanglement, and obliged to resort to 
 all sorts of make-shifts to escape his creditors, his caution 
 prevented the world from knowing it. Vainly did Raoul, 
 with his pockets full of gold, tempt him to play high ; 
 every effort to hasten his ruin failed. When he played he 
 lici not seem to care whether he lost or won ; nothing 
 ?iroused him from his cold indifference. His mistress. 
 Nina Gipsy, was extravagant, but her devotion to Prosper ' 
 restrained her from going beyond certain limits. Raoul's 
 great intimacy with Prosper enabled him to fully under- 
 stand the state of his mind ; that he was trying to drown 
 his disappointment in excitement, but had not given up 
 all hope. 
 
 " You need not hope to beguile Prosper into committing 
 any serious piece of folly," said Raoul to his uncle; "his 
 head is as cool as an usurer's. What object he has in 
 view I know not. Perhaps when he has spent his last coin 
 he will blow his brains out ; he certainly never will de- 
 scend to any dishonorable act ; he will never have recourse 
 to the money in the banker's safe." 
 
 " We must urge him on," replied De Clameran ; "lead 
 liim into more extravagances ; make Gipsy call on him for 
 costly finery, lend him plenty of money." 
 
 Raoul shook his head, as if convinced that his efforts 
 Would be in vain. " You don't know Prosper, uncle : we 
 can't galvanize a dead man. Madeleine killed him the 
 day she discarded him. He takes no interest in anything 
 on the face of the earth." 
 '* We can wait." 
 
 They did wait ; and, to the great surprise of Madame 
 Fauvel, Raoul once more became an affectionate and duti- 
 ful son, as he had been during De Clameran's absence. 
 From reckless extravagance he changed to great economy. 
 Under pretext of saving money, he remained at Ve'sinet, 
 although it was very uncomfortable and disagreeable there 
 in the winter. He wished, he said, to expiate his sins in 
 solitude. The truth was, that, by remaining in the coun- 
 try, he insured his liberty, and escaped his mother's visits. 
 It was about this time that Madame Fauvel, charmed with 
 the improvement in Raoul, asked her husband to give him 
 some employment in the bank. M. Fauvel was delighted 
 
FILE NO. 113. 299 
 
 to please his wife, and at once offered Raoul the place of 
 corresponding clerk, with a salary of five hundred francs 
 a month. The appointment pleased Raoul ; but, in obedi- 
 ence to De Clameran's command, he refused it, saying, he 
 had no taste for banking. This refusal so provoked the 
 banker, that he rather bitterly reproached Raoul, and told 
 him not to expect him to do anything to assist him in 
 future. Raoul seized th's pretext for ostensibly ceasing 
 his visits. When he wanted to see his mother, he would 
 come in the afternoon or evening, when he knew that M. 
 Fauvel would be from home ; and he only came often 
 enough to keep himself informed of what was going on in 
 the household. This sudden lull after so many storms 
 appeared ominous to Madeleine. She was more certain 
 than ever that the plot was now ripe, and would suddenly 
 burst upon them, without warning. She did not impart 
 her presentiment to her aunt, but prepared herself for the 
 worst. 
 
 " What can they be doing ? " Madame Fauvel would 
 say; "can they have decided not to persecute us any 
 more?" 
 
 " Yes, what can they be doing } '^ Madeleine would mur- 
 mur. 
 
 Louis and Raoul gave no signs of life, because, like ex 
 pert hunters, they were silently hiding, and watching for a 
 favorable opportunity of pouncing upon their victims. 
 Never losing sight of Prosper for a day, Raoul had ex- 
 hausted every effort of his fertile mind to compromise his 
 honor — to ensnare him into some inextricable entangle- 
 ment. But, as he had foreseen, the cashier's indifference 
 offered little hope of success. De Clameran began to 
 grow impatient at this delay, and had fully determined to 
 bring matters to a crisis himself, when one night, about 
 three o'clock, he was aroused by Raoul. He knew that 
 some event of great importance must have happened, to 
 make his nephew come to him at that hour of the 
 night. 
 
 " What is the matter } " he anxiously inquired. 
 
 " Perhaps nothing ; perhaps everything. I have just 
 left Prosper." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " I had him. Madame Gipsy, and three other friends to 
 dine with me. After dinner, I m;ide up a game of baccarat. 
 
300 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 but Prosper took no interest in it, although he was quite 
 tipsy." 
 
 " You must be drunk yourself, to come here waking me 
 up in the middle of the night, to hear this idle gabble," 
 said Louis, angrily. 
 
 " Now, wait until you hear the rest." 
 
 " Zounds ! speak then ! " 
 
 " After the game was over, we went to supper ; Prosper 
 became quite intoxicated, and betrayed the word with 
 which he closes the money-safe." 
 
 At these words, De Clameran uttered a cry of triumph. 
 " What was the word ? " 
 
 *' His mistress's name." 
 
 " Gipsy ! Yes, that would be five letters." Louis was 
 50 excited that he jumped out of bed, slipped on his dress- 
 ing-gown, and began to stride up and down the room. 
 *' Now we have got him ! " he said, with vindictive satis- 
 faction. " There's no chance of escape for him now ! Ah ! 
 the virtuous cashier won't touch the money confided to 
 him ; so we must touch it for him. His disgrace will be 
 just as great no matter who opens the safe. We have 
 the word ; you know where the key is kept.'* 
 
 "Yes; when M. Fauvel goes out he always leaves the 
 key in a drawer of his secretary, in his bedroom." 
 
 " Very good. You will go and get this key from Madame 
 Fauvel. If she does not give it up willingly, use force , 
 then, when having got the key, you will open the safe, and 
 take out every franc it contains. Ah ! Master Bertomy, 
 you shall pay dear for being loved by the woman I love ! " 
 
 For five minutes, De Clameran indulged in such a tirade 
 of abuse against Prosper, mingled with rhapsodies of love 
 for Madeleine, that Raoul thought him almost out of his 
 mind, and tried to calm him. " Before crying victory," 
 he said, "you had better consider the drawbacks and diffi-, 
 culties. Prosper might change the word to-morrow." 
 
 " Yes, he might ; but it is not probable he will. He 
 will forget what he said while drunk ; besides, we will be 
 quiet." 
 
 " That is not all. M. Fauvel has given orders that no 
 large sum shall be kept in the safe over night ; before clos" 
 ing time, everything is sent to the Bank of France." 
 
 " A large sum will be kept there the night I choose," 
 
 " You think so ? " 
 
FILE NO. 113. 301 
 
 '' I think this : I have a hundred thousand crowns de- 
 posited with M. Fauvel ; and if I desire the money to be 
 paid over to me early some morning, directly the bank is 
 opened, of course the money will be kept in the safe the 
 previous night." 
 
 " A splendid idea ! " cried Raoul, admiringly. 
 
 It was a good idea ; and the plotters spent several hours 
 in studying its strong and weak points. Raoul feared that 
 ne would never be able to overcome Madame Fauvel's re- 
 sistance ; and, even if she yielded the key, would she not 
 go directly and confess everything to her husband, rather 
 than sacrifice an innocent man ? But Louis felt no un- 
 easiness on this score. " One sacrifice necessitates an- 
 other," he said : " she has made too many to draw back at 
 the last one. She sacrificed her adopted daughter ; there- 
 fore she will sacrifice a young man, who is, after all, a 
 comparative stranger to her." 
 
 " But Madeleine will never believe any harm of Prosper ; 
 therefore — " 
 
 " You talk like an idiot, my verdant nephew ! " 
 
 Before the conversation had ended, the plan seemed 
 feasible. The scoundrels made all their arrangements, 
 and fixed the day for committing the crime. They se- 
 lected the evening of the 27th of February, because Raoul 
 knew that M. Fauvel would be dining out, and Madeleine 
 was invited to a party on that evening. Unless something 
 unforeseen should occur, Raoul knew that he would find 
 Madame Fauvel alone at half-past eight o'clock." 
 
 " I will ask M. Fauvel this very day," said De Cla- 
 meran, " to have my money ready for Tuesday." 
 
 "That is a very short notice, uncle," objected Raoul. 
 " You know there are certain forms to be gone through, 
 and he can claim a longer time wherein to pay it over." 
 
 " That is true, but our banker is proud of always being 
 prepared to pay any amount of money, no matter how 
 large ; and if I say I am pressed, and would like to be ac- 
 commodated on Tuesday, he will make a point of having 
 it ready for me. Then, you must ask Prosper, as a per- 
 sonal favor to you, to have the money on hand at the 
 opening of the bank." 
 
 Raoul once more examined the situation, to discover k 
 there was not the grain of sand which so often becomes a 
 mountain at the Mst moment. " Prosper and Gipsy are W 
 
302 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 be with me at Vesinet this evening," he said ; " but I can 
 not ask him anything until I know the banker's answer. 
 As soon as you have arranged matters with him, send me 
 word by Manuel." 
 
 " I can't send Manuel, for an excellent reason — he has 
 left me ; but I can send another messenger." 
 
 What Louis said was true ; Manuel was gone. He had 
 insisted on keeping Gaston's old servant in his service, 
 because he thought it imprudent to leave him at Oloron, 
 where his gossiping might cause trouble. He soon became 
 annoyed by Manuel's loyalty, and determined to rid him- 
 self of him ; so he just gave him the idea of ending his 
 days in peace in his own country. So, the evening before, 
 Manuel had started fOr Arenys-de-Mar, a little port of Cat- 
 alonia, his native place ; and Louis was seeking another 
 servant. After breakfasting together, Louis and Raoul 
 separated. De Clameran was so elated by the prospect 
 of success that he lost sight of the great crime intervening. 
 Raoul was calm, but resolute. The shameful deed he was 
 about to commit would give him riches, and release him 
 from a hateful servitude. His one thought was liberty, as 
 Louis's was Madeleine. Everything seemed to progress 
 finely. The banker did not ask for the delay he was enti- 
 tled to, but promised to pay the money on the day named. 
 Prosper said he would have it ready early in the morning. 
 The certainty of success made Louis almost wild with joy. 
 He counted the hours and the minutes. 
 
 " When this affair is ended," he said to Raoul, " I will 
 reform, and be a model of virtue. No one will dare hint 
 that I have ever indulged in any sins — great or small." 
 
 But Raoul became more and more sad as the time ap- 
 proached. Reflection gradually showed him the blackness 
 of the contemplated crime. Raoul was bold and deter- 
 mined in the pursuit of his own gratifications and wicked- 
 ness ; he could smile in the face of his best friend, while 
 cheating him of his last napoleon at cards ; and he could 
 sleep well after stabbing his enemy to the heart ; but he 
 was young. He was young in sin. Vice had not yet pen- 
 etrated ta his marrow-bones — corruption had not yet 
 crowded into his soul enough to uproot and destroy every 
 generous sentiment. It had not been so very long since 
 he had cherished a few holy beliefs. The good intentions of 
 his boyhood were not quite obliterated from his sometimes 
 
FILE NO. 113. 303 
 
 reproachful memory. Possessing the daring courage nat- 
 ural to youth, he depised the cowardly part forced upon 
 .him ; this dark plot — this slow agony of two helpless 
 women, filled him with horror and disgust. His heart re- 
 volted at the idea of acting the part of Judas towards his 
 mother, to betray her between two kisses. Disgusted by 
 Louis's cool villany, he longed for some great peril to be 
 braved, so as to excuse himself in his own eyes. But no ; 
 he well knew that he ran no risk, not even that of being 
 arrested and sent to prison. For he was certain that, if 
 M. Fauvel discovered everything, he would do his utmost 
 to hush up every fact connected with the disgraceful story. 
 Although he was careful not to breathe it to De Clameran, 
 he felt a sincere affection for Madame Fauvel, and was 
 touched by the indulgent fondness which she so unchang- 
 ingly lavished upon him. He had been happy at Ve'sinet ; 
 while his accomplice, or rather his master, was at Oloron. 
 He would have been glad to lead an honest life, and could 
 not see the sense of committing a crime when there was 
 no necessity for it. He hated De Clameran, who abused 
 his power for the sake of gratifying a selfish passion ; and 
 he longed for an opportunity of thwarting his plots, if it 
 could be done without also ruining himself. His resolu- 
 tion, which had been so firm in the beginning, was growing 
 weaker and weaker as the hours rolled on ; as the crisis 
 approached, his horror of the deed increased. And yet 
 Louis never left him, but continually painted for him a 
 dazzling future, position, wealth, and freedom. He pre- 
 pared, and forced his accomplice to rehearse, the scene 
 which was to be enacted at Madame Fauvel's, with as 
 much coolness and precision as if it were to be performed 
 at a public theatre. Louis said that no piece could be well 
 acted unless the actor was interested, and imbued with the 
 spirit of his role. But the more urgently Louis pressed 
 upon him the advantages to be derived from success — the 
 oftener he sounded in his ears the magic words " five hun- 
 dred thousand francs," the more loudly did Raoul's con- 
 science cry out against the sinful deed. On the Monday 
 evening, about six o'clock, Raoul felt so depressed and 
 miserable that he asked himself whether, even if he wished 
 if, he would be able to obey. 
 
 "Are you afraid?" asked De Clameran. who had anx- 
 aously watched these inward struggles. 
 
304 PILE NO. m. 
 
 " Yes," replied Raoul, " yes ; I have not your ferocious 
 will, and I am afraid ! " 
 
 " What, you, my pupil, my friend ! It is not possible. 
 Come, a little energy, one more stroke of our oars and we 
 are in port. You are only nervous ; come to dinner, and 
 a bottle of Burgundy will soon set you right." 
 
 They were walking along the boulevards. De Clameran 
 insisted upon their entering a restaurant, and having din- 
 ner in a private room. Vainly did he strive, however, to 
 chase the gloom from his companion's pale face. Raoul 
 sat listening, with a sullen frown, to his friend's jest about 
 *' swallowing the bitter pill gracefully." Urged by Louis, 
 he drank two bottles of wine, in hopes that intoxication 
 would inspire him with courage to do the deed. But the 
 drunkenness he sought came not ; the wine proved false ; 
 at the bottom of the last bottle he found nothing but an- 
 ger and disgust. The clock struck eight. 
 
 " The time has come," said Louis firmly. 
 
 Raoul turned livid ; his teeth chattered, and his limbs 
 trembled so that he was unable to stand on his feet. " Oh, 
 I cannot do it ! " he cried in an agony of terror and rage. 
 
 De Clameran's eyes flashed angrily at the prospect of all 
 his plans being ruined at the last moment. But he dared 
 not give way to his anger, for fear of exasperating Raoul, 
 whom he knew to be anxious for an excuse to quarrel ; so 
 he violently pulled the bell-rope. A waiter appeared. 
 " A bottle of port," he said, " and a bottle of rum." 
 
 When the waiter returned with the bottles, Louis filled 
 a large glass with the two liquors mixed, and handed it to 
 Raoul. " Drink this ! " he said. 
 
 Raoul emptied the glass at a draught, and a faint color 
 returned to his pale cheek. He arose, and striking the ta- 
 ble with his fist, cried fiercely, " Come along ! " 
 
 But brifore he had walked thirty yards, the fictitious en- 
 ergy inspired by drink deserted him. He clung to De 
 Clameran's arm, and was almost dragged along, trembling 
 like a criminal on his way to the scaffold. 
 
 " If I can once get him in the house," thought Louis, 
 who had studied Raoul and understood him ; " once inside, 
 his role will sustain him and carry him through, and all 
 will be well. The cowardly baby ! I would like to wring 
 his neck ! " 
 
 As they walked along he said : " Now, don't forget our 
 
FILE NO. 113. 305 
 
 arrangements, and be careful how you enter the house ; 
 everything depends upon that. Have you the pistol in 
 your pocket ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ! Let me alone ! " 
 
 It was well that De Clameran accompanied Raoul ; for, 
 when he got in sight of the door his courage gave way, 
 and he longed to retreat. " A poor, helpless woman ! " 
 he groaned, " and an honest man who pressed my hand in 
 friendship yesterday, to be cowardly ruined, betrayed by 
 me ! Ah, it is too base, too cowardly ! " 
 
 " Come," said De Clameran in a tone of contempt, " I 
 thought you had more nerve. When a fellow has no more 
 pluck than that, he should remain honest ! " 
 
 Raoul overcame his weakness, and, silencing the clam- 
 ors of his conscience, hurried to the house and pulled 
 the bell. " Is Madame Fauvel at home ? " he inquired of 
 the servant who opened the door. 
 
 " Madame is alone in the little drawing-room," was the 
 reply. 
 
 And Raoul went up stairs. 
 
 XX. 
 
 De Clameran's injunction to Raoul was : " Be very 
 cautious how you enter the room ; your appearance must 
 tell everything, and thus avoid impossible explanations." 
 
 The recommendation was useless. The instant that 
 Raoul entered the room, the sight of his pale, haggard face 
 and wild eyes made Madame Fauvel exclaim : " Raoul ! 
 What m.isfortune has happened to you t " 
 
 The sound of her tender, affectionate voice acted like 
 An electric shock upon the young bandit. He shook like 
 a leaf. But at the same time his mind seemed to change. 
 Louis was not mistaken in his estimate of his companion's 
 character. Raoul was on the stage, his part was to be 
 played ; his assurance returned to him ; his cheating, ly- 
 ing nature assumed the ascendant. " This misfortune is 
 the last I shall ever suffer, mother ! " 
 
 Madame Fauvel rushed towards him, and, seizing his 
 hand, gazed searchingly into his eyes, as if to read his 
 very soul. ** What is the matter ? Raoul, my dear son, do 
 *I1 me what troubles you." 
 to 
 
jo6 FILE NO. wx. 
 
 He gently pushed lier from him. " The matter is, xnf 
 mother," he said, in a voice of heart-broken despair, " that 
 I am unworthy of you, unworthy of my noble father ! " 
 
 She shook her head as though to protest. 
 
 " Alas ! " he said, " I know and judge myself. No one 
 can reproach me for my infamous conduct more bitterly 
 than does my own conscience. I am not naturally wicked, 
 but only a miserable fool. At times I am like an insane 
 man, and am not responsible for my actions. Ah, my 
 dear mother, I would not be what I am, if you had watched 
 over my childhood. But brought up among strangers, 
 with no guide but my own evil passions, nothing to re- 
 strain me, no one to advise me, no one to love me, owning 
 nothing, not even my stolen name, I am cursed with van- 
 ity and unbounded ambition. Poor, with no one to assist 
 me but you, I have the tastes and vices of a millionaire's 
 son. Alas ! when I found you, the evil was done. Your 
 affection, your maternal love, the only true happiness of 
 my life, could not save me. I, who had suffered so much, 
 endured so many privations, even the pangs of hunger, be- 
 came spoiled by this new life of luxury and pleasure which 
 you opened before me. I rushed headlong into extrava- 
 gance, as a drunkard long deprived of drink seizes and 
 drains to the dregs the first bottle in his reach." 
 
 Madame Fauvel listened, silent and terrified, to these 
 words of despair and remorse, which Raoul uttered with 
 remarkable vehemence. She dared not interrupt him, but 
 felt certain some dreadful piece of news was coming. 
 Raoul continued in a sad, hopeless tone : " Yes ; I have 
 been a weak fool. Happiness was within my reach, and 
 I had not the sense to stretch forth my hand and grasp it. 
 I rejected a delicious reality to eagerly pursue a vain phan- 
 tom. I, who ought to have spent my life at your feet, 
 and daily striven to express my gratitude for your lavish 
 kindness, have made you unhappy, destroyed your peaje 
 of mind, and, instead of being a blessing, I have been a 
 curse ever since the first fatal day you welcomed me 'c 
 your kind heart. Ah, unfeeling brute that I was, to squan- 
 der upon creatures whom I despised, a fortune, of which 
 each gold piece must have cost you a tear ! Too late, too 
 late ! I find that with you was happiness." 
 
 He stopped, as W overcome by the consci''mr.aess ot his 
 evil deeds, and seemed about to burst into tears. 
 
PILE NO. 113. 307 
 
 " It is never too late to repent, my son, ^ murmured 
 Madame Fauvel in comforting tones. 
 
 " Ah, if I only could ! " cried Raoul ; "but no, it is too 
 late ! Besides, can I tell how long my good resolutions 
 will last ? This is not the first time that I have condemned 
 myself pitilessly. Stinging remorse for each new fault 
 made me swear to lead a better life, to sin no more. What 
 was the result of these periodical repentances ? At the 
 first temptation I forgot my remorse and good resolutions. 
 I am weak and mean-spirited, and you are not firm enough 
 to govern my vacillating nature. While my intentions are 
 good, my actions are villanous. The disproportion be- 
 tween my extravagant desires, and the means of gratifying 
 them, is too great for me to endure any longer. Who 
 knows to what fearful lengths my unfortunate disposition 
 may lead me ? However, I shall know how to do myself 
 justice ! " he finally said with a reckless laugh. 
 
 Madame Fauvel was too cruelly agitated to follow Raoul's 
 skilful transitions. " Speak ! " she cried, " explain your- 
 self; am I not your mother? Tell me the truth; I am 
 ready to hear the worst." 
 
 He appeared to hesitate, as if afraid to crush his moth- 
 er's heart by the terrible blow he was about to inflict. 
 Then in a voice of gloomy despair he replied : " I am 
 ruined ! " 
 
 ''Ruined!" 
 
 " Yes, ruined ; and I have nothing more to expect or 
 hope for. I am dishonored, and all through my own 
 fault ; no one is to blame but myself." 
 
 " Raoul ! " 
 
 *' It is the sad truth, my poor mother ; but fear nothing. 
 I shall not trail in the dust the name which you bestowed 
 upon me. I will at least have the courage not to survive 
 my dishonor. Come, mother, don't pity me, or distress 
 yourself ; I am one of those miserable beings fated to find 
 no peace save in the arms of death. I came into the world 
 with misfortune stamped upon my brow. Was not my 
 birth a shame and disgrace to you ? Did not the memo- 
 ry of my existence haunt you day and night, filling your 
 soul with remorse ? And now, when I am restored to you 
 after many years' separation, do I not prove to be a bitter 
 curse instead of a blessing ? " 
 
 " Ungrateful boy 1 Have I ever reproached you ? " 
 
3o8 miE NO. 113. 
 
 I'. 
 
 Never ! Your poor Raoul will die blessing you, and 
 with your beloved name upon his lips." 
 
 " Die ? You die, my son ? " 
 
 " It must be, my dear mother ; honor compels it. I 
 am condemned by judges from whose decision no appeal 
 can be taken — my conscience and my will." 
 
 An hour ago, Madame Fauvel would have sworn that 
 Raoul had made her suffer all the torments that a woman 
 could endure ; but now she felt that all her former troubles 
 were nothing compared with her present agony. " What, 
 then, have you been doing, Raoul .'' " she gasped. 
 
 " Money was entrusted to me ; I gambled, and lost it." 
 
 " Was it a very large sum ? " 
 
 " No ; but more than you can replace. My poor mother, 
 have I not taken everything from you ? Have you not 
 given me your last jewel ? '' 
 
 " But M. de Clameran is rich. He placed his fortune 
 at my disposal. I will order the carriage, and go to him." 
 
 " But M. de Clameran is away, and the money must be 
 paid this evening, or I am lost. Alas ! I have thought it 
 all over and, although it is hard to die so young, still fate 
 wills it so." He pulled the pistol from his pocket, and, 
 with a forced smile, added : " This will settle everything.'* 
 
 Madame Fauvel was too upset and frightened to reflect 
 upon the horror of RaouFs behavior : and that these wild 
 threats were a last expedient. Forgetful of the past, care- 
 less of the future, her every thought concentrated upon 
 the present, she comprehended but one fact : that her son 
 was about to commit suicide, and that she was powerless 
 to prevent the fearful deed. " Oh, wait a little while, my 
 son ! " she cried. " Andre will soon return home, and I 
 will ask him to give me — How much did you lose ? " 
 
 " Thirty thousand francs." 
 
 " You shall have them to-mOlTow.'* 
 
 " But I must have the money to-night." 
 
 Madame Fauvel wrung her hands in despair. ** Oh ! 
 why did you not come to me sooner, my son ? Why did 
 you not have confidence enough in me to come at once for 
 help ? This evening there is no one in the cashier's ofhce 
 to open the safe, otherwise — " 
 
 " The safe ! " cried Raoul, " but you know where the 
 key is kept ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is in the next room." 
 
FILE NO. 113. 309 
 
 "Well!" be exclaimed, with a bold look that caused 
 Madame Fauvel to lower her eyes, and keep silent. " Give 
 me the key, mother," he said in a tone of entreaty. 
 "O Raoul, Raoul !" 
 " It is my life I am asking of you." 
 These words decided her ; she snatched up a candle, 
 rushed into her bedroom, opened the secretary, and took 
 out M. Fauvel's key. But, when about to hand it to 
 Raoul, her reason returned to her. " No," she stammered, 
 " no, it is impossible." 
 
 He did not insist, and seemed about to leave the room. 
 " True," said he ; " then, mother, a last kiss." 
 
 " What could you do with the key, Raoul ? " . asked 
 Madame Fauvel, stopping him. "You do not know the 
 secret word." 
 
 " No ; but I can try to open it." 
 
 " You know that money is never kept in the safe over 
 night." 
 
 " Nevertheless, I can make the attempt. If I open the 
 safe and find money in it, it will be a miracle, showing that 
 Heaven has pitied my misfortunes." 
 
 " And, if you are not successful, will you promise me to 
 wait until to-morrow ? " « 
 
 " I swear it, by my father's memory." 
 " Then take the key, and follow me." 
 Pale and trembling, Raoul and Madame Fauvel passed 
 through the banker's study, and down the narrow staircase 
 leading to the offices and cashier's room below. Raoul 
 walked in front, holding the light, and the key of the safe. 
 Madame Fauvel was convinced that it would be utterly 
 impossible to open the safe, as the key was useless with- 
 out the secret word, and of course Raoul could not know 
 what that was. Even granting that some chance had re- 
 vealed the secret to him, he would find but little in the 
 safe, since everything was deposited in the Bank of France. 
 The only anxiety she felt was, how Raoul would bear the 
 disappointment, how she could calm his despair. She 
 thought that she would gain time by letting Raoul make 
 the attempt ; and then, when he found he could not open 
 the safe, he would keep his promise, and wait until the 
 next day. " When he sees there is no chance of success," 
 she thought, " he will wait as he promised ; and then to- 
 morrow — to-morrow — " 
 
310 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 What she would do on the morrow she knew not, she 
 did not even ask herself. But in extreme situations the least 
 delay inspires hope, as if a short respite meant sure sal* 
 vation. The condemned man, at the last moment, begs 
 for a reprieve of a day, an hour, a few seconds. Raoul 
 was about to kill himself ; his mother prayed to God to 
 grant her one night ; as if in this short space of time some 
 unexpected relief would come to end her misery. Thev 
 reached Prosper's office, and Raoul placed the lamp on a 
 high stool so that it lighted the whole room. He had 
 then recovered all his coolness, or rather that mechanical 
 precision of movement, almost independent of will, which 
 men accustomed to peril always find ready in time of need. 
 Rapidly, with the dexterity of experience, he slipped the 
 buttons on the five letters composing the name of 
 G, i, p, s, y. His features during this short operation, ex- 
 pressed the most intense anxiety. He was fearful that 
 the awful energy he had shown might after all be of no 
 use ; perhaps the safe would remain closed, perhaps the 
 money would not be there. Prosper might have changed 
 the word, or neglected to have the money in the safe. 
 Madame Fauvel saw these visible apprehensions with 
 alarm. She read in his eyes that wild hope of a man who, 
 passionately desiring an object, ends by persuading him- 
 self that his own will suffices to overcome all obstacles. 
 Having often been present when Prosper was preparing to 
 leave his office, Raoul had fifty times seen him move the but- 
 tons, and lock the safe, just before the bank closed. Indeed, 
 having a practical turn of mind, and an eye to the future, 
 he had even turned the key in the lock on more than one 
 occasion. He inserted the key softly, and turned it round 
 once, pushed it farther in, and turned it a second time ; then 
 thrust it right in with a jerk, and turned it again. His 
 heart beat so loudly that Madame Fauvel could hear its 
 throbs. The word had not been changed ; the safe opened. 
 Raoul and his mother simultaneously uttered a cry — she 
 of terror, he of triumph. 
 
 " Shut it again ! " exclaimed Madame Fauvel, frightened 
 at the incomprehensible result of Raoul's attempt ; " leave 
 it alone, come away." 
 
 And, half frenzied, she clung to his arm, and pulled him 
 away so abruptly, that the key was dragged from the lock, 
 and, slipping along the glossy varnish of the safe-dooij 
 
FILE NO. 113. 311 
 
 made a deep, long scratch. But at a glance the young 
 man had perceived three rolls of bank notes on an upper 
 shelf. He snatched them up with his left hand, and 
 slipped them inside his vest. Exhausted by the effort she 
 had made, Madame Fauvel dropped his arm, and, almost 
 fainting with emotion, leant against the back of a chair. 
 
 " Have mercy, Raoul ! " she moaned. " I implore you to 
 put back that money, and I solemnly swear I will give you 
 twice as much to-morrow. O my son, have pity upon your 
 unhappy mother ! " 
 
 He paid no attention to these words of entreaty, but 
 carefully examined the scratch on the safe. This trace of 
 the robbery was very visible, and alarmed him. 
 
 " At least you will not take all," said Madame Fauvel ; 
 "just keep enough to save yourself, and put back the 
 rest." 
 
 " What good would that do t What I take will be 
 missed just the same." 
 
 " Oh, no ! not at all. I can account to Andr^ ; I will 
 tell him I had a pressing need for some money, and opened 
 the safe to get it." 
 
 In the mean time Raoul had carefully closed the safe. 
 " Come, mother, let us go back to the sitting-room. A 
 servant might go there to look for you, and be astonished 
 at our absence." 
 
 Raoul's cruel indifference and cold calculations at such 
 a moment filled Madame Fauvel with indignation. She 
 thought that she had still some influence over her son — 
 that her prayers and tears would have some effect upon 
 his hard heart. " Let them be astonished," she cried ; 
 " let them come here and find us. Then there will be an 
 end to all this. Andre will drive me from his house like a 
 worthless creature, but I will not sacrifice the innocent. 
 Prosper will be accused of this to-morrow. De Clameran 
 has taken from him the woman he loved, and now you would 
 deprive him of his honor ! I will not allow It." 
 
 She spoke so loud and angrily that Raoul was alarmed. 
 He knew that one of the office-men passed the night in a 
 room close by, and although it was still early in the even- 
 ing he might already be in bed, and listening to them. 
 " Come up stairs," he said, seizing Madame I^'auvel's 
 arm. 
 
 But she clung to a table, and refused to move a step, 
 
512 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 " I have been cowardly enough to sacrifice Madeleine,* 
 she said, '' but I will not ruin Prosper." 
 
 Raoul had an argument in reserve which he knew would 
 make Madame Fauvel submit to his will. " Now, really," 
 he said, \\ ith a cynical laugh, " do you pretend that you do 
 not know Prosper and I arranged this little affair together, 
 and that he is waiting to share the booty ? " 
 
 " It is impossible ! " 
 
 " What ! Do you suppose, then, that chance alone told 
 me the word, and placed the money in the safe ? " 
 
 " Prosper is honest." 
 
 ** Of course he is, and so am I too. The only thing is, 
 that we both need money." 
 
 "You lie." 
 
 " No, dear mother. Madeleine dismissed Prosper, and 
 the poor fellow has to console himself for her cruelty , 
 and this sort of consolation is expensive." 
 
 He took up the lamp, and gently but firmly led Madame 
 Fauvel towards the staircase. ■ She mechanically suffered 
 him to do so, more bewildered by what she had just heard, 
 than she was at the opening of the safe-door. " What ! " 
 she gasped ; " can Prosper be a thief } " She began to 
 think herself the victim of a terrible nightmare, and that, 
 when she awoke, her mind would be relieved of this in- 
 tolerable torture. She helplessly clung to Raouls arm 
 as he assisted her up the little narrow staircase. 
 
 " You must put the key back in the secretary," said 
 Raoul, as soon as they were in the bedroom again. 
 
 But she did not seem to hear him ; so he went and put 
 it in the place from which he had seen her take it. He 
 tAen led, or rather carried, Madame Fauvel, into the little 
 sitting-room, and placed her in an easy-chair. The set ex- 
 pressionless look of the wretched woman's eyes, and her 
 dazed manner, frightened Raoul, who thought that she 
 was going out of her mind. 
 
 " Come, cheer up, my dear mother," he said, in coax- 
 ing tones, as he rubbed her icy cold hands ; " you have 
 just saved my life, and have at the same time rendered an 
 immense service to Prosper. Don't be alarmed ; every 
 thing will come out right in the end. Prosper will be ac- 
 cused — perhaps arrested ; he expects that, and is prepared 
 for it ; he will deny his culpability ; and, as there is no 
 proof against hirp, h^ wUl SQon be set at Ubertjo" 
 
FILE NO. 113. 313 
 
 But these falsehoods were wasted on Madame Fauvel, 
 who was incapable of understanding anything said to her. 
 " Raoul," she moaned, " Raoul, my son, you have killed 
 me." 
 
 Her gentle voice, kind even its despairing accents, 
 touched the very bottom of Raoul's perverted heart, and 
 once more his soul was so wrung by remorse, that he felt 
 inclined to put back the stolen money. The thought of 
 De Clameran restrained him. Finding that Madame Fau- 
 vel still sat motionless and death-like in her chair, and 
 fearing that M. Fauvel or Madeleine might enter at any 
 moment, and demand an explanation, he hastily pressed a 
 kiss upon his mother's brow, and hurried from the house. 
 At the restaurant, in the room where they had dined, De 
 Clameran, tortured by anxiety, awaited his accomplice. 
 He wondered if, at the last moment, when he was not near 
 to sustain him, Raoul would prove a coward and retreat. 
 The merest accident, too, is sufficient to upset the most 
 skilful combinations. When Raoul returned he jumped to 
 his feet, ghastly pale, and with difficulty gasped out : 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " It is done, uncle, thr.nks to you ; and I am now the 
 greatest villain on the face of the earth." He unbuttoned 
 his vest, and, pulling cut the four bundles of bank-notes, 
 angrily dashed them upon the table, adding, in a tone of 
 hate and contempt : " Now I hope you are satisfied. This 
 is the price of the happiness, honor, and perhaps the life, 
 of three persons." 
 
 De Clameran paid no attention to these angry words. 
 With feverish eagerness he seized the notes, and held them 
 in his hand as if to convince himself of the reality of suc- 
 cess. " Now Madeleine is mine," he cried, excitedly. 
 
 Raoul said nothing. This exhibition of joy, after the 
 scene in which he had just been an actor, disgusted and 
 humiliated him. Louis misinterpreted his silence, and 
 asked, gayly : " Did you have much difficulty ? " 
 
 " I forbid you ever to allude to this evening's work,'* 
 cried Raoul, fiercely. " Do you hear me ? I wish to for- 
 get it." 
 
 De Clameran shrugged his shoulders at this outburst of 
 anger, and said, in a bantering tone : " Just as you please, 
 my handsome nephew ; forget it if you like. I rather think, 
 though, you will not refuse to accept these three hundred 
 
314 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 and fifty thousand francs, as a slight memento. Take 
 them — they are yours." 
 
 This generosity seemed neither to surprise nor satisfy 
 Raoul. "According to our agreement," he said, sullenly, 
 " I was to have much more than this." 
 *' Of course ; this is only on account." 
 " And when am I to have the rest, if you please ? " 
 " The day I marry Madeleine, and not before, my boy. 
 You are too valuable an assistant to lose at present ; and 
 you know that, though I don't distrust you, I am not alto- 
 gether sure of your sincere affection for me." 
 
 Raoul reflected that to commit a crime, and not profit 
 by it, would be the height of absurdity. He had returned 
 with the intention of breaking off all connection with De 
 Ciameran ; but he now determined that he would not aban- 
 don his accomplice until there was nothing more to get 
 out of him. "Very well," he said, " I accept this on ac- 
 count ; but remember, I will never do another piece of 
 work like this of to-night." 
 
 De Ciameran burst into a loud laugh, and replied : " That 
 is sensible ; now that you are rich, you can afford to be 
 honest. Set your conscience at rest, for I promise you I 
 will require nothing more of you save a few trifling ser' 
 vices. You can retire behind the scenes now, while I 
 appear upon the stage." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 For more than an hour after Raoul's departure, Madame 
 Fauvel remained in a state of torpor bordering upon un- 
 consciousness. Gradually, however, she recovered he* 
 senses sufficiently to comprehend the horrors of her pres- 
 ent situation ; and, with the faculty of thought, that of sut- 
 fering returned. The dreadful scene in which she had ta- 
 tken part was still before her affrighted vision ; all the at' 
 fending circumstances, unnoticed at the time, now struck hei 
 forcibly. She saw that she had been the dupe of a shame* 
 ful conspiracy ; that Raoul had tortured her with cold- 
 blooded cruelty, had taken advantage of her tenderness, 
 and played with her sufferings. But had Prosper anything 
 to do with the robbery ? This Madame Fauvel had no 
 way of finding out. Ah, Kaoul knew how the blow wquM 
 
FILE NO. 113. 315 
 
 Strike when he accused his friend. He knew that she 
 would end by beUeving in the cashier's complicity. Know- 
 ing that Madeleine's lover was leading a life of extrava- 
 gance and dissipation, she thought it very likely he had, 
 from sheer desperation, resorted to this bold step to pay 
 his debts ; her blind affection, moreover, made her anxious 
 to attribute the first idea of crime to any one, rather than 
 to her son. She had heard that Prosper was supporting 
 one of those worthless creatures whose extravagance im- 
 poverishes men, and whose evil influence perverts their 
 natures. When a young man is thus degraded, will he 
 stop at any sin or crime ? Alas ! Madame Fauvel knew, 
 from her own sad experience, to what depths even one 
 fault can lead. Although she believed Prosper guilty, she 
 did not blame him, but considered herself responsible for 
 his sins. Was she not the cause that he no longer fre- 
 quented the home he had begun to look upon as his own ? 
 Had she not destroyed his hopes of happiness, and driven 
 him to a life of dissipation, wherein perhaps he sought for- 
 getfulness ? She was undecided whether to confide in 
 Madeleine, or bury the secret in her own breast. Fatally 
 inspired, she decided to keep silent. 
 
 When the young girl returned home at eleven o'clock, 
 Madame Fauvel not only was silent as to what had oc- 
 curred, but even succeeded in so concealing all traces of 
 her agitation, that she escaped any questions from her 
 niece. Her calmness never left her when M. Fauvel and 
 Lucien returned, although she was in terror lest her hus- 
 band should go down to the cashier's room to examine the 
 books. It was not his habit to open the safe at night, 
 but he sometimes did so. As fate would have it, the 
 banker, as soon as he entered the room, began to speak 
 of Prosper, saying how distressing it was that so interest- 
 ing a young man should be thus throwing himself away, 
 and wondering what could have happened to make him 
 suddenly cease his visits at the house, and rec.ort to bad 
 company. If M. Fauvel had looked at the faces of his 
 wife and niece while he harshly blamed the cashier, he 
 would have been puzzled at their strange expressions. 
 All night long, Madame Fauvel suffered the most intolerable 
 agony. 
 
 "Jn six hours," she would say to herself, "in three 
 
3i6 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 hours, in one hour, all will be discovered ; and then what 
 will happen ? " 
 
 When daybreak came, she heard the servants moving 
 about the house. Then the offices were opened, and the 
 noise made by the arriving clerks reached her. She at- 
 tempted to get up, but felt so ill and weak that she sank 
 back upon her pillow ; and lying there, trembling like a 
 leaf, bathed in cold perspiration, she awaited the discov- 
 ery of the robbery. She was leaning over the side of the 
 bed, straining her ear to catch the least sound, when Mad- 
 eleine, who had shortly before left her, rushed back into 
 the room. The poor girl's white face and wild eyes told 
 Madame Fauvel that the crime was discovered. 
 
 " Do you know what has happened aunt ? " cried Mad- 
 eleine, in a shrill, horrified tone. " Prosper is accused of 
 robbery, and the commissary of police has come to take 
 him to prison ! " 
 
 A groan was Madame Fauvel's on/y answer. 
 
 " Raoul or the marquis is at the bottom of this," con- 
 tinued Madeleine, excitedly. 
 
 " How can they be concerned in it ? " 
 
 " I can't tell yet ; but I only know that Prosper is inno- 
 cent. I have just seen him, spoken to him. He would 
 never have looked me in the face had he been guilty." 
 
 Madame Fauvel opened her lips to confess all : fear 
 kept her silent. 
 
 " What can these wretches want ? " asked Madeleine, 
 " what new sacrifice do they demand ? Dishonor Pros- 
 per ! They had far better have killed him — I would have 
 said nothing." 
 
 M. Fauvel's entrance into the room interrupted Made- 
 leine. The banker was so enraged that he could scarcely 
 speak. ' The worthless scoundrel ! " he cried : " to think 
 of his daring to accuse me ! to insinuate that I robbed 
 my own safe ! And that Marquis de Clameran, who seems 
 to doubt my integrity." Then, without noticing the 
 effect of his words upon the two women, he proceeded 
 to relate all that had occurred. " I was afraid of some- 
 thing of this sort last night," he said in conclusion ; " this 
 is the result of leading such a life as his has been lately." 
 
 Throvighout the day Madeleine's devotion to her aunt 
 was se^'erely tried. The generous girl saw disgrace heaped 
 upon the man she loved. She had perfect faith in his in- 
 
FILE NO. 113. 317 
 
 nocence , she felt sure she knew who had laid the trap to 
 ruin him, and yet she did not say a word in his defence. 
 Fearing that Madeleine would suspect her of complicity in 
 the theft, if she remained in bed and betrayed so much 
 agitation, Madame Fauvel rose and dressed for breakfast. 
 It was a dreary meal. No one tasted a morsel. The ser- 
 vants moved about on tiptoe, as silently as if a death had 
 occurred in the family. 
 
 About two o'clock a servant came to M. Fauvel's study, 
 and said that the Marquis de Clameran desired to see him. 
 " What ! " cried the banker, " does he dare — " Then, 
 after a moment's reflection, he added : " Ask him to walk 
 up." 
 
 The very name of De Clameran sufficed to arouse all 
 M. Fauvel's slumbering wrath. The victim of a robbery, 
 finding his safe empty at the moment that he was called 
 upon to make a heavy payment, he had been constrained 
 to curb his anger and resentment ; but now he determined 
 to have his revenge upon his insolent visitor. But the 
 marquis declined to come up stairs. The messenger re- 
 turned with the answer that the gentleman had a particu- 
 lar reason for seeing M. Fauvel in the office below, where 
 the clerks were, 
 
 " What does this fresh impertinence mean ? " cried the 
 banker, as he angrily jumped up and hastened down stairs. 
 
 M. de Clameran was standing the middle of the office 
 adjoining the cashier's room ; M. Fauvel walked up to 
 him, and roughly said : " What do you want now, sir .? 
 You Imve been paid your money, and I have your receipt." 
 
 To the surprise of all the clerks, and the banker himself, 
 the marquis seemed not in the least offended at this rude 
 greeting, but answered in a deferential though not at all 
 humble manner : " You are hard upon me, sir, but I de- 
 serve it, and that is why I am here. A gentleman always 
 acknowledges when he is in the wrong : in this instance I 
 am the offender ; and I flatter myself that my past will 
 permit me to say so without being accused of coward- 
 ice or lack of self-respect. If I desired to see you here 
 instead of in your study, it was because, having been rude 
 to you in the presence of your clerks, I wished them to be 
 witnesses of my apology for the same." 
 
 De Clameran's speech was so different from his usual 
 Qverbearing, haughty conduct, that the surprised banker 
 
3j8 file no. 113. 
 
 could only stammer : " I must say that I was hurt by your 
 doubts, your insinuations — " 
 
 " This morning," continued the marquis, " I was irrita- 
 ted, and thoughtlessly gave way to my temper. Although 
 I am gray-headed, my disposition is as excitable as that of 
 a fiery young man of twenty. My words, believe me, did 
 not represent my real thoughts, and I regret them deeply." 
 
 M. Fauvel being himself a kind-hearted though quick- 
 tempered man, could understand De Clameran's feelings ; 
 and, knowing that his own high reputation for scrupulous 
 1 oiesty could not be affected by any hasty language, he at 
 once calmed down before so frank an apology. Holding 
 out his hand to De Clameran, he said : " Let us forget 
 what happened, sir." 
 
 They conversed in a friendly manner for some minutes ; 
 and De Clameran, after explaining why he had such press- 
 ing need of the money at that particular hour of the morn- 
 ing, turned to leave, saying that he would do himself the 
 honor of calling upon Madame Fauvel. "That is, if a 
 visit just now would not be considered intrusive," he said 
 with a shade of hesitation. " Perhaps after the trouble of 
 this morning, she does not wish to be disturbed." 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said the banker ; " I think a visit would 
 cheer her up. I am obliged to go out on account of this 
 unfortunate affair." 
 
 Madame Fauvel was in the same room where Raoul had 
 threatened to kill himself the night before ; she looked 
 very ill as she lay on a sofa, with Madeleine seated beside 
 her. 
 
 When M. de Clameran was announced, they both started 
 up as if a phantom had appeared before them. Although 
 Louis had been gay and smiling when he parted from M. 
 Fauvel down stairs, he now wore a melancholy aspect, as 
 he gravely bowed, and refused to seat himself in the chair 
 which Madame Fauvel motioned him to take. 
 
 " You will excuse me, ladies," he began, " for intruding 
 upon your affliction ; but I have a duty to fulfil." 
 
 The two women were silent ; they seemed to be waiting 
 for him to explain. He therefore added in an undertone : 
 " I know all." 
 
 By an imploring gesture, Madame Fauvel tried to stop 
 him. She saw that he was about to reveal her secret to 
 Madeleine. But Louis would not see this gesture ; he 
 
FILE NO. 113. 319 
 
 turned his whole attention to Madeleine, who haughtily 
 said : "Explain yourself, sir." 
 
 " Only an hour ago," he replied, " I discovered that 
 Raoul last night forced from his mother the key of the 
 safe, and stole three hundred and fifty thousand francs." 
 
 Madeleine crimsoned with shame and indignation ; she 
 leaned over the sofa, and seizing her aunt by the wrists 
 shook her violently. " Is it true t " she asked in a hoi 
 low voice ; " is it true ? " 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! " groaned Madame Fauvel utterly crushed 
 
 " You have allowed Prosper to be accused," cried th^ 
 young girl ; " you have suffered him to be arrested and 
 disgraced for life." 
 
 " Forgive me," murmured her aunt. " Raoul was about 
 to kill himself ; I was so frightened ! Then you know- 
 Prosper was to share the money with him." 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Madeleine indignantly; " you wera 
 told that, and you believed it ! " 
 
 De Clameran interrupted them. " Unfortunately,'" 
 said he in a sad tone, " what your aunt says of M. Bertomy 
 is the truth." 
 
 " Your proofs, sir, where are your proofs ? " 
 
 " Raoul's confession ! " 
 
 " Raoul is a scoundrel ! " 
 
 " That is only too true ; but how did he find out the 
 word, if M. Bertomy did not reveal it ? And who left the 
 money in the safe but M. Bertomy ? " 
 
 These arguments had no effect upon Madeleine. "And 
 now tell me," she said scornfully, " what became of the 
 money ? " 
 
 There was no mistaking the significance of these words ; 
 they meant : " You are the instigator of the robbery, and 
 of course the receiver as well " 
 
 This harsh accusation from a girl whom he so passion- 
 ately loved, when, grasping bandit as he was, he risked 
 for her sake all the money gained by his crimes, so cruelly 
 hurt De Clameran that he turned livid. But he had pre- 
 pared and studied his part too well, to be at all discour- 
 aged. " A day will come, mademoiselle," he said, " when 
 you will deeply regret having treated me so cruelly. I 
 understand your insinuation ; oh ! you need not attempt to 
 deny it — " 
 
 " I have no idea of denying anything, sir," 
 
320 PTLB NO. 113. 
 
 " Madeleine ! " remonstrated Madame Fauvel, who 
 trembled at the rising anger of the man who held her fate 
 in his hands, '' Madeleine, have mercy ! " 
 
 " Mademoiselle is pitiless," said De Clameran sadly ; 
 "she cruelly punishes an honorable man whose only fault 
 is having obeyed his brother's dying injunctions. And I 
 «am here now because I believe in the joint responsibility 
 of all the members of a family." Here he slowly drew 
 from his pocket several bundles of bank-notes, and laid 
 them on the mantle-piece. " Raoul stole three hundred 
 and fifty thousand francs," he said : " I return the same 
 amount. It is more than half my fortune. Willingly would 
 I give the rest to insure this being his last crime." 
 
 Too inexperienced to penetrate De Clameran's bold, 
 and yet simple plan, Madeleine was dumb with astonish- 
 ment ; all her calculations were upset. 
 
 Madame Fauvel, on the contrary, accepted this restitu- 
 tion as salvation sent from heaven. " Oh, thanks^ sir, 
 thanks ! " she cried, gratefully clasping De Clameran's 
 hand in hers ; " you are goodness itself ! " 
 
 Louis's eyes lit up with pleasure. But he rejoiced too 
 soon. A minute's reflection brought back all of Made- 
 leine's distrust. She thought this generosity unnatural in 
 a man wnom she considered incapable of a noble senti- 
 ment, and at once concluded that it must conceal some 
 snare beneath, "What are we to do with this money.?" 
 she demanded. 
 
 " Restore it to M. Fauvel, mademoiselle." 
 
 " We restore it, sir, and how ? Restormg the money is 
 denouncing Raoul, and ruining my aunt. Take back your 
 money, sir." 
 
 De Clameran was too shrewd to insist ; he took up the 
 money and seemed about to leAve. 
 
 " I comprehend your refusal, mademoiselle, and must 
 find another way of accomplishing my wish. But, before 
 retiring, let me say that your injustice pains me deeply. 
 After the promise you made to me, I had reason to hope 
 for a kinder welcome." 
 
 " I will keep my promise, sir, but n.ot until you have 
 furnished security." 
 
 " Security ! What security ? Pray explain yourself.** 
 
 " Something to protect my aunt against Raoul after my 
 •—marriage. What is my dowry to a man who squanders 
 
FILE NO. 113. 321 
 
 2 hundred thousand francs in four months ? We are mak- 
 ing a bargain ; I give you my hand in exchange for my 
 aurft's life and honor, and of course you must give me 
 some security for the performance of your promise." 
 
 " Oh ! I will give you ample securities," exclaimed De 
 Clameran, " such as will quiet all your suspicious doubts 
 of my good faith. Alas ! you will not believe in my devo- 
 tion ; what shall I do to convince you of its sincerity ? 
 Shall I try to save M. Bertomy?" 
 
 " Thanks for the offer, sir," replied Madeleine disdain- 
 fully ; " if Prosper is guilty, let him be punished by the 
 law ; if he is innocent, God will protect him." 
 
 Madeleine and her aunt rose from their seats to signify 
 that the interview was over. De Clameran bowed, and 
 left the room. " What pride ! What determination ! The 
 idea of her demanding security of me ! " he said to him- 
 self as he slowly walked away, " But the proud girl shall 
 be humbled yet. She is so beautiful ! and, if I did not so 
 madly love her — Well ! so much the worse for -Raoul ! " 
 
 Never had De Clameran been so incensed. Madeleine's 
 quiet determination and forethought, which he had not 
 anticipated, had upset his well-laid plan. He was discon- 
 certed, and at a loss how to proceed. He knew that it 
 would be useless to attempt deceiving a girl of Madeleine's 
 character a second time ; he saw that though she had not 
 penetrated his motives, she was on the defence, and pre- 
 pared for any new surprise. Moreover, she would prevent 
 Madame Fauvel from being frightened and forced into 
 submission any longer. At the very moment when Louis 
 thought he had won easily, hs met with an adversary. 
 The whole thing would have to be gone over again. Al- 
 though Madeleine had resigned herself to sacrifice, it was 
 evident that she had no idea of doing so blindly, and 
 would not hazard her aunt's and her own happiness upon 
 the uncertainty of eventual promises. How could he 
 furnish the securities she demanded ? What measures 
 could he take to prevent Raoul from importuning his 
 mother in the future. Once De Clameran married, and 
 Raoul become rich, there would be no further reason for 
 disquieting Madame Fauvel. But how prove this to 
 Madeleine ? The knowledge of all the circumstances of 
 this shameful and criminal intrigue would have re-assured 
 her upon this point ; but then it would never do to inform 
 ax 
 
p2 PILE NO. 113. 
 
 her of these details, especially before the marriage. What 
 securities then could he give ? But De Clameran was not 
 one of those hesitating men who take weeks to consider a 
 difficulty. When he could not untie a knot, he would cut 
 it. Raoul was a stumbling-block to his wishes, and he 
 swore to rid himself of his troublesome accomplice some- 
 how or other. It was not, however, an easy matter to dis- 
 pose of so cunning a knave as Raoul. But this consider- 
 ation could not stop De Clameran. He was incited by 
 one of those passions which age renders terrible. The 
 more certain he was of Madeleine's contempt and dislike, 
 the more determined he was to marry her. But he had 
 sense enough to see that he might ruin his prospects by 
 undue haste, and that the safest course would be to await 
 the result of the accusation against Prosper before moving 
 further in the matter. 
 
 He waited in anxious expectation of a summons from 
 Madame Fauvel. But he was again mistaken. On calmly 
 thinking over the two accomplices' last acts, Madeleine 
 came to the conclusion that they would remain quiet for 
 awhile ; she knew resistance could have no worse results 
 than would cowardly submission, and therefore assumed 
 the entire responsibility of managing the affair so as to 
 keep at bay both Raoul and De Clameran. She knew that 
 Madame Fauvel would be anxious to accept any terms of 
 peace, but determined to use all her influence to prevent 
 her doing this, and to force upon her the necessity of 
 maintaining a firmer and more dignified attitude. This 
 accounted for the silence of the two women, who were 
 quietly waiting for their adversaries to renew hostilities. 
 They even succeeded in concealing their anxiety beneath 
 assumed indifference ; never asking any questions about 
 the robbery, or those who were in any way connected with 
 it. M. Fauvel brought them an account of Prosper's ex- 
 amination, the many charges brought against him, his 
 obstinate denial of having stolen the money; and finally, 
 how, after great perplexity and close study of the case by 
 the investigating magistrate, the cashier had been dis- 
 charged for want of sufficient proof against him. Since 
 De Clameran's offer to replace the money, Madame Fau- 
 vel had not doubted Prosper's guilt. She said nothing, 
 but inwardly accused him of having seduced her son from 
 the path of virtue, and enticed him into crime — that son 
 
FILE NO. 113. 323 
 
 whom she could never cease to love. Madeleine, on the 
 contrary, had perfect faith in Prosper's innocence. She 
 was so sure of it, that, learning that he was about to be 
 set at liberty, she ventured to ask her uncle, under pre- 
 text of some charitable object, to give her ten thousand 
 francs, which she sent to the unfortunate victim of cir- 
 cumstantial evidence who, from all that she had heard, 
 was probably in great need of assistance. In the letter — 
 cut from her prayer-book to avoid detection by writing — 
 accompanying the money, she advised Prosper to leave 
 France, because she knew that it would be impossible for 
 a man of his proud nature to remain on the scene of his 
 disgrace. Besides, Madeleine, at that time, feeling that 
 she would be obliged sooner or later to marry De Cla- 
 meran, was anxious to have the man she loved, far, far away 
 from her. And yet, on the day that this anonymous pres- 
 ent was sent, in opposition to the wishes of Madame Fau- 
 vel, the two poor women were fearfully entangled in pecun- 
 iary difficulties. The tradesmen, w^hose money had been 
 squandered by Raoul, refused to give credit any longer, 
 and insisted upon their bills being paid at once ; saying 
 they could not understand how a man of M. Fauvel's 
 wealth and position could keep them waiting for such in- 
 significant amounts. One was owed two thousand, an- 
 other one thousand, and a third only five hundred francs. 
 The butcher, the grocer, and the wine-merchant, would 
 call together, and Madame Fauvel had the greatest dif- 
 ficulty in prevailing upon them to accept something on ac- 
 count. Some of them threatened to apply to the banker. 
 Madame Fauvel's indebtedness amounted to almost fif- 
 teen thousand francs. Madeleine and her aunt had de- 
 clined all invitations during the winter, to avoid spending 
 money on dress. But at last they were obliged to appear 
 in public. M. Fauvel's most intimate friends, the Messrs. 
 Jandidier, were about to give a splendid ball, and, as fate 
 would have it, a fancy ball, which would require the pur- 
 chasmg of costumes. Where was the money to come 
 from .'' They had been owing a large bill to their dress- 
 maker for over a year. Would she consent to furnish 
 them with any more dresses on credit ? Madeleine's new 
 maid, Palmyre Chocareille, extricated them from this dif- 
 ficulty. This girl who seemed to have suffered all the 
 minor ills of life — which, after all, were the hardest to 
 
324 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 bear — seemed to have divined her mistress's anxiety. At 
 any rate, she voluntarily informed Madeleine that a friend 
 of hers, a first class dressmaker, had just set up for her- 
 self, and would be glad to furnish materials and make the 
 dresses on credit, for the sake of obtaining the patronage 
 of Madame Fauvel and her niece, which would at once 
 bring her plenty of fashionable customers. But this was 
 not all. Neither of them could go to the ball without 
 jewellery ; and every jewel they owned had been taken by 
 Raoul, and pawned, and he had the tickets. After think- 
 ing the matter over, Madeleine decided to ask Raoul to 
 devote some of the stolen money to redeeming the jewels 
 he had forced from his mother. She informed her aunt 
 of her plan, saying : " Make an appointment with Raoul : 
 he will not dare to refuse you ; and I will go in your stead." 
 And, two days after, the courageous girl took a cab, and, 
 regardless of the inclement weather, went to Vesinet. 
 She had no idea, then, that M. Verduret and Prosper were 
 following close behind her, and that they witnessed her 
 interview from the top of a ladder. Her bold step, how- 
 ever, was fruitless. Raoul swore that he had shared with 
 Prosper ; that his own half was spent, and that he was 
 quite without money. He even refused to give up the 
 pawn-ticket? ; and Madeleine had to insist most energetic- 
 ally before she could induce him to give up four or five 
 trifling articles that were absolutely indispensable. De 
 Clameran had ordered him to refuse, because he hoped 
 that in their distress they would apply to him for help. 
 Raoul had obeyed, but only after a violent altercation 
 witnessed by De Clameran's new valet, Joseph Dubois. 
 The accomplices were at that time on very bad terms to- 
 gether. The marquis was seeking a safe means of getting 
 rid of Raoul; and the young scamp had a sort of present- 
 iment of his uncle's friendly intentions. Nothing but the 
 certainty of impending danger could reconcile them ; and 
 this was revealed to them at the Jandidier bail. Who was 
 the mysterious mountebank that had indulged in such 
 transparent allusions to Madame Fauvel's private troubles, 
 and then said with threatening significance to Louis : " 1 
 was your brother Gaston's friend ! " 
 
 Who he was, where he came from, they could not im- 
 agine ; but they clearly saw that he was a dangerous ene- 
 my, and forthwith attempted to assassinate him upon his 
 
FILE NO. 113. 325 
 
 leaving the ball. Having followed him and then having 
 lost him, they became alarmed : " We cannot be too 
 guarded in our conduct," whispered De Clameran ; " we 
 shall know only too soon who he is." 
 
 Once more Raoul tried to induce him to give up his 
 project of marrying Madeleine. " Never ! " he exclaimed : 
 " I will marry her, or perish ! " 
 
 They thought that, now they were warned, the danger 
 of their being caught was lessened. But they did not 
 know the sort of man who was on their track. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Such are the facts that, with an almost incredible talent 
 for investigation, had been collected and prepared by M. 
 Verduret, the stout man with the jovial face who had taken 
 Prosper under his protection. Reaching Paris at nine 
 o'clock at night, not by the Lyons train as he had an- 
 nounced, but by the Orleans one, M. Verduret had has- 
 tened to the Hotel of the Grand Archangel, where he had 
 found the cashier impatiently expecting him, 
 
 " You are about to hear something extraordinary," he 
 had said to Prosper, " and you will see how far back one 
 has to seek into the past, for the primary causes of a crime. 
 All things are linked together and dependent upon each 
 other in this world of ours. If Gaston de Clameran had 
 not entered a little cafe at Tarascon to play a game of bill- 
 iards twenty years ago, your safe would not have been 
 robbed three weeks back. Valentine de La Verberie is 
 punished in 1866 for the murders committed for her sake 
 in 1840. Nothing is ever lost or forgotten. Listen." 
 
 And he forthwith related all that he had discovered, re- 
 ferring, as he went along to his notes and the voluminous 
 manuscript which he had prepared. During the entire 
 week, M. Verduret had not perhaps taken in all twenty- 
 four hours' rest, but he bore no great traces of fatigue. 
 His iron muscles braved any amount of labor, and his 
 elastic nature was too well tempered to give way beneath 
 such pressure. While any other man would have sunk ex- 
 hausted in a chair, he stood up and described, with the 
 enthusiasm and captivating animation peculiar to him, the 
 minutest details and intricacies of the plot that he had de- 
 
326 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 voted his whole energy to unravelling ; personating, so to 
 say, every character he brought upon the scene, so that 
 his listener was bewildered and dazzled by his brilliant 
 acting. As Prosper listened to this narrative of events 
 happening twenty years back, the secret conversations as 
 minutely related as if overheard the moment they took 
 place, it sounded to him more like a romance than a plain 
 statement of facts. AH these ingenious explanations 
 might be logical, but what foundation did they possess 1 
 Might they not be the dream of an excited imagination ? 
 
 M. Verduret did not finish his report until four o'clock 
 in the morning ; then he exclaimed triumphantly : " And 
 now they are on their guard ; they are wary rascals too ; but 
 I can laugh at their efforts, for I have them safe. Before a 
 week is over. Prosper, your innocence will be recognized 
 by every one. I promised your father this." 
 
 " Is it possible t " murmured Prosper in a dazed way j 
 " is it possible 1 " 
 
 " What 1 " 
 
 '* All this you have just told me." 
 
 M. Verduret bounded like a man little accustomed to 
 have the accuracy of his information doubted. " Is it 
 possible, indeed ? " he cried ; " but it is truth itself, truth 
 founded on fact and exposed in all its impressiveness ! " 
 
 " But how can such rascalities take place in Paris, in our 
 very midst, without — " 
 
 " Ah ! " interrupted the stout man, " you are young, my 
 friend ! Crimes worse than this happen, and you know 
 nothing of them. You think the horrors of the assize- 
 court are the only ones. Pooh ! You only read in the 
 * Gazette des Tribunaux ' of the bloody melodramas of 
 life, where the actors, low-born villains, are as cowardly as 
 the knife, or as stupid as the poison they use. It is at the 
 family fireside, often under shelter of the law itself, that 
 the real tragedies of life are acted ; in these days traitors 
 wear gloves, sc!oundrels cl(5ak themselves in public esteem, 
 and their victims die broken-hearted, but smiling to the last. 
 What I have just related to you is almost an every-day 
 occurrence ; and yet you profess astonishment." 
 
 " I can't help wondering how you discovered all this 
 tissue of crime." 
 
 " Ah, that is the point ! " said M. Verduret, with a self- 
 satisfied smile. " When I undertake a task. I devote m;y 
 
FILE NO. 113. 327 
 
 whold attention to it. Now, make a note of this : When 
 a man of ordinary intelhgence concentrates his thoughts 
 and energies upon the attainment of an object, he is al- 
 most always certain to ultimately obtain success. Besides 
 that, I have my own means of working up a case." 
 
 " Still I don't see what grounds you had to go upon." 
 
 " To be sure, one needs some light to guide one in a 
 dark affair like this. But the fire in De Clameran's eye 
 ai the mention of Gaston's name ignited my lantern. From 
 that moment I walked straight to the solution of the mys- 
 tery, as to a beacon." 
 
 Prosper's eager, questioning looks showed that he would 
 like to know the secret of his protector's wonderful pene- 
 tration, and at the same time be more thoroughly con- 
 vinced that what he had heard was all true — that his 
 innocence would be clearly proved. 
 
 "Now confess," cried M. Verduret, "you would give 
 something to know how I discovered the truth " 
 
 " I certainly would, for to me it seems marvellous ! " 
 
 M. Verduret enjoyed Prosper's bewilderment. To be 
 sure, he was neither a good judge nor a distinguished ama- 
 teur ; but sincere admiration is always flattering, no matter 
 whence it comes. "Well," he replied, "I will explain my 
 system. There is nothing marvellous about it as you will 
 soon see. We worked together to find the solution of the 
 problem, so you know my reason for suspecting De Cla- 
 meran as the prime mover in the robbery. As soon as I 
 had arrived at this conclusion my task was easy. You 
 want to know what I did t I placed trustworthy people to 
 watch the parties in whom I was most interested. Joseph 
 Dubois took charge of De Clameran, and Nina Gipsy 
 never lost sight of Madame Fauvel and her niece." 
 
 " I know, and I cannot comprehend how Nina ever con- 
 sented to this service.* 
 
 " That is my secret," replied M. Verduret. " Having 
 the assistance of good eyes and quick ears on the spot, I 
 went to Beaucaire to inquire into the past, so as to link it 
 with what I was sure to learn of the present. The next 
 day I was at Clameran ; and the first step I took was to 
 find the son of Jean, the old valet. An honest fellow he 
 is, too ; open and simple as nature herself; and he at once 
 guessed that I wanted to purchase some madder." 
 
 " Madder } " said Prosper with a puzzled look. 
 
328 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 " Of course I wanted to buy his madder. I did not ap« 
 pear to him as I do to you now. He had madder for sale, 
 that was evident ; so we began to bargain about the price. 
 The debate lasted almost all day, during which time we 
 drank a dozen bottles of wine. About supper-time, Jean, 
 the younger, was as drunk as a barrel, and I had purchased 
 nine hundred francs' worth of madder which your father 
 will sell for me." Prosper looked so astonished that M. 
 Verduret laughed heartily. " I risked nine hundred 
 francs," he continued, " but thread by thread I gathered 
 the whole history of the De Clamerans, Gaston's love 
 affair, his flight, and the stumbling of the horse ridden by 
 Louis. I found also that about a year ago Louis returned 
 and sold the chateau to a man named Fougeroux, whose 
 wife, Mihonne, had a secret interview with Louis the day 
 of the purchase. I went to see Mihonne. Poor woman ! 
 her rascally husband has pounded nearly all the sense out of 
 her ; she is almost idiotic. I convinced her that I came 
 from some De Clameran or other, and she at once related 
 to me everything she knew." The apparent simplicity of 
 this mode of investigation confounded Prosper. "From 
 that time," continued M. Verduret, " the skein began to 
 disentangle ; I held the principal thread. I now set about 
 finding out what had become of Gaston. Lafourcade, who 
 is a friend of your father, informed me that he had bought 
 an iron foundry at Oloron, had settled there, and died 
 soon after." 
 
 " You are certainly indefatigable ! " said Prosper. 
 
 " No, but I always strike when the iron is hot. At Olo- 
 ron, I met Manuel, who had gone there to make a little 
 visit before returning to Spain. From him I obtained a 
 complete history of Gaston's life, and all the particulars of 
 his death. Manuel also told me of Louis's visit ; and an 
 inn-keeper described a young workman who was there at 
 the same time, whom I at once recognized as Raoul." 
 
 " But how did you know of all the conversations between 
 the villains ? '* asked Prosper. 
 
 " Vou evidently think I have been drawing upon my im- 
 agination. You will soon think the contrary. While I 
 was at work at Oloron, my assistants here did not sit with 
 their hands in their pockets. Mutually distrustful, De 
 Clameran and Raoul preserved all the letters they received 
 from each other. Joseph Dubois copied most of them, 
 
FILE NO. 113. 32(^ 
 
 and had the more important ones photographed, and for- 
 warded the copies to me. Nina spent her time listening 
 at all the doors, and sent me a faithful report of every- 
 thing she heard. Finally, I have at the Fauvels' another 
 means of investigation, which I will reveal to you 
 later." 
 
 " I understand it now," murmured Prosper. 
 
 " And what have you been doing during my absence, 
 my young friend ? " asked M. Verduiet. 
 
 At this question Prosper turned crimson. But he kne\t 
 that it would never do to keep silent about his imprudent 
 step. " Alas ! " he stammered, " I read in a newspaper 
 that De Clameran was about to marry Madeleine ; and I 
 acted like a fool." 
 
 " What did you do ? " inquired M. Verduret anxiously. 
 
 " I sent M. Fauvel an anonymous letter, in which I in- 
 sinuated that his wife was in love with Raoul — " 
 
 M. Verduret here brought his clenched fist down upon 
 the little table near which he sat, and broke it. " Wretched 
 man ! " he cried, " you have probably ruined everything." 
 A great change came over him. His usually jovial face 
 assumed a menacing expression. He rose from his seat, 
 and strode up and down the room, oblivious of the lodgers 
 on the floor below. " But you must be a baby," added he 
 to the dismayed Prosper, " an idiot, or, worse than that, a 
 fool." 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 ''Here you are drowning; a brave man springs into 
 the water after you, and just as he is on the point of sav- 
 mg you, you cling to his feet to prevent him swimming ! 
 What did I tell you to do .? " 
 
 " To keep quiet, and not go out." 
 
 " Well ! " 
 
 The consciousness of having done a foolish thing made 
 Prosper as frightened as a schoolbo}^, accused by his 
 teacher of playing truant. " It was night, sir," he said, 
 "and, having a violent headache, I took a walk along the 
 quays. I thought there would be no harm in my entering 
 a cafe , I took up a paper and read the dreadful announce- 
 ment." 
 
 '' Was it not settled that you should have perfect conf 
 dence in me ? " 
 
 " You were not here, sir , this announcement had quite 
 
330 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 eipset me ; you were far away, and might have been sur- 
 prised by an unexpected — " 
 
 " Nothing is unexpected except to a fool ! " declared M. 
 Verduret peremptorily. " To write an anonymous letter\ 
 Do you know to what you expose me ? You are the cause 
 of my perhaps breaking a sacred promise made to one of 
 the few persons whom I highly esteem among my fellow 
 beings. I shall be looked upon as a cheat a dastard, I, 
 who — " He stopped abruptly, as if afraid of saying too 
 much, and it was only after some minufes that, having be- 
 come calm again, he resumed : " It is no use crying over 
 what is done. We must try and get out of the mess some- 
 how. When and where did you post this letter ? " 
 
 '' Last night, in the Rue du Cardinal Lemoine. It 
 hardly reached the bottom of the box before I regretted 
 having written it." 
 
 '• Your regrets should have come sooner. What time 
 was it ? " 
 
 " About ten o'clock." 
 
 " Then your sweet little letter must have reached M. 
 Fauvel this morning with his other correspondence ; prob- 
 aoly he was alone in his study when he opened and read 
 it." 
 
 " It is not probable, it is certain." 
 
 " Can you recall the exact words of your letter ? Stop 
 and think, for it is very important that I should 
 know." 
 
 " Oh, it is unnecessary for me to reflect. I remember 
 the letter as if I had just written it." And he repeated 
 almost verbatim what he had written. 
 
 M. Verduret listened most attentively with a perplexed 
 frown upon his face. " That is a formidable anonymous 
 letter," he murmured, "to come from a person who does 
 not deal in such things. It insinuates everything without 
 specifying a single thing ; it is vague, jeering, and treacher- 
 ous. Repeat it to me." Prosper obeyed, and his second 
 version did not vary from the first in a single word. " Noth- 
 ing could be more alarming than that allusion to the cash- 
 ier," said the stout man, repeating the words after Prosper. 
 " The question, ' Is it also he who has stolen Madame Fau- 
 vel's diamonds ? ' is simply horrible ! What could be 
 more exasperating than the sarcastic adviee, ' In your 
 place, I would n©t have any public scandal, but would 
 
FILE NOr^iZ- 331 
 
 watch my wife ? ' The effect of your letter must have 
 been terrible," he added thoughtfully, as he stood with 
 folded arms in front of Prosper. " M. Fauvel is quick- 
 tempered, is he not ? " 
 
 " He has a very violent temper." 
 
 " Then the mischief is perhaps not irreparable." 
 
 " What ! do you suppose — " 
 
 " I think that an impulsive man is afraid of himself, and 
 seldom carries out his first intentions. That is our only 
 chance. If, upon the receipt of your bomb-shell, M. Fau- 
 vel, unable to restrain himselt, rushed into his wife's room, 
 exclaiming, ' Where are your diamonds ? ' our plans are 
 done for. I know Madame Fauvel, she v/ill confess 
 all." 
 
 " Why would this be so disastrous ? " 
 
 " Because, the moment Madame Fauvel opens her lips 
 to her husband, our birds will take flight." 
 
 Prosper had never thought of this eventuality. 
 
 "Then, again." continued M. Verduret, "it would 
 deeply distress another person." 
 
 " Any one whom I know .'* " 
 
 " Yes, my friend, and very well too. I should certainly 
 be vexed to the last degree, if these two rascals escape 
 without my being thoroughly informed about them." 
 
 " It seems to me that you know sufficient." 
 
 M. Verduret shrugged his shoulders, and asked : " Did 
 you not perceive any gaps in my narrative ? " 
 
 " Not one." 
 
 " That is because you don't know how to listen. In the 
 first place, did Louis de Clameran poison his brother or 
 not?" 
 
 " Yes ; I am sure of it, from what you tell me." 
 
 "There you are! You are much more certain, young 
 man, than I am. Your opinion is n)ine ; but what deci- 
 sive proof have we ? None. I skilfully questioned Dr. C. 
 He has not the shadow of a suspicion ; and Dr. C. is no 
 quack ; he is a learned and observing man of high stand- 
 ing. What poisons produce the effects described ? I 
 know of none ; and yet I have studied all sorts of poisons, 
 from the digitalis used by La Pommeraye to Madame 
 Sauvresy's aconite." 
 
 "The death took place so opportunely — " 
 
 *' That anybody wovild suspect foul play. That is true; 
 
332 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 but chance is sometimes a wonderful accomplice in crime 
 In the second place, I know nothing of Raoul's antece* 
 dents." 
 
 " Is information on that point necessary ? " 
 
 *' Indispensable, my friend ; but we will soon know 
 something. I have sent one of my men — excuse me, I 
 mean one of my friends — who is very expert, M. Palot ; 
 and he writes that he is on the track. I am interested in 
 the history of this sentimental, sceptical 3^oung rascal. I 
 have an idea that, had he not known De Clameran, he 
 might have been a brave, honest sort of youth." 
 
 Prosper was no longer listening. M. Verduret's words 
 had inspired him with confidence. Already he saw the 
 guilty men arraigned before the bar of justice ; and en- 
 joyed, in anticipation, this assize-court drama, where he 
 would be publicly righted, after having been so openly dis- 
 honored. More than that, he now understood Madeleine, 
 her strange conduct at the dressmaker's was explained, 
 and he knew that she had never ceased to love him. This 
 certainty of future happiness restored all the self-posses- 
 sion that had deserted him the day he found the safe robbed. 
 For the first time he was astonished at the peculiarity of 
 his situation. Prosper had at first only been surprised at 
 the protection of M. Verduret and the extent of his inves- 
 tigations ; now he asked himself, what could have been 
 his friend's motives for acting thus t In a word, what 
 price did he expect for this sacrifice of time and labor } 
 His anxiety was so great on this point that he suddenly 
 exclaimed : " You have no longer the right, sir, to preserve 
 your incognito with me. When you have saved the honor 
 and life of a man, you should at least let him know whom 
 he has to thank." 
 
 "Oh!" said M. Verduret smilingly; "you are not out 
 of the mess yet. You are not married either; so you 
 must, for a few days longer, have patience and faith." 
 The clock struck six. " Good heavens ! " he added. " Can 
 it be six o'clock ? I did hope to have a good night's rest, 
 but this is no time for sleeping." • He went on to the land- 
 ing, and leaning over the balusters, called : " Madame 
 Alexandre ! I say, Madame Alexandre ! " 
 
 The hostess of the Grand Archangel, the portly wife of 
 Fanferlot, the squirrel, had evidently not been to bed. 
 This fact struck Prosper, She appeared, obsequious, 
 
FILE NO. 113. 333 
 
 smiling, and eager to please. " What do you require, gen- 
 tlemen ? " she inquired. 
 
 " You can send me your— Joseph Dubois, and also 
 Palmyre, as soon as possible. Have them sent for at 
 once, and let me know when they arrive. I will take a 
 little rest in the mean time." 
 
 As soon as Madame Alexandre left the room, the stout 
 man unceremoniously threw himself on the bed. " You 
 have no objection, I suppose," he said to Prosper. In five 
 minutes he was fast asleep ; and Prosper, more perplexed 
 than ever, seated himself in an easy-chair and wondered 
 who this strange man could be. About nine o'clock some 
 one tapped timidly at the door. Slight as the noise was, 
 it aroused M. Verduret, who sprang up, and called out : 
 " Who is there ? " But Prosper had already opened the 
 door. Joseph Dubois, the Marquis de Clameran's valet, 
 entered. M. Verduret's assistant was breathless from 
 running; and his little eyes were more restless than 
 ever. 
 
 " Well, master, I am glad to see you once more," he 
 cried. " Now you can tell me what to do ; I have been 
 perfectly lost during your absence, and have felt like a 
 puppet with a broken string." 
 
 " What ! you allow yourself to be disconcerted like 
 that ? " 
 
 " Bless me ! I think I had cause for alarm when I 
 could not find you anywhere. Yesterday afternoon I sent 
 you three telegrams, to the addresses you gave me, at 
 Lyons, Beaucaire, and Oloron, and received no answer. 
 I was almost going crazy when your message reached me 
 just now." 
 
 " Things are getting warm, then." 
 
 " Warm ! They are burning ! The place is too hot to 
 hold me any longer," 
 
 Whilst speaking, M. Verduret occupied himself in re- 
 pairing his toilet, which had become disarranged during 
 his sleep. When he had finished, he threw himself in an 
 easy-chair, and said to Joseph Dubois, who remained re- 
 spectfully standing, cap in hand, like a soldier awaiting 
 orders : " Explain yourself, my lad, and quickly, if you 
 please ; no long phrases." 
 
 " It is just this, sir. I don't know what your plans are, 
 or what means you have of carrying them out ; but you 
 
334 I^ILE NO, 113. 
 
 must wind up this affair and strike 5rout final blow verj 
 quickly." 
 
 " That is your opinion, Master Joseph ! " 
 
 " Yes, master, because if you wait any longer, good-by 
 to our covey ; you will only find an empty cage, and the 
 birds flown. You smile ? Yes, I know you are clever, 
 and can accomplish anything ; but they are cunning blades, 
 and as slippery as eels. They know, too, that they anj 
 watched. 
 
 " The devil they do ! " cried M. Verduret. " Some one 
 must have blundered." 
 
 " Oh ! nobody has done anything wrong," replied 
 Joseph. " You know that they suspected something long 
 ago. They gave you a proof of it, the night of the fancy-dress 
 ball ; I mean that ugly cut on your arm. Ever since they 
 have alwa3'^s slept with one eye open. They were feeling 
 easier, however, when all of a sudden, yesterday, they be- 
 gan to smell a rat ! " 
 
 "Was that why you sent me those telegrams ? " 
 
 " Of course. Now listen : yesterday morning when my 
 master got up, about ten o'clock, he took it into his head 
 10 arrange the papers in his desk ; which, by the way, has 
 a disgusting lock which has given me a deal of trouble. 
 Meanwhile, I pretended to be making up the fire, so as to 
 remain in the room to watch him. That man has a Yan- 
 kee's eye ! At the first glance he saw, or rather divined, 
 that his papers had been meddled with ; he turned as 
 white as a sheet, and swore an oath, such an oath ! " 
 
 " Never mind the oath ; go on," 
 
 " Well, how he discovered his letters had been touched 
 I can't imagine. You know how careful I am. 1 had 
 put everything back in its place just as I found it. To 
 make sure he was not mistaken, the marquis picks up 
 each paper, one at a time, turns it over, and smells it. I 
 was just longing to offer him a microscope, when all of a 
 sudden Jie sprang up, and kicking his chair to the other 
 end of the room, flew at me in a fury. ' Somebody has 
 been at my papers,' he shrieked ; ' this letter has been 
 photographed ! ' B-r-r-r ! I am not a coward, but I can 
 tell you that my heart stood perfectly still ; I saw myself 
 dead, cut into mince-meat ; and I even said to myself, 
 * Fanfer — excuse me — Dubois, my friend, you are done 
 for.' And I thought of Madame Alexandre." 
 
FILE NO. 113. 335 
 
 M. Verduret was buried in thought, and paid no atten- 
 tion to the worthy Joseph's analysis of his personal sensa- 
 tions. " What happened next ? " he asked after a few 
 minutes. 
 
 "Why, I was needlessly frightened after all. The ras- 
 cal did not dare to touch me. To be sure, I had taken 
 the precaution to get out of his reach ; we talked with a 
 large table between us. While wondering what could 
 have enabled him to discover the secret, I defended my- 
 self with virtuous indignation. I said : ' It cannot be ; 
 Monsieur the Marquis is mistaken. Who would dare 
 touch his papers ? ' Bah ! Instead of listening to me, he 
 flourished an open letter, saying: 'This letter has been 
 photographed 1 here is proof of it ! ' and he pointed to a 
 little yellow spot on the paper, shrieking out : ' Look ! 
 Smell ! It is — ' I forget the name he called it, but some 
 acid used by photographers." 
 
 "I know, I know," said M. Verduret; "go on; what 
 next ? " 
 
 " Then we had a scene ; such a scene ! He ended by 
 seizing me by the coat collar, and shaking me like a plum- 
 tree, to make me tell him who I am, who I know, and 
 where I came from. As if I know, myself ! •! was obliged 
 to account for every minute of my time since I had been 
 in his service. He was born to be an investigating mag- 
 istrate. Then he sent for the hotel waiter, who attends 
 to his rooms, and questioned him closely, but in English, 
 so that I could not understand. After awhile he cooled 
 down, and when the waiter was gone, presented me with 
 twenty francs, saying: 'I am sorry I was so hasty with 
 you ; you are too stupid to have been guilty of th^ 
 offence.' " 
 
 " He said that, did he ? " 
 
 " He used those very words to my face, master." 
 
 " And you think he meant what he said ? " 
 
 " Certainly I do." 
 
 The stout man smiled, and whistled in a way that 
 showed that he had a different opinion. " If you think 
 that," he said, " De Clameran was right. You are not up 
 to much." 
 
 It was easy to see that Joseph Dubois was anxious to 
 give his grounds for his opinion, but dared not. ** I sup- 
 pose I am stupid, if you think so," he replied humbly* 
 
336 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 " Well, after he had done blustering about the letters, the 
 marquis dressed and went out. He would not take his 
 carriage, but hired a cab at the hotel door. I thought he 
 would perhaps disappear forever ; but I was mistaken. 
 About five o'clock he returned as gay as a lark. During 
 his absence, I telegraphed to you." 
 " What ! did you not follow him ? " 
 " No ; but one of our friends did, and this friend gave 
 me a report of the dandy's movements. First he went to 
 a broker's, then to a bank and a discount office. It is 
 evident he is a man of capital. I expect he intends to go 
 on a little trip somewhere.'' 
 
 " Is that all he did .? " 
 
 " That is all ; yes. But I must tell you that the ras- 
 cals tried to get Mademoiselle Palmyre shut up, ' admin- 
 istratively,' you understand. Fortunately, you had antici- 
 pated something of the kind, and given orders so as to 
 prevent it. But for you she would now be in prison." 
 Joseph left off speaking, and looked up at the ceiling by 
 way of trying to remember whether he had not something 
 more to say. Finding nothing, he added : " That is all. 
 I rather think M. Patrigent will rub his hands with de- 
 light when I take him my report. He has no idea of the 
 facts collected to swell the size of his File No. 113." 
 
 There was a long silence. Joseph was right in suppos- 
 ing that the crisis had come. M. Verduret was arranging 
 his plan of battle while waiting for the report of Nina — 
 now Palmyre — upon which depended his point of attack. 
 
 But Joseph Dubois was restless and uneasy. "What 
 am I to do now, master ? " he asked. 
 
 " Return to the hotel ; probably your master has noticed 
 your absence ; but he will say nothing about it, so con- 
 tinue — " 
 
 Here an exclamation from Prosper, who was standing 
 near the window, interrupted M. Verduret. " What is 
 the matter ? " he inquired. 
 
 " De Clameran is there ! " replied Prosper. 
 
 M. Verduret and Joseph ran to the window. " Where 
 is he ?," they asked. 
 
 *' There, at the corner of the bridge, behind the orange- 
 woman's stall." 
 
 Prosper was right. It was the noble Marquis de Cla- 
 meran, who, hid behind the stall, was watching for his 
 
FILE NO. 113. 337 
 
 servant to come out of the Grand Arcliangel. At first the 
 quick-sighted Verduret had some doubts whether it was 
 the marquis, who, being skilled in these hazardous expe- 
 ditions, managed to conceal himself almost entirely. But 
 a moment came, when, elbowed by the pressing crowd, 
 he was obliged to get off the pavement in full view of 
 the window. s 
 
 " Now you see I was right ! " cried the cashier. 
 
 " Well," murmured Joseph, convinced, " I am amazed ! " 
 
 M. Verduret seemed not in the least surprised, but 
 quietly said : " The hunter is now being hunted. Well, 
 Joseph, my boy, do you still think that your noble master 
 was duped by your pretended injured innocence .'' '' 
 
 "You stated the contrary, sir," replied Joseph in a 
 humble tone ; " and a statement from you is more con- 
 vincing than all the proofs in the world." 
 
 " This pretended outburst of rage was premeditated on 
 the part of your noble master. Knowing that he is being 
 tracked, he naturally wishes to discover who his adversa- 
 ries are. You can imagine how uncomfortable he must 
 be whilst in this uncertainty. Perhaps he thinks his pur- 
 suers are some of his old accomplices, w^ho, being hungry, 
 want a piece of his cake. He will remain there until you 
 go out ; then he will come in to inquire who you are." 
 
 " But I can leave without his seeing me." 
 
 *' Yes, I know. You will climb the little wall separat- 
 ing the hotel from the wine-merchant's yard, and keep 
 along the stationer's area, until you reach the Rue de la 
 Huchette." 
 
 Poor Joseph looked as if he had just received a bucket of 
 ice-water upon his head. " Exactly the way I was going," 
 he gasped out. " I heard that you knew all the houses in 
 Paris, and it certainly must be so." 
 
 The stout man made no reply to Joseph's admiring re- 
 marks. He was wondering what advantage he could reap 
 from De Clameran's behavior. As to the cashier, he 
 listened wonderingly, watching these strangers, who with- 
 out any apparent reason, seemed determined to win the 
 difficult game in which his honor, his happiness, and his 
 life, were the stake. 
 
 " I have another idea," said Joseph after deep thought. 
 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 '* I can walk quietly out of the front door, and with my 
 
338 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 hands in my pockets stroll slowly back to the Hotel du 
 Louvre." 
 
 " And then ? " 
 
 " Well ! then, De Clameran will come in and question 
 Madame Alexandre, whom you can instruct beforehand ; 
 and she is smart enough to put any joker off the track." 
 
 " Bad plan ! " pronounced M. Verduret decidedly ; " a 
 scamp so compromised as De Clameran is not easily taken 
 in ; it will be impossible to reassure him." His mind was 
 made up ; for in a brief tone of authority, which admitted 
 of no contradiction, he added : " I have a better plan. 
 Has De Clameran, since he found out that his papers had 
 been touched, seen De Lagors ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Perhaps he has written to him ? " 
 
 " I'll bet you my head he has not. Having your orders 
 to watch his correspondence, I invented a little system 
 which informs me every time he touches a pen ; during 
 the last twenty-four hours the pens have not been 
 touched." 
 
 " De Clameran v.'ent out yesterday afternoon." 
 
 " But the man who followed him says he wrote nothing 
 on the way." 
 
 " Then we have time yet ! " cried Verduret. " Be 
 quick ! I give you fifteen minutes to make yourself 
 another head ; you know the sort ; I will watch the rascal 
 until you are ready." 
 
 " The delighted Joseph disappeared in a twinkling, and 
 Prosper and M. Verduret remained at the window observ- 
 ing De Clameran, who, according to the movements of 
 the crowd, kept disappearing and reappearing, but was 
 evidently determined not to quit his post until he had ob- 
 tained the information he sought. 
 
 " Why do you devote yourself exclusively to the mar- 
 quis ? " asked Prosper. 
 
 " Because, my friend," replied M. Verduret, " because 
 — that is my business, and not yours." 
 
 Joseph Dubois had been granted a quarter of an hour 
 in which to metamorphose himself ; before ten minutes 
 had elapsed he re-appeared. The dandified coachman 
 with whiskers, red vest, and foppish manners, was re- 
 placed by a sinister-looking individual, whose very appear- 
 ance was enough to scare any rogue. His black craval 
 
FILE NO. 113. 339 
 
 twisted round a paper collar, and ornamented by an imita- 
 tion diamond pin ; his black frock-coat buttoned up to the 
 chin ; his greasy hat and shiny boots and heavy cane — re- 
 vealed the myrmidon of the Rue de Je'rusalem, as plainly 
 as the uniform denotes the soldier. Joseph Dubois had 
 vanished, and from his livery, phoenix-like and triumphant, 
 rose the radiant Fanferlot, surnamed the Squirrel. When 
 he entered the room, Prosper uttered a cry of surprise, 
 almost of terror. He recognized the man who had 
 assisted the commissary of police in his investigation at 
 the bank on the day of the robbery. 
 
 M. Verduret examined his follower with a satisfied 
 look, and said : " Not bad ! There is enough of the 
 police-court air about you to alarm even an honest man. 
 You understand me perfectly." 
 
 Fanferlot was transported with delight at this compli- 
 ment. " What must I do now, chief ? " he inquired. 
 
 "Nothing difficult for a smart man: but remember, 
 upon the precision of our movements depends the success 
 of my plan. Before occupying myself with De Lagors, I 
 wish to dispose of De Clameran. Now that the rascals 
 are separated, we must prevent their coming together 
 again." 
 
 " I understand," said Fanferlot, winking his eye ; " I 
 am to create a diversion.'^ 
 
 " Exactly. Go out by the Rue de la Huchette, and 
 hasten to the Pont St. Michel ; loaf along the river-bank, 
 and finally place yourself on some of the steps of the quay, 
 so that De Clameran may perceive he is being watched. 
 If he fails to see you, do something to attract his atten- 
 tion." 
 
 " I know ! I will throw a stone in the water," said 
 Fanferlot, rubbing his hands with delight at his own brill- 
 iant idea. 
 
 " As soon as De Clameran has seen you," continued M. 
 Verduret, " he will be alarmed, and instantly decamp. 
 You must follow him, and he, knowing that the police are 
 after him, will do everything to escape you. You must 
 keep both your eyes open for he is a cunning rascal." 
 
 " I was not born yesterday." 
 
 " So much the better. You can convince him of that. 
 Well, knowing you are at his heels, he will not dare to 
 return to the Hotel du Louvre, for fear of finding some 
 
340 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 troublesome visitors awaiting him. Now it is very impor- 
 tant that he should not return to the hotel." 
 
 " But suppose he does ? " said Fanferlot. 
 
 M. Verduret thought for a minute, and then replied : " It 
 is not at all likely ; but if he should, you must wait until he 
 comes out again, and continue to follow him. But he 
 won't enter the hotel ; very likely he will take the train ; 
 but in that event don't lose sight of him, no matter if you 
 have to follow him to Siberia. Have you money with 
 you ? " 
 
 " I will get some from Madame Alexandre." 
 
 " Very good. Ah ! one word more. If the rascal docj 
 take the train, send me a line here. If he beats about the 
 bush until night time, be on your guard, especially in 
 lonely places ; he is capable of anything." 
 
 " If necessary, may I fire t " 
 
 " Don't be rash ; but, if he attacks you, of course defend 
 yourself. Come, 'tis time you were gone." 
 
 " Dubois-Fanferlot went out. M. Verduret and Pros- 
 per resumed their post of observation. ** Why all this 
 secrecy ? " inquired Prosper. " De Clameran is guilty 
 of ten times worse crimes than I was ever accused of, and 
 yet my disgrace was made as public as possible." 
 
 " Don't you understand," replied the stout man, "that 
 I wish to separate Raoul's cause from that of the marquis ? 
 But, hush ! Look ! " De Clameran had left his place 
 near the orange-woman's stand, and approached the para- 
 pet of the bridge, where he seemed to be trying to make 
 out some unexpected object. " Ah ! " murmured M. Ver- 
 duret ; " he has just discovered our man." De Clameran's 
 uneasiness was quite apparent ; he walked forward a few- 
 steps, as if intending to cross the bridge ; then, suddenly 
 turning round, walked rapidly away in the direction of the 
 Rue St. Jacques. " He is caught ! " cried M. Verduret 
 with delight. 
 
 At that moment the door opened, and Madame Nina 
 Gipsy, alias Palmyre Chocareille, entered. Poor Nina ! 
 Each day since she entered Madeleine's service seemed to 
 have aged her a year. Tears had dimmed the brilliancy 
 of her beautiful black eyes ; her rosy cheeks were pale 
 and hollow, and her merry smile was quite gone. Poor 
 Gipsy, once so gay and spirited, now crushed beneath the 
 burden of her sorrows, was the picture of misery. Pros- 
 
PILE XO. It 3. 341 
 
 per thought that, wild with joy at seeing him, and proud 
 of having so nobly devoted herself to his interests, Nina 
 would throw her arms around his neck, and hold him in a 
 tight embrace. He was mistaken ; and though entirely 
 devoted to Madeleine since he knew the reason of her 
 harshness to him, his deception affected him deeply. Nina 
 scarcely seemed to know him. She saluted him timidly, 
 almost like a stranger. She stood looking at M. Verduret 
 with a mixture of fear and devotion, like a poor dog that 
 has been cruelly treated by its master. 
 
 He, however, was kind and gentle in his manner towards 
 her. " Well, my dear," he asked encouragingly, " what 
 news do you bring me ? " 
 
 " Something is going on at the house, sir, and I have 
 been trying to get here to tell you ; at last. Mademoiselle 
 Madeleine made an excuse for sending me out." 
 
 " You must thank her for her confidence in me. I sup- 
 pose she carried out the plan we decided upon .'* " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " She receives the Marquis de Clameran's visits ? " 
 
 " Since the marriage has been decided upon, he comes 
 every day, and mademoiselle receives him with kindness. 
 He seems to be delighted." 
 
 These answers filled Prosper with anger and alarm. 
 The poor fellow, not comprehending M. Verduret's intri- 
 cate moves, felt as if he were being tossed about from 
 pillar to post, and made the tool and laughing-stock of 
 everybody. " What ! " he cried ; " this worthless Marquis 
 de Clameran, an assassin, and a thief, allowed to visit at 
 M. Fauvel's and pay his addresses to Madeleine ? Where 
 are the promises which you made me, sir ? Have you 
 merely been amu'^-ing yourself by raising my hopes, to dash 
 them — " 
 
 *' Enough ! " interrupted M. Verduret harshly ; " you are 
 really too good a young man to understand anything, my 
 friend. If you are incapable of helping yourself, at least 
 have sense enough to refrain from stupidly importuning 
 those who are working for you. Do you not think you 
 have already done sufficient mischief ? " Having admin- 
 istered this rebuke, he turned to Nina, and said in softer 
 tones : " Go on, my child ; what have you discovered ? " 
 
 " Nothing positive, sir ; but enough to make me nervous, 
 and fearful of impending danger, I am not certain, bui 
 
342 FILE NO. 113 
 
 suspect from appearances, that some dreadful catastrophe 
 is about to happen. It may only be a presentiment. I 
 cannot get any information from Madame Fauvel ; she 
 moves about like a ghost, never opening her lips. She 
 seems to be afraid of her niece, and to be trying to con- 
 ceal something from her." 
 
 " What about M. Fauvel .? " 
 
 " I was just about to tell you, sir. Some fearful mis- 
 fortune has happened to him, you may depend upon 
 it. He wanders about as if he had lost his mind. Some- 
 thing certainly occurred yesterday ; his voice even is 
 changed. He is so harsh and irritable that mademoiselle 
 and M. Lucien were wondering what could be the matter 
 with him. He seems to be on the eve of giving way to a 
 burst of anger ; and there is a wild, strange look about his 
 eyes, especially when he looks at madame. Yesterday 
 evening, when M. de Clameran was announced, he jumped 
 up, and hurried out of the room, saying that he had some 
 work to do in his study." 
 
 A triumphant exclamation from M. Verduret interrupted 
 Nina. He was radiant. " Ah ! " he said to Prosper, for- 
 getting his bad humor of a few minutes before ; " ah ! 
 what did I tell you .? " 
 
 " He has evidently — " 
 
 "Been afraid to give way to his first impulse ; of course 
 he has. He is now seeking for proofs of your assertions. 
 He must have then by this time. Did the ladies go out 
 yesterday } " 
 
 " Yes, a part of the day." 
 
 " What became of M. Fauvel ? " 
 
 " The ladies took me with them ; we left M. Fauvel ai 
 home." 
 
 "There is no longer a doubt, now!" cried the stout 
 man ; " he looked for proofs, and found them too ! Your 
 letter told him exactly where to go. Ah, Prosper, that un- 
 fortunate letter gives more trouble tlian everything else 
 together." 
 
 These words seemed to throw a sudden light on Nina's 
 mind. " I understand it now ! " she exclaimed. " M. 
 Fauvel knows everything." 
 
 " That is, he thinks he knows everything ; and what he 
 has been led to believe, is worse than the true state of 
 affairs." 
 
FILE NO. 113. 343 
 
 " That accounts for the order which M. Cavaillon ovei' 
 heard him give to his valet, Evariste." 
 
 " What order ? " 
 
 " He told Evariste to bring every letter that came to 
 the house, no matter to whom addressed, into his study, 
 and hand it to him ; saying that, if this order was diso- 
 beyed, he should be instantly discharged." 
 
 " At what time was this order given ? " asked M. Ver- 
 duret. 
 
 " Yesterday afternoon." 
 
 " That is what I was afraid of," cried M. Verduret. 
 " He has clearly made up his mind what course to pursue, 
 and is keeping quiet so as to make his vengeance more sure. 
 The question is. Have we still time to counteract his pro- 
 jects ? Have we time to convince him that the anonymous 
 letter was incorrect in some of its assertions 1 " 
 
 He tried to hit upon some plan for repairing the dam- 
 age done by Prosper's foolish letter. " Thank you for 
 your information, my dear child," he said after a long 
 silence. " I will decide at once what steps to take, for it 
 will never do to sit quietly and let things go on in this way. 
 Return home without delay, and be careful of everything 
 you say and do ; for M. Fauvel suspects you of being in 
 the plot. Send me w^ord of anything that happens, no 
 matter how insignificant it may be." 
 
 Nina, thus dismissed, did not move, but asked timidly : 
 " What about Caldas, sir } " 
 
 This was the third time during the last fortnight that 
 Prosper had heard this name, Caldas. The first time, it 
 had been whispered in his ear by a respectable-looking, 
 middle-aged man, w^ho promised him his protection on one 
 of the days he was at the Prefecture. The second time, 
 the investigating magistrate had mentioned it in connec- 
 tion with Nina's history. Prosper thought over all the 
 men he had ever been connected with, but could recall 
 none named Caldas. 
 
 The impassible M. Verduret started and trembled at 
 the sound of this name, but, quickly recovering himself, 
 said-. "I promised to find him for 3'ou, and I will keep 
 my promise. Now you must go ; good-by." 
 
 It was twelve o'clock, and M. Verduret suddenly re- 
 membered that he was hungry. He called jNIadame Alex- 
 andre, and the all-powerful hostess of the Grand Archan- 
 
344 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 gel soon placed a tempting breakfast before Prosper and 
 his protector. But the dainty meal failed to smooth M. 
 Verduret's perplexed brow. To the eager questions and 
 complimentary remarks of Madame Alexandre, he merely 
 answered : " Hush, hush ! let me alone ; keep quiet." 
 
 For the first time since he had known the stout man, 
 Prosper saw him betray anxiety and hesitation. He re- 
 mained silent as long as he could, and then uneasily said : 
 " I am afraid I have embarrassed you very much, sir." 
 
 " Yes, you have dreadfully embarrassed me," replied 
 M. Verduret. " What on earth to do now, I don't know ! 
 Shall I hasten matters, or keep quiet and wait for the next 
 move ? And I am bound by a sacred promise. Come, I 
 must go and consult the investigating magistrate. He can 
 perhaps assist me. You had better come too." 
 
 XXHI. 
 
 As M. Verduret had anticipated, Prosper's anonymous 
 letter had a terrible effect upon M. Fauvel. It was morn- 
 ing. M. Fauvel had just entered his study to attend to 
 his correspondence. After opening a dozen letters on 
 business, his eyes fell on the fatal missive. Something 
 about the handwriting struck him as peculiar. It was evi- 
 dently disguised, and although, owing to the fact of his 
 being a millionaire, he was in the habit of receiving anony- 
 mous communications, sometimes abusive, but generally 
 begging for money, this particular letter filled him with a 
 presentiment of evil. With absolute certainty that he 
 was about to read of some calamity, he broke the seal, 
 and unfolding the coarse writing-paper of the caf(^, com- 
 menced to read. What he read was a terrible blow to a 
 man whose life hitherto had been an unbroken chain of 
 prosperity, who could recall the past without one bitter 
 regret, without remembering any sorrow deep enough to 
 bring forth a tear. What ! his wife deceive him ! And 
 among all men, to choose one vile enough to rob her of 
 her jewels, and force her to be his accomplice in the ruin 
 of an innocent young man ! For did not the letter before 
 him assert this to be the fact, and tell him how to convince 
 himself of its truth ? M. Fauvel was as bewildered as if 
 he had been knocked on the head with a club. It was 
 
FILE NO. 113. 34S 
 
 impossible for his scattered ideas to take in the enormicv 
 of what these dreadful words intimated. He seemed to 
 be mentally and physically paralyzed, as he sat there star- 
 ing blankly at the letter. But in a few minutes his rea- 
 son returned. 
 
 "What infamous cowardice ! " he cried ; *' it is abomina- 
 ble ! " And he angrily crumpled up the letter and threw 
 it into the empty fireplace, adding : " I will forget having 
 read it. I will not soil my mind by letting it dwell upon 
 such turpitude ! " 
 
 He said this, and he thought it ; but, for all that, he 
 could not open the rest of his letters. That penetrating, 
 clinging, all-corroding worm, suspicion, had taken posses- 
 sion of his soul ; and he leaned over his desk, with his 
 face buried in his hands, vainly endeavoring to recover 
 his habitual calmness of mind. " Supposing, though, that 
 the letter stated the truth ! " At the thought, his dejec- 
 tion of the first few minutes gave way to the most violent 
 rage. " Ah ! " he exclaimed in his \vrath, " if I only knew 
 the scoundrel who dared to write this ; if I only had him 
 here ! " Thinking that the handwriting might throw some 
 light on the mystery, he picked the fatal letter out of the 
 fireplace. Carefully smoothing it out he laid it on his 
 desk, and studied the up strokes, the down strokes, and 
 the capitals of every word. " It must be from one of my 
 clerks," he thought, " who is angry with me for having re- 
 fused to raise his salary ; or for some other reason." 
 Clinging to this idea, he thought over all the young men 
 in his bank ; but not one could he believe capable of re- 
 sorting to so base a vengeance. Then he wondered where 
 the letter had been posted, thinking this might throw some 
 light on the mystery. He looked at the envelope, an.l 
 read on the post-mark, " Rue du Cardinal Lemoine." 
 This fact told him nothing. Once more he read the let- 
 ter through, spelling over each word, and analyzing every 
 sentence it contained. It is the custom to treat anony- 
 mous letters with silent contempt, as the malicious lies of 
 cowards who dare not say to a man's face what they se- 
 cretly commit to paper. Yet what innumerable catastr*^- 
 phes can be traced to no other origin. One throws the 
 letters in the fire, but, although the paper is destroyed by 
 the flames, doubts remain, and, like a subtle poison, pene- 
 trate the inmost recesses of the mind, weaken its holiest 
 
346 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 beliefs, and destroy its faith. The wife suspected, no mat* 
 ter how unjustly, is no longer the wife in whom her hus- 
 band trusted as he would trust himself. Suspicion, no 
 matter whence the source, has irrevocably tarnished the 
 brightness of his idol. Unable to struggle any longer 
 against these conflicting doubts, M. Fauvel determined to 
 resolve them by showing the letter to his wife ; but a shock 
 ing thought, more torturing than a red-hot iron burning 
 his flesh, made him sink back in his chair in despair. 
 " Suppose it be true ! " he muttered to himself ; *' suppose 
 I have been miserably duped ! By confiding in my wife, 
 I shall put her on her guard, and lose all chance of dis- 
 covering the truth." 
 
 Thus were realized all M. Verduret's presumptions. 
 He had said, " If M. Fauvel does not yield to his first im- 
 pulse, if he stops to reflect, we have time to repair the 
 harm done." And after long and painful meditation, the 
 banker had finally decided to wait and watch his wife. 
 It was a hard struggle for a man of his frank, upright nat- 
 ure, to play the part of a domestic spy, and jealous hus- 
 band. Accustomed to give way to sudden bwrsts of anger, 
 but quickly mastering them, he would find it difficult to 
 preserve his self-restraint, to maintain silence until his 
 proofs were overwhelming. There was one simple means 
 of ascertaining the truth. The letter stated that his wife's 
 diamonds had been pawned. If it lied in this instance, 
 he would treat it with the scorn it deserved. But if, on 
 the other hand, it should prove to be true ! At this mo- 
 ment, the servant announced that lunch was served, and 
 M. Fauvel looked in the glass before leaving his study, to 
 see if face betrayed the emotion he felt. He was shocked 
 at the sight of his haggard features. " Shall I be able tc 
 control my feelings ?" he asked himself. At table he did 
 his utmost to look unconcerned, he talked incessantly, 
 related several stories, hoping thus to distract the atten- 
 tion of the others. But, all the time he was talking, he 
 was casting over in his mind various expedients for get- 
 ting his wife out of the house long enough for him to search 
 her room. At last he asked Madame Fauvel if she were 
 going out at all that day. 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " the weather is dreadful, but Made 
 leine and I have some pressing matters to see after/' 
 
 " At what time do you think of starting ? " 
 
Lau > s Mcrritll 
 
 '' ' Ah,' ho saiil. with a li(»ri-il)k' hiiigh, " vuu iDok surprised.' 
 
FILE NO. 113. 347 
 
 " Immediately after lunch." 
 
 He drew a long breath as if relieved of a great weight. 
 In a short time he would be able to learn the truth. His 
 uncertainty was so torturing to the unhappy man that to it 
 he preferred anything, even the most dreadful reality. 
 Lunch over, he lighted a cigar, but did not remain in the 
 dining-room to smoke it, as was his habit. He went into 
 his study, pretending he had some pressing work to attend 
 to. He took the precaution to send Lucien out so as to 
 be quite alone. After the lapse of half an hour, he heard 
 the carriage drive away with his wife and niece. Hurry- 
 ing into Madame Fauvel's room, he opened her jewel 
 drawer. Several of the cases he knew she possessed were 
 missing, those that remained — there were ten or twelve of 
 them — were empty. The anonymous letter had told the 
 truth. " Oh, it cannot be ! " he gasped in broken tones. 
 *' It is not possible ! " He wildly pulled open other draw- 
 ers in the hope of finding the jewels. Perhaps his wife 
 kept them elsewhere. She might have sent some of them 
 to be reset, and others to be mended. But he found noth- 
 ing ! He then recollected the Jandidier ball, and that he, 
 full of pride, had said to his wife : " Why don't you wear 
 your diamonds 1 " She had smilingly replied : " Oh ! 
 what is the use ? Everybody knows them so well ; I shall 
 be more noticed if I don't wear them ; and besides, they 
 wouldn't suit my costume." Yes, she had made this an- 
 swer without blushing, without showing the slightest sign 
 of agitation. What barefaced Impudence ! What base 
 hypocrisy concealed beneath an innocent, confiding man- 
 ner ! And she had been thus deceiving him for twenty 
 years ! But suddenly a gleam of hope penetrated his con- 
 fused mind — slight, barely possible ; still a straw to cling 
 to — " Perhaps Valentine has put her diamonds in Made- 
 leine's room." Without stopping to consider the indeli- 
 cacy of what he was about to do, he hurried into the young 
 girl's room, and pulled open one drawer after another. 
 He did not find his wife's — not Madame Fauvel's dia- 
 monds — but he discovered seven or eight jewel cases be- 
 longing to Madeleine, and all empty. Great heavens ! 
 Was this gentle girl, whom he had treated as a daughter, 
 an accomplice in this deed of shame ? This last blow was 
 too much for the miserable man. He sank almost lifeless 
 into a chair, and wrin^ng his hands, groaned over the 
 
348 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 wreck of his happiness. Was this the happy future to 
 which he had looked forward ? Was the fabric of his 
 honor, well-being and domestic bliss, to be dashed to the 
 earth and forever lost in a day ? Seemingly nothing was 
 changed in his existence ; he was not materially injured; 
 the objects around him remained the same ; and yet what 
 a commotion had taken place, a commotion more unheard 
 of, more surprising than the changing to night into day. 
 What ! Valentine, the pure 3^oung girl whom he had so 
 loved and married in spite of her poverty; Valentine, the 
 tender, loving wife, who had become dearer and dearer to 
 him as years rolled on ; could she have been deceiving 
 him ? She, the mother of his sons ! His sons ? Bitter 
 thought ! Were they his sons ? If she could deceive him 
 now when she was silver-haired had she not deceived him 
 when she was young ? Not only did he suffer in the pres- 
 ent, but the uncertainty of the past tortured his soul. 
 
 M. Fauvel did not long remain in this dejected state. 
 Anger and a thirst for vengeance gave him fresh strength, 
 and he determined to sell his past happiness dearly. He 
 well knew that the fact of the diamonds being missing was 
 not sufficient ground upon which to base an accusation. 
 But he had plenty of means of procuring other proofs. 
 He began by calling his valet, and ordering hnn to bring 
 to him every letter that should come to the house. He 
 then telegraphed to a notary at St. Remy, for minute and 
 authentic information about the De Lagors family, and 
 especially about Raoul. Finally, following the advice of 
 the anonymous letter, he went to the Prefecture of Po- 
 lice, hoping to obtain De Clameran's biography. But the 
 police, fortunately for many people, are as discreetly si- 
 lent as the grave. They guard their secrets as a miser 
 his treasure. Nothing but an order from the Public Prose- 
 cutor could reveal the secrets of those terrible green boxes 
 which are kept in an apartment by themselves, guarded 
 like a banker's strong-room. M. Fauvel was politely asked 
 what motives urged him to inquire into the past life of a 
 French citizen ; and, as he declined to state his reasons, 
 he was told he had better apply to the above-mentioned 
 functionary. This advice he could not follow. He had 
 sworn that the secret of his wrongs should be confined to 
 the three persons interested. ' He chose to avenge his own 
 injuries, to be alone the judge and executioner. He ro* 
 
FILE NO. 113. 345 
 
 turned home more enraged than ever ; there he found a 
 telegram answering the one which he had sent to St. Remy. 
 It was as follows • " The De Lagors are very poor, and 
 there has never been any member of the family named 
 Raoul. Madame De Lagors has no son, only two daugh- 
 ters." This information was the final blow. The banker 
 thought, when he discovered his wife's infamy, that she 
 had sinned as deeply as woman could sin ; but he now 
 saw that she had practised a deception more shocking than 
 the crime itself. 
 
 " Wretched creature ! " he cried with anguish ; " in order 
 to see her lover constantly, she dared present him to me 
 under the name of a nephew who never existed. She had 
 the shameless courage to introduce him beneath my roof, 
 and seat him at my fireside, between myself and my sons ; 
 and I, confiding fool that I was, welcomed the villain, and 
 lent him money." 
 
 Nothing could equal the pain of wounded pride and 
 mortification which he suffered at the thought that Raoul 
 and Madame Fauvel had amused themselves with his good- 
 natured credulity. Nothing but death could wipe out an 
 injury of this nature. But the very bitterness of his re- 
 sentment enabled him to restrain himself until the time 
 for punishment came. With grim satisfaction he promised 
 himself that his acting would be as successful as theirs. 
 That day he succeeded in concealing his agitation, and 
 kept up a flow of talk during the whole time the dinner 
 lasted. But at about nine o'clock, when De Clameran 
 called, he hastened from the house, for fear that he would 
 be unable to control his indignation, and did not return 
 home until late in the night. The next day he reaped the 
 fruit of his prudence. Among the letters which his valet 
 brought him at noon, was one bearing the post-mark of 
 Vesinet He carefully opened the envelope, and read, 
 *' Dear Aunt, — It is imperatively necessary for me to see 
 you to-day ; so I expect you. I will explain why I am' 
 prevented from calling at your house. Raoul." 
 
 " I have them now I " cried M. Fauvel, trembling with 
 satisfaction at the near prospect of vengeance. Eager to 
 lose no time, he opened a drawer, took out a revolver, and 
 examined the hammer to see if it worked easily. He cer- 
 tainly imagined himself alone, but a vigilant eye was watch- 
 ing his movements. Nina immediately upon her return f roro 
 
350 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 the Grand Archangel, stationed herself at the key-hole of 
 the study-door, and saw all that occurred. M. Fauvel laid 
 the weapon on the mantle-piece, and nervously resealed 
 the letter, which he then took to the place where the let- 
 ters were usually left, not wishing his wife to know that 
 Raoul's letter had passed through his hands. He was only 
 absent a few minutes, but inspired by the imminence of the 
 danger, Nina darted into the study, and rapidly extracted 
 the cartridges from the revolver. " By this means," she 
 murmured, " the immediate peril is averted, and M. Ver- 
 duret will now perhaps have time to act. I must send 
 Cavaillon to tell him what is happening." 
 
 She hurried down stairs, and sent the clerk with a mes- 
 sage, teliiag him to leave it with Madame Alexandre, if 
 M. Verdurei had left the hotel. An hour later, Madame 
 Fauvel ordered her carriage, and went out. M. Fauvel 
 jumped into a hackney-coach, and followed her. 
 
 " God grant that M. Verduret may be in time ! " said 
 Nina to herself, "otherwise Madame Fauvel and Raoul 
 are lost." 
 
 XXIV 
 
 The day that the Marquis de Clameran perceived that 
 Raoul de Lagors was the only obstacle between him and 
 Madeleine, he swore that the obstacle should be removed. 
 He at once took steps for the accomplishment of his pur- 
 pose. As Raoul was walking home at Vesinet about mid- 
 night, he was assailed at a lonely spot not far from the 
 station by three men, who, determined, so they said, to see 
 the time by his watch, fell upon him suddenly, and but for 
 Raoul's wonderful strength and agility, would have left 
 him dead on the spot. As it was, he soon, by his skilfully 
 plied blows, for he was a proficient in fencing, and had 
 learnt boxing in England, made his enemies take to their 
 heels. He quietly continued his walk home, fully deter- 
 mined in future, to be well armed when he went out at 
 night. He never for an instant suspected his accofnplice 
 of having instigated the assault. But two days afterwards, 
 while sitting in a caf^ he frequented, a burly, vulgar-look- 
 ing man, a stranger to him, tried to draw him into a quarrel 
 about nothing, and finally threw a card in his face, saying 
 
FILE N&. 113. 351 
 
 he was ready to grant him satisfaetion when and where he 
 pleased. Raoul rushed towards the man to chastise him 
 on the spot ; but his friends held him back. 
 
 '* Very well, then," said he ; " be at home to-morrow 
 morning, sir, and I will send two of my friends to you." As 
 soon as the stranger had left, Raoul recovered from his 
 excitement, and began to wonder what could have been 
 the motive for this evidently premeditated insult. Picking 
 up the card of the bully, he read : 
 
 W. H. B. Jacobson. 
 
 Formerly Garibaldian volunteer. 
 
 Ex-staj^-officer of the at'mies of the Souths 
 
 (Italy, America). 
 
 30, Rue Leonie. 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! " thought Raoul, " this glorious soldier may 
 very possibly have won his laurels in a fencing school ! " 
 
 Still the insult had been offered in the presence of others ; 
 and, no matter who the offender was, it must be noticed. 
 Raoul requested two of his friends to call upon M. Jacob- 
 son early the next morning, and make arrangements for 
 the duel. It was settled that they should render him a» 
 account of their mission at the Hotel du Louvre, where he 
 arranged to sleep. Everything being arranged, Raoul 
 went out to find out something about M. Jacobson. He 
 was an expert at the business, but he had considerable 
 trouble. The information he obtained was not very prom- 
 ising. M. Jacobson, who lived in a very suspicious-look- 
 ing little hotel, frequented chiefiy by women of loose char- 
 acter, was described to him as an eccentric gentleman, 
 whose means of livelihood was a problem difficult to solve. 
 He reigned despotically at an ordinary near by, went out 
 a great deal, came home very late, and seemed to have no 
 -capital to live upon, save his military titles, his talent for 
 entertaining, and a notable quantity of various expedients. 
 
 " That being his character," thought Raoul, " I cannot 
 see what object he can have in picking a quarrel with me. 
 What good will it do him to run a sword through my body ? 
 Not the slightest ; and, moreover, his pugnacious conduct 
 is apt to attract the attention of the police, who, from what 
 I hear, are the last people this warrior would like to hav« 
 
3S2 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 after him. Therefore, for acting as he has done, he must 
 have some reasons which I am unable to discern." 
 
 The result of his meditations was, that Raoul, upon his 
 return to the Hotel du Louvre, did not mention a word of 
 his adventure to De Clameran, whom he still found up. 
 At half-past eight his seconds arrived. M. Jacobson had 
 agreed to fight, and had chosen the sword ; but it must be 
 that very hour, in the Bois de Vincennes. Raoul felt very- 
 uneasy, nevertheless he boldly said : " I accept the gentle- 
 man's conditions." They went to the place decided upon, 
 and after an interchange of a few thrusts Raoul was 
 slightly wounded in the right shoulder. The " Ex-staff- 
 officer of the armies of the South " wished to continue the 
 combat • but Raoul's seconds — brave young men — de- 
 clared that honor was satisfied, and that they had no in- 
 tention of subjecting their friend's life to unnecessary haz- 
 ards. The ex-officer was forced to submit, and unwillingly 
 retired from the field. Raoul went home delighted at 
 having escaped with nothing more serious than a little loss 
 of blood, and resolved to keep clear of all so-called Gari- 
 baldians in the future. In fact, a night's reflection had 
 convinced him. that De Clameran was the instigator of the 
 two attempts on his life. Madame Fauvel having told him 
 what conditions Madeleine placed on her consent to marry, 
 Raoul instantly saw how necessary Ii'.: removal would be, 
 now that he was an impediment in the way of De Cla- 
 meran's success. He recalled a thousand insignificant 
 events of the last few days, and, on skilfully questioning 
 the marquis, had his suspicions changed into certainty. 
 This conviction that the man whom he had so materially 
 assisted in his criminal plans, had hired assassins to make 
 away with him, made him mad with rage. This treason 
 seemed, to him, monstrous. He was as yet not sufficiently 
 experienced in ruffianism to know that one villain always 
 sacrifices another to advance his own projects ; he was 
 credulous enough to believe in the old adage, of " honor 
 amongst thieves." His rage was naturally mingled with 
 fright, well knowing that his life hung by a thread, when 
 it was threatened by a daring scoundrel like De Clameran. 
 He had twice miraculously escaped ; a third attempt would 
 more than likely prove fatal. Knowing his accomplice's 
 nature, Raoul saw himself surrounded by snares ; he saw 
 death before him in every form ; he was equally afraid of 
 
FILE NO. 113. 353 
 
 going out, and of remaining at home. He only ventured 
 with the most suspicious caution into the most public 
 places ; he feared poison as much as the assassin's knife, 
 and imagined that every dish placed before him tasted of 
 strychnine. This life of torture was intolerable, so with a 
 desire for revenge as much as with a view of securing his 
 personal safety, he determined to anticipate a struggle 
 which he felt must terminate in the death of either l)e 
 Clameran or himself. "Better kill the devil," said he, 
 " than be killed by hmi." In his days of poverty, Raoul 
 had often risked his liberty to obtain a few guineas, and 
 would not have hesitated to make short work of a person 
 like De Clameran. But with money prudence had come. 
 He wished to enjoy his four hundred thousand francs with- 
 out being compromised by committing a murder which 
 might be discovered ; he therefore began to devise some 
 other means of getting rid of his dreaded accomplice. In 
 the mean time, he thought it would be a good thing to 
 thwart De Clameran's marriage with Madeleine. He was 
 sure that he would thus strike him to the heart, and this 
 was at least a satisfaction. Raoul was persuaded that, by 
 openly siding with Madeleine and her aunt, he could save 
 them from De Clameran's clutches. Having fully resolved 
 upon this course, he wrote a note to Madame Fauvel asking 
 for an interview. The poor woman hastened to Vesinet 
 convinced that some new misfortune was in store for her. 
 Her alarm w-as groundless. She found Raoul more tender 
 and affectionate than he had ever been. He saw the ne- 
 cessity of re-assuring her, and winning his old place in 
 her forgiving heart, before making his disclosures. He 
 succeeded. The poor lady had a smiling and happy look 
 as she sat in an arm-chair, with Raoul kneeling beside her. 
 
 " I have distressed you too long, my dear mother," he 
 said in his softest tones ; " but I repent sincerely ; now 
 listen to me." 
 
 He had not time to say more ; the door was violently 
 thrown open, and Raoul, springing to his feet, was con- 
 fronted by M. Fauvel. The banker had a revolver in his 
 hand, and was ghastly pale. It was evident that he was 
 making superhuman efforts to remain calm, like a judge 
 whose duty it is to justly punish crime. 
 
 " Ah," he exclaimed v.'ith a horrible laugh, *' you look 
 surprised. You did not expect me ? You thought that 
 23 
 
354 l^ILE NO. 113 
 
 my imbecile credulity assured you an eternal impa 
 nity ! " 
 
 Raoul had the courage to place himself before Madame 
 Fauvel, and to stand prepared to receive the expected bul« 
 let. 
 
 " I assure you, uncle," he began. 
 
 " Enough ! " interrupted the banker with an angry gest- 
 ure, " let me hear no more infamous falsehoods ! End 
 this odious comedy, of which I am no longer the dujoe." 
 
 " I swear to you — " 
 
 " Spare yourself the trouble of denying anything. Do 
 you not see that I know all. I know who pawned my 
 wife's diamonds. I know who committed the robbery for 
 which an innocent man was arrested and imprisoned ! " 
 
 Madame Fauvel, white with terror, fell upon her knees. 
 At last it had come — the dreadful day had come. Vainly 
 had she added falsehood to falsehood ; vainly had she sacri- 
 ficed herself and others : all was discovered. She saw that 
 she was lost, and wringing her hands, with her face bathed 
 in tears, she moaned : " Pardon, Andre ! I beg you, for- 
 give me ! " 
 
 At these heart-broken tones, the banker shook like a 
 leaf. This voice brought before him the twenty years of 
 happiness which he had owed to this woman, who had al- 
 ways been the mistress of his heart, whose slightest wish 
 had been his law, and who, by a smile or a frown, could 
 make him the happiest or the most miserable of men. 
 Could this v.Tetched woman crouching at his feet be his 
 beloved Valentine, the pure, innocent girl whom he had 
 found secluded in the chateau of La Verberie ? Could 
 this be the cherished wife whom he had worshipped for so 
 many years ? In the memor}- of his lost happiness never to 
 return, he seemed to forget the present, and was almost 
 melted to forgiveness. 
 
 *' Unhappy woman," he murmured, " unhappy woman ! 
 What had I done that you should thus deceive me ? Ah, 
 my only fault was loving you too deeply, and letting you 
 see it. One wearies of everything in this world, even 
 happiness. Did pure domestic joys pall upon you, and 
 weary you, driving you to seek the excitement of sinful 
 passion ? Were you so tired of the atmosphere of 
 respect and affection which surrounded you, that you must 
 needs risk your honor and mine by bravmg public opinion? 
 
FILE NO. £13 355 
 
 Oh, iato what an abyss you have fallen, Valentine ! If 
 you were weaned by my constant devotion, had the thought 
 of your children no power to restrain your evil passions ? " 
 
 M. Fauvel spoke slowly, with painful effort, as if each 
 word choked him. Raoul, who listened with attention, 
 saw that if the banker knew some things, he certainly did 
 not know all. He saw that erroneous information had 
 misled the unhappy man„and that he was a victim of false 
 appearances. He determined to convince him of the mis- 
 take under which he was laboring. 
 
 " Sir," he began, " will you consent to listen — " 
 
 But the sound of Raoul's voice was sufficient to break 
 the charm. " Silence ! " cried the banker with an angry 
 oath ; " silence ! " 
 
 For some moments nothing was heard but the sobs of 
 Madame Fauvel. 
 
 " I came here," continued the banker, " with the inten- 
 tion of surprising and killing you both. I have surprised 
 you, but — my courage, yes my courage fails me — I cannot 
 kill an unarmed man." 
 
 Raoul once more tried to speak. 
 
 " Let me finish ! " interrupted M. Fauvel. " Your life 
 is in my hands ; the law excuses the vengeance of an out- 
 raged husband, but I refuse to take advantage of it. I 
 see on your mantle-piece a revolver similar t£) mine ; take 
 it, and defend yourself." 
 
 " Never ! " 
 
 " Defend yourself ! " cried the banker raising his weapon, 
 " if you do not — " 
 
 Seeing the barrel of M. Fauvel's revolver close to his 
 breast, Raoul in self-defence seized his own and prepared 
 to fire. 
 
 " Stand in that corner of the room, and I will stand in 
 this," continued the banker ; " and when the clock strikes, 
 which will be in a few seconds, we will both fire together." 
 
 They took the places designated, and stood perfectly 
 still. But the horror of the scene was too much for 
 Madame Fauvel to witness it any longer witnout interpos- 
 ing. She understood but one thing : her son and her 
 husband were about to kill each other before her eyes. 
 Fright and horror gave her strength to rise and rush be* 
 tween the two men. 
 
 ** For God's sake, have mercy, Andre' ! " she cried, turn* 
 
356 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 ing to her husband and wringing her hands with anguish, 
 " let me tell you everything ; don't kill him.'' 
 
 M. Fauvel mistook this burst of maternal love, for the 
 pleadings of an adulterous wife defending her lover. He 
 roughly seized his wife by the arm, and thrust her aside : 
 " Get out of the way ! " he cried. 
 
 But she would not be repulsed ; rushing up to Raoul, 
 she threw her arms around him, and said to her husband : 
 *' Kill me, and me alone ; for I alone am guilty." 
 
 At these word's M. Fauvel's rage knew no bounds, he 
 deliberately took aim at the guilty pair, and fired. As 
 neither Raoul nor Madame Fauvel fell, the banker fired a 
 second time ; then a third. He was preparing for a fourth 
 shot, when a man rushed into the room, snatched the re- 
 volver from the banker's hand, and, throwing him on the 
 sofa ran towards Madame Fauvel. This man was M. 
 Verduret, who had been warned by Cavaillon, but who did 
 not know that Nina had withdrawn the charges from M. 
 Fauvel's weapon. 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! " he exclaimed, " she is unhurt." 
 
 But the banker had already regained his feet. " Leave 
 me alone," he cried struggling to get free, " I will have 
 vengeance ! " 
 
 M. Verduret seized his wrists in a vice-like grasp, and 
 in a solemn tone, so as to give more weight to his words, 
 he said : " Thank God you are saved from committing a 
 terrible crime ; the anonymous letter deceived you." 
 
 M, Fauvel never once thought of asking this stranger 
 who he was and where he came from. He heard and 
 understood but one fact : the anonymous letter had lied. 
 " But my wife confesses her guilt," he stammered. 
 
 *' Yes," replied M. Verduret, " but not of the crime you 
 imagine. Dp you know who that man is, that you wish to 
 kill.>" 
 
 " Her lover I " 
 
 " No : her son ! " 
 
 The presence of this well-informed stranger, seemed to 
 confound Raoul and to frighten him more than M. Fauvel's 
 threats had done. Yet he had sufficient presence of mind 
 to say : *' It is the truth ! " 
 
 The banker looked wildly from Raoul to M. Verduret ; 
 then, fastening his haggard eyes on his wife exclaimed: 
 " What you tell me is not possible ! Give me proofs ! " 
 
FILE NO. 113- 357 
 
 "You shall have proofs," replied M. Verduret, ^but 
 first listen." 
 
 And rapidly, with his wonderful talent for exposition, he 
 related the principal events of the drama he had discovered. 
 The true state of the case was terribly distressing to M. 
 Fauvel, but nothing compared with what he had suspected. 
 His throbbing, yearning heart told him that he still loved 
 his wife. Why should he punish a fault committed so very 
 long ago, and atoned for by twenty years of devotion and 
 suffering? For some moments after M. Verduret had 
 finished his explanation, M. Fauvel remained silent. So 
 many strange events had happened, following each other 
 in such quick succession, and culminating in the shocking 
 scene which had just taken place, that M. Fauvel seemed 
 to be too bewildered to think clearly. If his heart coun- 
 selled pardon and forgetfulness, wounded pride and self- 
 respect demanded vengeance. If Raoul, the baleful wit- 
 ness, the living proof of a far-off sin, were not in existence, 
 M. Fauvel would not have hesitated. Gaston de Cla- 
 meran was dead ; he would have held out his arms to his 
 wife, saying : " Come to my heart ! your sacrifices for my 
 honor shall be your absolution ; let the sad past be for- 
 gotten." But the sight of Raoul froze the words upon his 
 lips. 
 
 " So this is your son," said he to his wife, " this man, 
 who has plundered you and robbed me ! " 
 
 Madame Fauvel was unable to utter a word in reply to 
 these reproachful words. 
 
 " Oh ! " said M. Verduret, " madame will tell you that 
 this young man is the son of Gaston de Clameran ; she 
 has never doubted it. But, the truth is — " 
 
 " What ! " 
 
 " That, in order to swindle her more easily, he has per- 
 petrated a gross imposture." 
 
 During the last few minutes Raoul had been quietly 
 creeping towards the door hoping to escape while no one 
 was thinking of him. But M. Verdutet, who anticipated 
 his intention, was watching him out of the corner of his 
 eye, and stopped him just as he was about leaving the 
 room. " Not so fast„ my pretty youth," he said, dragging 
 him into the middle of the apartment ; "it is not polite to 
 leave us so unceremoniously. Let us have a little ex* 
 planation before parting ! " 
 
3S8 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 M. Verduret's jeering words and mocking manner were 
 a revelation for Raoul. " The merry-andrew ! " he gasped 
 starting back with an affrighted look. 
 
 " The same my friend," said the stout man. *' Ah, now 
 that you recognize me, I confess that the merry-andrew 
 and myself are one and the same ; here is proof of it." 
 And turning up his sleeve he showed his bare arm. " I 
 think that this recent wound will convince you of my iden- 
 tity," he continued. *' I imagine you know the villain 
 that gave me this little decoration, that night I was walk- 
 ing along the Rue Bourdaloue. That being the case, you 
 know, I have a slight claim upon you, and shall expect 
 you to relate to us your little story." But Raoul was so 
 terrified that he could not utter a word. " Your modesty 
 prevents your speaking," said M. Verduret. " Bravo ! 
 modesty belongs to talent, and for one of your age you 
 certainly have displayed a talent for knavery." 
 
 M. Fauvel listened without understanding a word of 
 what was said. " Into what abyss of shame have we 
 fallen ! " he groaned. 
 
 "Re-assure yourself, sir," replied M. Verduret in a 
 serious tone. " After what I have been constrained to 
 tell you, what remains to be said is a mere trifle. This 
 is the end of the story. On leaving Mihonne, who had 
 given him a full account of the misfortunes of Made- 
 moiselle Valentine de La Verberie, De Clameran hastened 
 to London. He had no difficulty in finding the farmer's 
 wife to whom the old countess had intrusted Gaston's son. 
 But here an unexpected disappointment greeted him. He 
 learned that the child, who was registered on the parish 
 books as Raoul- Valentin Wilson, had died of the croup 
 when eighteen months old." 
 
 Raoul tried to protest. " Did any one dare say that ? " 
 he commenced. 
 
 " It was not only stated, but proved, my pretty youth,** 
 replied M. Verduret. " You don't suppose I am a man to 
 trust to mere gossip ; do you ? " He drew from his pocket 
 several stamped documents, and laid them on the table. 
 *' These are the declarations of the nurse, her husband, 
 and four witnesses. Here is an extract from the registry 
 of births \ this is a certificate of registry of death ; and 
 all these are authenticated at the French Embassy. Now 
 arQ you satisfied, young man ? " 
 
FILE NO. 113. 3^ 
 
 " What next ? " inquired M. Fauvel. 
 
 " De Clameran," replied M. Verdiiret, "finding that 
 the child was dead, supposed that he could, in spite of this 
 disappointment, obtain money from Madame Fauvel ; he 
 was mistaken. His first attempt failed. Having an in- 
 ventive turn of mind, he determined that the child should 
 come to life again. Among his large circle of rascally 
 aquaintance, he selected the young fellow who stands be- 
 fore you." 
 
 Madame Fauvel was in a pitiable state. And yet she 
 began to feel a ray of hope ; her acute anxiety had so long 
 tortured her, that the truth was a relief. " Can this be 
 possible "i " she murmured, " can it be ? " 
 
 " What ! " cried the banker : " can an infamous plot like 
 this be planned in the present day ? " 
 
 " All this is false ! " said Raoul boldly. 
 
 M. Verduret turned to Raoul, and, bowing with iron- 
 ical respect, said : " You desire proofs, sir, do you .-* You 
 shall certainly have convincing ones. I have just left a 
 friend of mine, M. Palot, who brought me valuable in- 
 formation from London. Now, my young gentleman, I 
 will tell you the little story he told me, and then you can 
 give your opinion of it. In 1847 Lord Murray, a wealthy 
 and generous nobleman, had a jockey named Spencer, of 
 whom he was very fond. At the Epsom races this jockey 
 was thrown from his horse, and killed. Lord Murray 
 grieved over the loss of his favorite, and having no chil- 
 dren of his own, declared his intention of adopting Spencer's 
 son, who was then but four years old. Thus James Spen- 
 cer was brought up in affluence, as heir to the immense 
 wealth of the noble lord. He was a handsome, intelli- 
 gent boy, and gave satisfaction to his protector until he 
 was sixteen years of age, when he became intimate with 
 a worthless set of people, and w^ent to the bad. Lord 
 Murray, who was very indulgent, pardoned many grave 
 faults ; but one line morning he discovered that his adopted 
 son had been imitating his signature upon some checks. 
 He indignantly dismissed him from his house, and told him 
 never to show his face there again. James Spencer had 
 been living in London about four years, managing to sup- 
 port himself by gambling and swindling, when he met 
 De (!lameran, who offered him twenty-five thousand francs 
 
360 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 to play a part in a little comedy which he had himself 
 arranged." 
 
 "You are a detective!" interrupted Raoul, not caring 
 to hear any more. 
 
 The stout man smiled blandly. 
 
 "At present," he replied, "I am merely Prosper Ber- 
 tomy's friend. It depends entirely upon yourself, as to 
 which character I shall hereafter appear in." 
 
 " What do you require me to do 1 " 
 
 " Where are the three hundred and fifty thousand francs 
 which you have stolen ? " 
 
 The young rascal hesitated a moment and then said : 
 "The money is here." 
 
 " Very good. This frankness will be of service to you. 
 I know that the money is in this room, and also that it is at 
 the bottom of that cupboard. Do you intend to refund it .? " 
 
 Raoul saw that his game was lost. He tremblingly went 
 to the cupboard, and pulled out several rolls of bank-notes, 
 and an enormous package of pawnbroker's tickets. 
 
 "Very well done," said M. Verduret, as he carefully 
 examined the money and papers : " this is the most sensi- 
 ble step you ever took." 
 
 Raoul relied on this moment, when everybody's atten- 
 tion would be absorbed by the money, to make his escape. 
 He crept towards the door, gently opened it, slipped out, 
 and locked it, for the key was on the outside. 
 
 " He has escaped ! " cried M. Fauvel. 
 
 " Of course," replied M. Verduret, without even look- 
 ing up : "I thought he would have sense enough to do 
 that." 
 
 " But is he to go unpunished ? " 
 
 " My dear sir, would you have this affair become a pub- 
 lic scandal ? Do you wish your wife's name to be brought 
 into a case of this nature at the police court .-* " 
 
 "Oh! sir." 
 
 " Then the best thing you can do, is to let the rascal 
 go. Here are receipts for all the articles which he has 
 pawned, so that we should consider ourselves fortunate. 
 He has kept fifty thousand francs, but that is all the bet- 
 ter for you. That sum will enable him to leave France, 
 and we shall never see him again." 
 
 Like every one else, M. Fauvel yielded to M. Verdu- 
 ret's ascendency. Gradually he had awakened to the trud 
 
FILE NO. 113. 361 
 
 state of affairs ; prospective happiness no longer seemed 
 impossible, and he felt that he was indebted to the man 
 before him for more than life. With earnest gratitude 
 he seized M. Verduret's hand as if to carry it to his lips, 
 and said in broken tones : " Oh, sir ! how can I ever find 
 words to express how deeply I appreciate your kindness ? 
 How can I ever repay the great service you have rendered 
 me ? " 
 
 M. Verduret reflected a moment, and then replied ; " If 
 you consider yourself under any obligations to me, sir, I 
 have a favor to ask of you." 
 
 " A favor ! you ! ask of me 1 Speak, sir, you have but to 
 name it. My fortune and my life are at your disposal." 
 
 " I will not hesitate, then, to explain myself. I am 
 Prosper's friend. You can restore him to his former hon- 
 orable position. You can do so much for him, sir ! he 
 loves Mademoiselle Madeleine — " 
 
 " Madeleine shall be his wife, sir," interrupted the bank- 
 er : "I give you my word. And I will so publicly exoner- 
 ate him, that not a shadow of suspicion will ever rest upon 
 his name." 
 
 The stout man quietly took up his hat and cane, as if he 
 had been paying an ordinary call. " You will excuse my 
 importunmg you,'* said he, "but INIadame Fauvel — " 
 " Andre " murmured the wretched woman, " Andre' ! " 
 The banker hesitated a moment, then, following the 
 impulse of his heart, ran to his wife, and, clasping her in 
 his arms, said tenderly : ' No, I will not be foolish enough 
 to struggle against my heart, I do not pardon, Valentine : 
 I forget ; I forget all ! " 
 
 M. Verduret had nothing more to do at Vesinet. With- 
 out taking leave of the banker, he quietly left the room, 
 and, jumping into his cab, ordered the driver to return 
 to Paris, and drive to the Hotel du Louvre as rapidly as 
 possible. His mind was filled with anxiety. He knew 
 that Raou! would give him no more trouble ; the young 
 rogue was probably far off by that time. But De Clame- 
 ran should not escape unpunished ; and how this punish- 
 ment could be brought about without compromising Ma- 
 dame Fauvel was the problem to be solved. M. Verduret 
 thought over various expedients, but not one could be ap- 
 plied to the present circumstances. After long thought he 
 decided that an accusation of poisoning must be made at 
 
362 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 Oloron. He would go there and work upon " public opin' 
 ion," so that, to satisfy the townspeople, the authorities 
 would order a post-mortem examination of Gaston's body. 
 But this mode of proceeding required time ; and De Cla- 
 meran would certainly escape before long. He was be- 
 moaning his inability to come to a satisfactory decision, 
 when the cab stopped in front of the Hotel du Louvre. 
 It was almost dark. A crowd of people was collected 
 round about the entrance, eagerly discussing some exciting 
 event which seemed to have just taken place. 
 
 " What has happened 1 " asked M. Verduret of one of the 
 crowd. 
 
 " The strangest thing you have ever heard of," replied 
 the man ; " yes, I saw it with my own eyes. He first ap- 
 peared at that seventh-story window ; he was only half- 
 dressed. Some men tried to seize him ; but, bah ! with 
 the agility of a squirrel, he jumped gut upon the roof, 
 shrieking, 'Murder! murder!' The recklessness of his 
 conduct led me to suppose — " The gossip stopped short in 
 his narrative, very much surprised and vexed ; his ques- 
 tioner had vanished. 
 
 " If it should be De Clameran ! " thought M. Verduret ; 
 *' if terror has deranged that brain, so capable of working 
 out great crimes ! " 
 
 While thus talking to himself, he elbowed his way into 
 the court-yard of the hotel. At the foot of the principal 
 staircase he found M. Fanferlot and three peculiar looking 
 individuals waiting together. 
 
 " Well ! " cried M. Verduret, " what is the matter .? " 
 
 With laudable precision, the four men stood at attention. 
 " The chief ! " said they. 
 
 " Come !" said the stout man with an oath. "What 
 has happened ? " 
 
 " This is what has happened, sir," said Fanferlot deject- 
 edlv. " I am doomed to ill luck. You see how it is : this 
 is the only chance I ever had of working out a beautiful 
 case, and puff ! my criminal goes and sells me." 
 
 " Then it is De Clameran who — " 
 
 " Of course it is. When the rascal saw me this morn- 
 ing, he scampered off like a hare. You should have seen 
 him run , I thought he would never stop this side of Ivry : 
 but not at all. On reaching the Boulevard des Ecoles, a 
 sudden idea seemed to strike him, and he made a bee-line 
 
FILE NO. 113. 363 
 
 for his hotel ; I suppose, to secure his pile of money. Di- 
 rectly he gets here, what does he see ? these three friends 
 of mine. The sight of these gentlemen had the effect of 
 a sunstroke upon him ; he went raving mad on the 
 spot." 
 
 " Where is he now? " 
 
 " At the Pre'fecture, I suppose. Some policemen hand- 
 cuffed him, and drove off wit!: aim .n a j-._ 
 
 " Come with me." 
 
 M. Verduret and Fanfenc ound De Clameran in one 
 cf the private cells reserved cr dangerous prisoners. He 
 had on a strait-waistcoat, and was struggling violently 
 against three men, who were striving to hold him, while a 
 physician tried to force him to swallow a potion. 
 
 " Help ! " he shrieked, " help, for God's sake ! Do you 
 not see my brother coming after me 1 Look ! he wants 
 to poison me ! " 
 
 M. Verduret took the physician aside, and asked him a 
 few questions. 
 
 " The wretched man is in a hopeless state," replied the 
 doctor ; " this species of insanity is incurable. He thinks 
 some one is trying to poison him, and nothing will persuade 
 him to eat or drink anything; he will die of starvation, 
 after having suffered all the tortures of poison." 
 
 M. Verduret shuddered as he left the Prefecture. 
 "Madame Fauvel is saved," he murmured, "since God 
 has himself punished De Clameran ! " 
 
 " That doesn't help me in the least," grumbled Fanferlot. 
 "The idea of all my trouble and labor ending in this 
 way ! " 
 
 " True," replied M. Verduret, " the File No. 1 13 will never 
 leave its portfolio. But console yourself ; before the end 
 of the month I will give you a letter to a friend of mine, 
 and what you have lost in fame you will gain in gold." 
 
 XXV. 
 
 One morning some days later, M. Lecoq — the official 
 
 Lecoq, who resembles the head of a department — was walk- 
 ing up and down his private office, looking at the clock at; 
 
364 FILE NO. 113. 
 
 every moment. At last, a bell rang, and the faithful Jan- 
 ouille ushered in Madame Nina and Prosper Bertomy. 
 
 " Ah," said M. Lecoq, " you are punctual, my fond 
 lovers ; that is well." 
 
 " We are not lovers, sir," replied Madame Gipsy. " Only 
 M. Verduret's express orders have brought us together 
 here to meet him." 
 
 "Very well," said the celebrated detective; "then be 
 good enough to wait a few minutes : I will tell him you 
 are here." 
 
 During the quarter of an hour that Nina and Prosper re- 
 mained alone together, they did not exchange a word. 
 Finally a door opened, and M. Verduret appeared. 
 
 Nina and Prosper eagerly started towards him ; but he 
 checked them by one of those looks which no one ever 
 dared resist. "You have come," he said severely, "to 
 hear the secret of my conduct. I have promised, and will 
 keep my word, however painful it may be to my feelings- 
 Listen, then. My best friend is a loyal, honest fellow, 
 named Caldas. Eighteen months ago this friend was the 
 happiest of men. Infatuated by a woman, he lived for 
 her alone, and, fool that he was, imagined that as she 
 owed all to him, she loved him." 
 
 " Yes ! '* cried Nina, " yes, she loved him ! " 
 
 '^ So be it. She loved him so much, that one line night 
 she went off with another man. In his first moments of 
 despair, Caldas wished to kill himself. Then he reflected 
 that it would be wiser to live, and avenge himself." 
 
 " But then — " faltered Prosper. 
 
 " Then Caldas avenged himself in his own way. He 
 made the woman who deceived him recognize his immense 
 superiority over his rival. Weak, timid, and without in- 
 telligence, the latter was disgraced and falling into the 
 abyss, when Caldas's powerful hand saved him. For you 
 have understood, have you not ? The woman is Nina ; 
 the seducer is yourself ; and Caldas is — " 
 
 With a quick, dexterous movement, he threw off his wig 
 and whiskers, and stood before them the real, intelligent 
 and proud Lecoq. 
 
 " Caldas ! " cried Nina. 
 
 " No, not Caldas, nor Verduret either, but Lecoq, the 
 detective ! " 
 
 There was a moment of astonished silence^ then Mi* 
 
FILE NO. 113. 365 
 
 Le€cq turned to Prosper and said : " It is not to me alone 
 that you owe your salvation. A noble girl in confiding in 
 me rendered my task easy. I mean Mademoiselle Made- 
 leine ; I promised her that M. Fauvel should never know 
 anything. Your letter made it impossible for me to keep 
 my promise. That is all." 
 
 He turned to leave the room, but Nina stopped him. 
 ''' Caldas," she murmured, " I implore you to have pity on 
 me ! I am so miserable ! Ah, if you only knew ! Be 
 forgiving to one who has always loved you, Caldas ! 
 Listen — " 
 
 Prosper departed from M. Lecoq's office alone. 
 
 On the 15th of last month was celebrated, at the church 
 of Notre Dame de Lorette, the marriage of M, Prosper 
 Bertomy and Mademoiselle Madeleine Fauvel. 
 
 The banking-house is still in the Rue de Provence ; 
 but as M. Fauvel has determined to retire from business, 
 and live in the country, the name of the firm has beer 
 changed, and is now: " Prosper Bertomy & Co.'' 
 
 THE END, 
 
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS 
 
 WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN 
 THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY 
 WILL INCR-EASE TO 50 CENTS ON THE FOURTH 
 DAY AND -TO $1.00 ON THE SEVENTH DAY 
 OVERDUE. 
 
 MAY 4 1934. 
 
 JUL 28' 1934 
 
 JAN 25 1 936 
 
 
 VM 
 
 Mtt 
 
 ua 
 
 jmm s m 
 
 8lul58RR 
 
 '^•gf^-p.- 9-^-^'^ 
 
 i iue u l iiB 
 
 ^7 
 
 J939 
 
 ^8-. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 
 jim^ 
 
 r^^r^ 
 
 MAY 15 "64 -8 PM 
 
^ 
 
 J 
 
 849323 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRA'RY