This was no time for hesitation, and so she went down-stairs at once. Hope sent new blood coursing through her veins and endowed her with invincible energy. On reaching the street-door, she paused and looked around her. At a short distance off she perceived a young fellow clad in a blouse, who was apparently engaged in examining the goods displayed in a shop window. Despite his position, he hurriedly exclaimed: "Follow me at a little; distance in the rear until I stop."

Marguerite, obeyed him in breathless suspense. The young fellow was our friend Victor Chupin, now somewhat the worse for his encounter with Vantrasson that same morning. His face was considerably disfigured, and one of his eyes was black and swollen; nevertheless he was in a state of ecstatic happiness. Happy, and yet anxious; for, as he preceded Mademoiselle Marguerite, he said to himself: "How shall I tell her that I have succeeded? There must be no folly. If I tell her the news suddenly, she will most likely faint, so I must break the news gently."

On reaching the Rue Boursault, he turned the corner, and paused, waiting for Mademoiselle Marguerite to join him. "What is the news?" she anxiously asked.

"Everything is progressing finely—slowly, but finely."

"You know something, monsieur! Speak! Don't you see how anxious I am?"

He did see it only too well; and his embarrassment increased to such a pitch that he began to scratch his head furiously. At last he decided on a plan. "First of all, mademoiselle, brace yourself against the wall, and now stand firm. Yes, like that. Now, are you all right? Well, I have found M. Ferailleur!"

Chupin's precaution was a wise one, for Marguerite tottered. Such a success, so quickly gained, was indeed astounding. "Is it possible?" she murmured.

"So possible that I have a letter for you from M. Ferailleur in my pocket mademoiselle. Here it is—I am to wait for an answer."

She took the note he handed her, broke the seal with trembling hand, and read as follows:

"We are approaching the end, my dearest. One step more and we shall triumph. But I must see you to-day at any risk. Leave the house this evening at eight o'clock. My mother will be waiting for you in a cab, at the corner of the Rue Pigalle and the Rue Boursault. Come, and let no fear of arousing suspicions of the Fondeges deter you. They are henceforth powerless to injure you."

"PASCAL"

"I will go!" replied Marguerite at once, careless of the obstacles that might impede the fulfilment of her promise. For it was quite possible that serious difficulties might arise. Madame Leon, who had been invisible since the morning, might suddenly reappear, or the General and his wife might return to dinner. And what could Marguerite answer if they asked her where she wanted to go alone, and at such an hour of the evening? And if they attempted to prevent her from keeping her appointment, how could she resist? All these were weighty questions and yet she did not hesitate. Pascal had spoken, that sufficed, and she was determined to obey him implicitly, cost what it might. If he advised such a step, it was because he deemed it best and necessary; and she willingly submitted to the instructions of the man in whom she felt such unbounded confidence.

Having told Chupin that she might be relied upon for the evening, she was retracing her way home, when suddenly the thought occurred to her that she ought not to neglect this opportunity to place a decisive weapon in Pascal's hands. She was close to the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette and so without more ado she hurried to the establishment of Carjat the photographer. He was fortunately disengaged, and she at once obtained from him a proof of the compromising letter written by the Marquis de Valorsay to Madame Leon. She placed it carefully in her pocket, thanked the photographer, and then hurried back to the Rue Pigalle to wait for the hour appointed in Pascal's letter. Fortunately none of her unpleasant apprehensions were realized. The dinner-hour came and passed, and still the house remained deserted. The workmen had gone off and the laughter and chatter of the servants in the kitchen were the only sounds that broke the stillness. Faint for want of food—for she had taken no nourishment during the day—Marguerite had considerable difficulty in obtaining something to eat from the servants. At last, however, they gave her some soup and cold meat, served on a corner of the bare table in the dining-room. It was half-past seven when she finished this frugal meal. She waited a moment, and then fearing she might keep Madame Ferailleur waiting, she went down into the street.

A cab was waiting at the corner of the Rue Boursault, as indicated. Its windows were lowered, and in the shade one could discern the face and white hair of an elderly lady. Glancing behind her to assure herself that she had not been followed, Marguerite eagerly approached the vehicle, whereupon a kindly voice exclaimed: "Jump in quickly, mademoiselle."

Marguerite obeyed, and the door was scarcely closed behind her before the driver had urged his horse into a gallop. He had evidently received his instructions in advance, as well as the promise of a magnificent gratuity.

Sitting side by side on the back seat, the old lady and the young girl remained silent, but this did not prevent them from casting stealthy glances at each other, and striving to distinguish one another's features whenever the vehicle passed in front of some brilliantly lighted shop. They had never met before, and their anxiety to become acquainted was intense, for they each felt that the other would exert a decisive influence upon her life. All of Madame Ferailleur's friends would undoubtedly have been surprised at the step she had taken, and yet it was quite in accordance with her character. As long as she had entertained any hope of preventing this marriage she had not hesitated to express and even exaggerate her objections and repugnance. But her point of view was entirely changed when conquered by the strength of her son's passion, she at last yielded a reluctant consent. The young girl who was destined to be her daughter-in-law at once became sacred in her eyes; and it seemed to her an act of duty to watch over Marguerite, and shield her reputation. Having considered the subject, she had decided that it was not proper for her son's betrothed to run about the streets alone in the evening. Might it not compromise her honor? and later on might it not furnish venomous Madame de Fondege with an opportunity to exercise her slanderous tongue? Thus the puritanical old lady had come to fetch Marguerite, so that whenever occasion required she might be able to say: "I was there!"

As for Marguerite, after the trials of the day, she yielded without reserve to the feeling of rest and happiness that now filled her heart. Again and again had Pascal spoken of his mother's prejudices and the inflexibility of her principles. But he had also spoken of her dauntless energy, the nobility of her nature, and of her love and devotion to him. With Marguerite, moreover, one consideration—one which she would scarcely have admitted, perhaps—outweighed all others: Madame Ferailleur was Pascal's mother. For that reason alone, if for no other, she was prepared to worship her. How fervently she blessed this noble woman, who, a widow, and ruined in fortune by an unprincipled scoundrel, had bravely toiled to educate her son, making him the man whom Marguerite had freely chosen from among all others. She would have knelt before this grand but simple-hearted mother had she dared; she would have kissed her hands. And a poignant regret came to her heart when she remembered her own mother, Baroness Trigault, and compared her with this matchless woman.

Meanwhile the cab had passed the outer boulevards, and was now whirling along the Route d'Asnieres, as fast as the horse could drag it. "We are almost there," remarked Madame Ferailleur, speaking for the first time.

Marguerite's response was inaudible, she was so overcome with emotion. The driver had just turned the corner of the Route de la Revolte; and it was not long before he checked his panting horse. "Look, mademoiselle," said Madame Ferailleur again, "this is our home."

Upon the threshold, bareheaded, and breathless with impatience and hope, stood a man who was counting the seconds with the violent throbbings of his heart. He did not wait for the cab to stop, but springing to the door, he opened it; and then, catching Marguerite in his arms, he carried her into the house with a cry of joy. She had not even time to look around her, ere he had placed her in an arm-chair, and fallen on his knees before her. "At last I see you again, my beloved Marguerite," he exclaimed. "You are mine—nothing shall part us again!"

They sobbed in each other's arms. They could bear adversity unmoved; but their composure deserted them in this excess of happiness; and standing in the door-way, Madame Ferailleur felt the tears come to her eyes as she stood watching them.

"How can I tell you all that I have suffered!" said Pascal, whose voice was hoarse with feeling. "The papers have told you all the details, I suppose. How I was accused of cheating at cards; how the vile epithet 'thief' was cast in my face; how they tried to search me; how my most intimate friends deserted me; how I was virtually expelled from the Palais de Justice. All this is terrible, is it not? Ah, well! it is nothing in comparison with the intense, unendurable anguish I experienced in thinking that you believed the infamous calumny which disgraced me."

Marguerite rose to her feet. "You thought that!" she exclaimed. "You believed that I doubted you? I! Like you, I have been accused of robbery myself. Do you believe me guilty?"

"Good God! I suspect you!"

"Then why——"

"I was mad, Marguerite, my only love, I was mad! But who would not have lost his senses under such circumstances? It was the very day after this atrocious conspiracy. I had seen Madame Leon, and had trusted her with a letter for you in which I entreated you to grant me five minutes' Conversation."

"Alas! I never received it."

"I know that now; but then I was deceived. I went to the little garden gate to await your coming, but it was Madame Leon who appeared. She brought me a note written in pencil and signed with your name, bidding me an eternal farewell. And, fool that I was, I did not see that the note was a forgery!"

Mademoiselle Marguerite was amazed. The veil was now torn aside, and the truth revealed to her. Now she remembered Madame Leon's embarrassment when she met her returning from the garden on the night following the count's death. "Ah, well! Pascal," she said, "do you know what I was doing at almost the same moment? Alarmed at having received no news from you, I hastened to the Rue d'Ulm, where I learned that you had sold your furniture and started for America. Any other woman might have believed herself deserted under such circumstances, but not I. I felt sure that you had not fled in ignominious fashion. I was convinced that you had only concealed yourself for a time in order to strike your enemies more surely."

"Do not shame me, Marguerite. It is true that of us two I showed myself the weaker."

Lost in the rapture of the present moment, they had forgotten the past and the future, the agony they had endured, the dangers that still threatened them, and even the existence of their enemies.

But Madame Ferailleur was watching. She pointed to the clock, and earnestly exclaimed: "Time is passing, my son. Each moment that is wasted endangers our success. Should any suspicion bring Madame Vantrasson here, all would be lost."

"She cannot come upon us unawares, my dear mother. Chupin has promised not to lose sight of her. If she stirs from her shop, he will hasten here and throw a stone against the shutters to warn us."

But even this did not satisfy Madame Ferailleur.

"You forget, Pascal." she insisted, "that Mademoiselle Marguerite must be at home again by ten o'clock, if she consents to the ordeal you feel obliged to impose upon her."

This was the voice of duty recalling Pascal to the stern realities of life. He slowly rose, conquered his emotion, and, after reflecting for a moment, said: "First of all, Marguerite, I owe you the truth and an exact statement of our situation. Circumstances have compelled me to act without consulting you. Have I done right or wrong? You shall judge." And without stopping to listen to the girl's protestations, he rapidly explained how he had managed to win M. de Valorsay's confidence, discover his plans, and become his trusted accomplice. "This scoundrel's plan is very simple," he continued. "He is determined to marry you. Why? Because, though you are not aware of it, you are rich, and the sole heiress to the fortune of the Count de Chalusse, your father. This surprises you, does it not? Very well! listen to me. Deceived by the Marquis de Valorsay, the Count de Chalusse had promised him your hand. These arrangements were nearly completed, though you had not been informed of them. In fact, everything had been decided. At the outset, however, a grave difficulty had presented itself. The marquis wished your father to acknowledge you before your marriage, but this he refused to do. 'It would expose me to the most frightful dangers,' he declared. 'However, I will recognize Marguerite as my daughter in my will, and, at the same time, leave all my property to her.' But the marquis would not listen to this proposal. 'I don't doubt your good intentions, my dear count,' said he,' but suppose this will should be contested, your property might pass into other hands.' This difficulty put a stop to the proceedings for some time. The marquis asked for guarantees; the other refused to give them—until, at last, M. de Chalusse discovered an expedient which would satisfy both parties. He confided to M. de Valorsay's keeping a will in which he recognized you as his daughter, and bequeathed you his entire fortune. This document, the validity of which is unquestionable, has been carefully preserved by the marquis. He has not spoken of its existence; and he would destroy it rather than restore it to you at present. But as soon as you became his wife, he intended to produce it and thus obtain possession of the count's millions."

"Ah! the old justice of the peace was not mistaken," murmured Mademoiselle Marguerite.

Pascal did not hear her. All his faculties were absorbed in the attempt he was making to give a clear and concise explanation, for he had much to say, and it was growing late. "As for the enormous sum you have been accused of taking," he continued, "I know what has become of it; it is in the hands of M. de Fondege."

"I know that, Pascal—I'm sure of it; but the proof, the proof!"

"The proof exists, and, like the will, it is in the hands of the Marquis de Valorsay."

"Is it possible! Great Heavens! You are sure you are not deceived?"

"I have seen the proof, and it is overpowering, irrefutable! I have touched it—I have held it in my hands. And it explains everything which may have seemed strange and incomprehensible to you. The letter which M. de Chalusse received on the day of his death was written by his sister. She asked in it for her share of the family estate, threatening him with a terrible scandal if he refused to comply with her request. Had the count decided to brave this scandal rather than yield? We have good reason to suppose so. However, this much is certain: he had a terrible hatred, not so much for his sister, perhaps, as for the man who had seduced her, and afterward married her, actuated by avaricious motives alone. He had sworn thousands of times that neither husband nor wife should ever have a penny of the large fortune which really belonged to them. Believing that a lawsuit was now inevitable, and wishing to conceal his wealth, he was greatly embarrassed by the large amount of money he had on hand. What should he do with it? Where could he hide it? He finally decided to intrust it to the keeping of M. de Fondege, who was known as an eccentric man, but whose honesty seemed to be above suspicion. So, when he left home, on the afternoon of his illness, he took the package of bank-notes and bonds, which you had noticed in the escritoire that morning, away with him. We shall never know what passed between your father and the General—we can only surmise. But what I do know, and what I shall be able to prove, is that M. de Fondege accepted the trust, and that he gave an acknowledgment of it in the form of a letter, which read as follows:

"'MY DEAR COUNT DE CHALUSSE—I hereby acknowledge the receipt, on Thursday, October 15, 186-, of the sum of two millions, two hundred and fifty thousand francs, which I shall deposit, in my name, at the Bank of France, subject to the orders of Mademoiselle Marguerite, your daughter, on the day she presents this letter. And believe, my dear count, in the absolute devotion of your old comrade,

"GENERAL DE FONDEGE.'"

Mademoiselle Marguerite was thunderstruck. "Who can have furnished you with these particulars?" she inquired.

"The Marquis de Valorsay, my dearest; and I will explain how he was enabled to do so. M. de Fondege wrote the address of his 'old comrade' on this letter, which was folded and sealed, but not enclosed in an envelope. M. de Chalusse proposed to post it himself, so that the official stamp might authenticate its date. But on reflection, he became uneasy. He felt that this tiny, perishable scrap of paper would be the only proof of the deposit which he had confided to M. de Fondege's honor. This scrap might be lost, burned, or stolen. Then what would happen? He had so often seen trustees betray the confidence of which they had seemed worthy. So M. de Chalusse racked his brains to discover a means of protection from an improbable but possible misfortune. He found it. Passing a stationer's shop, he went in, purchased one of those letter-presses which merchants use in their correspondence, and, under pretext of trying it, took a copy of M. de Fondege's letter. Having done this, he placed the copy in an envelope addressed to the Marquis de Valorsay, and, with his heart relieved of all anxiety, posted it at the same time as the original letter. A few moments later he got into the cab in which he was stricken down with apoplexy."

Extraordinary as Pascal's explanations must have seemed to her, Marguerite did not doubt their accuracy in the least. "Then it is the copy of this letter which you saw in the possession of the Marquis de Valorsay?"

"Yes."

"And the original?"

"M. de Fondege alone can tell what has become of that. It is evident that he has somehow succeeded in obtaining possession of it. Would he have dared to squander money as he has done if he had not been convinced that there was no proof of his guilt in existence? Perhaps on hearing of the count's sudden death he bribed the concierge at the Hotel de Chalusse to watch for this letter and return it to him. But on this subject I have only conjectures to offer. If they wish you to marry their son, it is probably because it seems too hard that you should be left in abject poverty while they are enjoying the fortune they have stolen from you. The vilest scoundrels have their scruples. Besides, a marriage with their son would protect them against any possible mischance in the future."

He was silent for a moment, and then more slowly resumed: "You see, Marguerite, we have clear, palpable, and irrefutable proofs of YOUR innocence; but in my efforts to clear my own name of disgrace, I have been far less fortunate. I have tried in vain to collect material proofs of the conspiracy against me. It is only by proving the guilt of the Marquis de Valorsay and the Viscount de Coralth that I can establish my innocence, and so far I am powerless to do so."

Mademoiselle Marguerite's face brightened with supreme joy. "Then I can serve you, in my turn, my only love," she exclaimed. "Ah! blessed be God who inspired me, and who thus rewards me for an hour of courage. My poor father's plan also occurred to me, Pascal. Was it not strange? The material proof of your innocence which you have sought for in vain, is in my possession, written and signed by the Marquis de Valorsay. Like M. de Fondege, he believes that the letter which proves his guilt is annihilated. He burned it himself, and yet it exists." So saying, she drew from her bosom one of the copies which she had received from Carjat the photographer, and handed it to Pascal, adding, "Look!"

Pascal eagerly perused the marvellous facsimile of the letter which the marquis had written to Madame Leon. "Ah! this is the scoundrel's death warrant." he exclaimed, exultantly. And approaching Madame Ferailleur, who still stood leaning against the door, silent and motionless: "Look, mother," he repeated, "look!"

And he pointed to this paragraph which was so convincing and so explicit, that the most exacting jury would have asked for no further evidence. "I have formed a plan which will completely efface all remembrance of that cursed P. F., in case any one could condescend to think of him, after the disgrace we fastened upon him the other evening at the house of Madame d'A——."

"Nor is this all," resumed Mademoiselle Marguerite. "There are other letters which will prove that this plot was the marquis's work and which give the name of his accomplice, Coralth. And these letters are in the possession of a man of dubious integrity, who was once the marquis's ally, but who has now become his enemy. He is known as Isidore Fortunat, and lives in the Place de la Bourse."

Marguerite felt that Madame Ferailleur's keen glance was riveted upon her. She intuitively divined what was passing in the mind of the puritanical old lady, and realized that her whole future, and the happiness of her entire wedded life, depended upon her conduct at that moment. So, desirous of making a full confession, she hastily exclaimed: "My conduct may have seemed strange in a young girl, Pascal. A timid, inexperienced girl, who had been carefully kept from all knowledge of life and evil, would have been crushed by such a burden of disgrace, and could only have wept and prayed. I did weep and pray; but I also struggled and fought. In the hour of peril I found myself endowed with some of the courage and energy which distinguished the poor women of the people among whom I formerly earned my bread. The teachings and miseries of the past were not lost to me!" And as simply as if she were telling the most natural thing in the world, she described the struggle she had undertaken against the world, strong in her faith in Pascal and in his love.

"Ah, you are a noble and courageous girl!" exclaimed Madame Ferailleur. "You are worthy of my son, and you will proudly guard our honest name!"

For some little time already the obstinate old lady had been struggling against the sympathetic emotion that filled her heart, and big tears were coursing down her wrinkled cheeks.

Unable to restrain herself any longer, she now threw both arms around Marguerite's neck, and drew her toward her in a long embrace, murmuring: "Marguerite, my daughter! Ah! how unjust my prejudices were!"

It might be thought that Pascal was transported with joy on hearing this, but no: the lines of care on his forehead deepened, as he said: "Happiness is so near! Why must a final test, another humiliation, separate us from it?"

But Marguerite now felt strong enough to meet even martyrdom with a smile. "Speak, Pascal!" said she, "don't you see that it is almost ten o'clock?"

He hesitated; there was grief in his eyes and his breath came quick and hard, as he resumed: "For your sake and mine, we must conquer, at any price. This is the only reason that can justify the horrible expedient I have to suggest. M. de Valorsay, as you know, has boasted of his power to overcome your resistance, and he really believes that he possesses this power. Why I have not killed him again and again when he has been at my mercy, I can scarcely understand. The only thing that gave me power to restrain myself was my desire for as sure, as terrible, and as public a revenge as the humiliation he inflicted on me. His plan for your ruin is such as only a scoundrel like himself could conceive. With the assistance of his vile tool, Coralth, he has formed a league, offensive and defensive, with the son of the Count de Chalusse's sister, who is the only acknowledged heir at this moment—a young man destitute of heart and intelligence, and inordinately vain, but neither better nor worse than many others who figure respectably in society. His name is Wilkie Gordon. The marquis has acquired great influence over him, and has persuaded him that it is his duty to denounce you to the authorities. He has, in short, accused you of defrauding the heirs of the Chalusse estate of two millions of francs and also of poisoning the count."

The girl shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. "As for the robbery, we have an answer to that," she answered, "and as regards the poisoning—really the accusation is too absurd!"

But Pascal still looked gloomy. "The matter is more serious than you suppose," he replied. "They have found a physician—a vile, cowardly scoundrel—who for a certain sum has consented to appear in support of the accusation."

"Dr. Jodon, I presume!"

"Yes; and this is not all. The count's escritoire contains the vial of medicine of which he drank a portion on the day of his death. Well, to-morrow night, Madame Leon will open the garden gate of the Hotel de Chalusse and admit a rascal who will abstract the vial."

Marguerite shuddered. Now she understood the fiendish cunning of the plot. "It might ruin me!" she murmured.

Pascal nodded affirmatively. "M. de Valorsay wishes you to consider yourself as irretrievably lost, and then he intends to offer to save you on condition that you consent to marry him. I should say, however, that M. Wilkie is ignorant of the atrocious projects he is abetting. They are known only to the marquis and M. de Coralth; and it is I who, under the name of Maumejan, act as their adviser. It was to me that the marquis sent M. Wilkie for assistance in drawing up this accusation. I myself wrote out the denunciation, which was as terrible and as formidable as our bitterest enemy could possibly desire, combining, as it did, with perfidious art, the reports of the valets and the suspicions of the physician, and establishing the connection between the robbery and the murder. It finished by demanding a thorough investigation. And M. Wilkie copied and signed this document, and carried it to the prosecution office himself."

Mademoiselle Marguerite sank half-fainting into an arm-chair. "You have done this!" she faltered.

"It was necessary, my daughter," whispered Madame Ferailleur.

"Yes, it was necessary, absolutely necessary," repeated Pascal, "as you will see. Justice, which is a human institution, and limited in its powers, cannot fathom motives, read thoughts, or interfere with plans, however abominable they may be, or however near realization. Before it can interfere, the law must have material, tangible proof, convincing to the senses. Until you are arrested, the crimes committed by M. de Valorsay, and those associated with him, do not come within the reach of human justice; but as soon as you are in prison, I can hasten to our friend the justice of the peace, and we shall go at once to the investigating magistrate and explain everything. Now, when your innocence and the guilt of your accusers have been established, what do you fancy the authorities will do? They will wait until your enemies declare themselves, in order to capture them all at once, and prevent the escape of a single one. To-morrow night some clever detectives will watch the Hotel de Chalusse, and just as Madame Leon and the wretch with her think themselves sure of success, they will be caught in the very act and arrested. When they are examined by a magistrate, who is conversant with the whole affair, can they deny their guilt? No; certainly not. Acting upon their confession, the authorities will force an entrance into Valorsay's house, where they will find your father's will and the receipt given by M. de Fondege—in a word, all the proofs of their guilt. And while this search is going on, all your enemies, reassured by your arrest, will be at a grand soiree given by Baron Trigault. I shall be there as well."

Mademoiselle Marguerite had mastered her momentary weakness. She rose to her feet, and in a firm voice exclaimed: "You have acted rightly."

"Ah! there was no other way. And yet I wished to see you, to learn if this course were too repugnant to you."

She interrupted him with a gesture. "When shall I be arrested?" she asked, quietly.

"This evening or to-morrow." was his answer.

"Very well! I have only one request to make. The Fondeges have a son who has no hand in the affair, but who will be more severely punished than his parents, if we do not spare them. Could you not——"

"I can do nothing, Marguerite. I am powerless now."

Everything was soon arranged. Marguerite raised her forehead to Pascal for his parting kiss, and went away accompanied by Madame Ferailleur, who escorted her to the corner of the Rue Boursault. The General and his wife had returned home in advance of Marguerite. She found them sitting in the drawing-room, with distorted faces and teeth chattering with fear. With them was a bearded man who, as soon as she appeared, exclaimed:

"You are Mademoiselle Marguerite, are you not? I arrest you in the name of the law. There is my warrant." And without more ado he led her away.



XX.

Money, which nowadays has taken the place of the good fairies of former times, had gratified M. Wilkie's every longing in a single night. Without any period of transition, dreamlike as it were, he had passed from what he called "straitened circumstances" to the splendid enjoyment of a princely fortune. Madame d'Argeles's renunciation had been so correctly drawn up, that as soon as he presented his claims and displayed his credentials he was placed in possession of the Chalusse estate. It is true that a few trifling difficulties presented themselves. For instance, the old justice of the peace who had affixed the seals refused to remove them from certain articles of furniture, especially from the late count's escritoire, without an order from the court, and several days were needed to obtain this. But what did that matter to M. Wilkie? The house, with its splendid reception-rooms, pictures, statuary and gardens, was at his disposal, and he installed himself therein at once. Twenty horses neighed and stamped in his stables; there were at least a dozen carriages in the coach-house. He devoted his attention exclusively to the horses and vehicles; but acting upon the advice of Casimir, who had become his valet and oracle, he retained all the former servants of the house, from Bourigeau the concierge down to the humblest scullery maid. Still, he gave them to understand that this was only a temporary arrangement. A man like himself, living in this progressive age, could scarcely be expected to content himself with what had satisfied the Count de Chalusse. "For I have my plans," he remarked to Casimir, "but let Paris wait awhile."

He repudiated his former friends. Costard and Serpillon, pretended viscounts though they were, were quite beneath the notice of a Gordon-Chalusse, as M. Wilkie styled himself on his visiting cards. However, he purchased their share of Pompier de Nanterre, feeling convinced that this remarkable steeplechaser had a brilliant future before him. He did not trouble himself to any great extent about his mother. Like every one else, he knew that she had disappeared, but nothing further. On the other hand, the thought of his father, the terrible chevalier d'industrie, hung over his joy like a pall; and each time the great entrance bell announced a visitor, he trembled, turned pale, and muttered: "Perhaps it's he!"

Tortured by this fear, he clung closely to the Marquis de Valorsay as if he felt that this distinguished friend was a powerful support. Besides, people of rank and distinction naturally exercised a powerful attraction over him, and he fancied he grew several inches taller when, in some public place, in the street, or a restaurant, he was able to call out, "I say, Valorsay, my good friend," or, "Upon my word! my dear marquis!"

M. de Valorsay received these effusions graciously enough, although, in point of fact, he was terribly bored by the platitudes of his new acquaintance. He intended to send him to Coventry later on, but just now M. Wilkie was too useful to be ignored. So he had introduced him to his club, and was seen with him everywhere—in the Bois, at the restaurants, and the theatres. At times, some of his friends inquired: "Who is that queer little fellow?" with a touch of irony in their tone, but when the marquis carelessly answered: "A poor devil who has just come into possession of a property worth twenty millions!" they became serious, and requested the pleasure and honor of an introduction to this fortunate young man.

So M. de Valorsay had invited Gordon-Chalusse to accompany him to Baron Trigault's approaching fete. It was to be an entertainment for gentlemen only, a monster card-party; but every one knew the wealthy baron, and no doubt with a view of stimulating curiosity he had declared, and the Figaro had repeated, that he had a great surprise in store for his guests. Oh! such a surprise! They could have no idea what it was! This fete was to take place on the second day after Mademoiselle Marguerite's arrest; and on the appointed evening, between nine and ten o'clock, M. de Valorsay and his friend Coralth sat together in the former's smoking-room waiting for Wilkie to call for them, as had been agreed upon. They were both in the best of spirits. The viscount's apprehensions had been entirely dispelled; and the marquis had quite forgotten the twinges of pain in his injured limb. "Marguerite will only leave prison to marry me," said M. de Valorsay, triumphantly; and he added: "What a willing tool this Wilkie is! A single word sufficed to make him give all his servants leave of absence. The Hotel de Chalusse will be deserted, and Madame Leon and Vantrasson can operate at their leisure."

It was ten o'clock when M. Wilkie made his appearance. "Come, my good friends!" said he, "my carriage is below."

They started off at once, and five minutes later they were ushered into the presence of Baron Trigault, who received M. Wilkie as if he had never seen him before. There was quite a crowd already. At least three or four hundred people had assembled in the Baron's reception-rooms, and among them were several former habitues of Madame d'Argeles's house; one could also espy M. de Fondege ferociously twirling his mustaches as usual, together with Kami-Bey, who was conspicuous by reason of his portly form and eternal red fez. However, among these men, all noticeable for their studied elegance of attire and manner, and all of them known to M. de Valorsay, there moved numerous others of very different appearance. Their waistcoats were less open, and their clothes did not fit them as perfectly; on the other hand, there was something else than a look of idiotic self-complacency on their faces. "Who can these people be?" whispered the marquis to M. de Coralth. "They look like lawyers or magistrates." But although he said this he did not really believe it, and it was without the slightest feeling of anxiety that he strolled from group to group, shaking hands with his friends and introducing M. Wilkie.

A strange rumor was in circulation among the guests. Many of them declared—where could they have heard such a thing?—that in consequence of a quarrel with her husband, Madame Trigault had left Paris the evening before. They even went so far as to repeat her parting words to the Baron: "You will never see me again," she had said. "You are amply avenged. Farewell!" However, the best informed among the guests, the folks who were thoroughly acquainted with all the scandals of the day, declared the story false, and said that if the baroness had really fled, handsome Viscount de Coralth would not appear so calm and smiling.

The report WAS true, however. But M. de Coralth did not trouble himself much about the baroness now. Had he not got in his pocket M. Wilkie's signature insuring him upward of half a million? Standing near one of the windows in the main reception-room, between the Marquis de Valorsay and M. Wilkie, the brilliant viscount was gayly chatting with them, when a footman, in a voice loud enough to interrupt all conversation, suddenly announced: "M. Maumejan!"

It seemed such a perfectly natural thing to M. de Valorsay that Maumejan, as one of the baron's business agents, should be received at his house, that he was not in the least disturbed. But M. de Coralth, having heard the name, wished to see the man who had aided and advised the marquius so effectually. He abruptly turned, and as he did so the words he would have spoken died upon his lips. He became livid, his eyes seemed to start from their sockets, and it was with difficulty that he ejaculated: "He!"

"Who?" inquired the astonished marquis.

"Look!"

M. de Valorsay did so, and to his utter amazement he perceived a numerous party in the rear of the man announced under the name of Maumejan. First came Mademoiselle Marguerite, leaning on the arm of the white-haired magistrate, and then Madame Ferailleur; next M. Isidore Fortunat, and finally Chupin—Victor Chupin, resplendent in a handsome, bran-new, black dress-suit.

The marquis could no longer fail to understand the truth. He realized who Maumejan really was, and the audacious comedy he had been duped by. He was so frightfully agitated that five or six persons sprang forward exclaiming: "What is the matter, marquis? Are you ill?" But he made no reply. He felt that he was caught in a trap, and he glanced wildly around him seeking for some loophole of escape.

However, the word of command had evidently been given. Suddenly all the guests scattered about the various drawing-rooms poured into the main hall, and the doors were closed. Then, with a solemnity of manner which no one had ever seen him display before, Baron Trigault took the so-called Maumejan by the hand and led him into the centre of the apartment opposite the lofty chimney-piece. "Gentlemen," he began, in a commanding tone, "this is M. Pascal Ferailleur, the honorable man who was falsely accused of cheating at cards at Madame d'Argeles's house. You owe him a hearing."

Pascal was greatly agitated. The strangeness of the situation, the certainty of speedy and startling rehabilitation, perhaps the joy of vengeance, the silence, which was so profound that he could hear his own panting breath, and the many eyes riveted upon him, all combined to unnerve him. But only for a moment. He swiftly conquered his weakness, and surveying his audience with flashing eyes, he explained, in a clear and ringing voice, the shameful conspiracy to obtain possession of the count's millions, and the abominable machinations by which Mademoiselle Marguerite and himself had been victimized. Then when he had finished his explanations he added, in a still more commanding voice, "Now look; you can read the culprits' guilt on their faces. One is the scoundrel known to you as the Viscount de Coralth, but Paul Violaine is his true name. He was formerly an accomplice of the notorious Mascarot; he is a cowardly villain, for he is married, and leaves his wife and children to die of starvation!" The Viscount de Coralth fairly bellowed with rage. But Pascal did not heed him. "The other criminal is the Marquis de Valorsay," he added, in the same ringing tone. There was, moreover, a third culprit who would have inspired mingled pity and disgust if any one had noticed him shrinking into a corner, terrified and muttering: "It wasn't my fault, my wife compelled me to do it!" This was General de Fondege.

Pascal did not mention his name. But it was not absolutely necessary he should do so, and besides, he remembered Marguerite's entreaty respecting the son.

However, while the young lawyer was speaking, the marquis had summoned all his energy and assurance to his aid. Desperate as his plight might be, he would not surrender. "This is an infamous conspiracy," he exclaimed. "Baron, you shall atone for this. The man's an impostor!—he lies!—all that he says is false!"

"Yes, it is false!" echoed M. de Coralth.

But a clamor arose, drowning these protestations, and the most opprobrious epithets could be heard on every side.

"How will you prove your assertion?" cried M. de Valorsay.

"Don't try that dodge on us!" shouted Chupin. "Vantrasson and mother Leon have confessed everything."

"Who defrauded us all with Domingo?" cried several people; and, loud above all the others, Kami-Bey bawled out: "To say nothing of the fact that the sale of your racing stud was a complete swindle!"

Meanwhile, Pascal's former friends and associates, his brother advocates and the magistrates who had listened to his first efforts at the bar, crowded round him, pressing his hands, embracing him almost to suffocation, censuring themselves for having suspected him, the very soul of honor, and pleading in self-justification the degenerate age in which we live—an age in which we daily see those whom we had considered immaculate suddenly yield to temptation. And a murmur of respectful admiration rose from the throng when the excitement had subsided a little, and the guests had an opportunity to observe Mademoiselle Marguerite, whose eyes sparkled more brightly than ever through her happy tears; and whose beauty acquired an almost sublime expression from her deep emotion.

The wretched Valorsay felt that all was over—that he was irretrievably lost. Seized by a blind fury like that which impels a hunted animal to turn and face the hounds that pursue him, and bid them defiance, he confronted the throng with his face distorted with passion, his eyes bloodshot, and foam upon his lips; he was absolutely frightful in his cynicism, hatred, and scorn. "Ah! well, yes!" he exclaimed—"yes, all that you have just heard is true. I was sinking, and I tried to save myself as best I could. Beggars cannot be choosers; I staked my all upon a single die. If I had won, you would have been at my feet; but I have lost and you spurn me. Cowards! hypocrites! that you are, insult me if you like, but tell me how many among you all are sufficiently pure and upright to have a right to despise me! Are there a hundred among you? are there even fifty?"

A tempest of hisses momentarily drowned his voice, but as soon as the uproar had ceased, he resumed, sneeringly: "Ah! the truth wounds you, my dear friends. Pray, don't pretend to be so distressingly virtuous! I was ruined—that is the long and short of it. But what man of you is not embarrassed? Who among you finds his income sufficient? Which one of you is not encroaching upon his capital? And when you have come to your last louis, you will do what I have done, or something worse. Do not deny it, for not one among you has a more uncompromising conscience, more moral firmness, or more generous aspirations than I once possessed. You are pursuing what I pursued. You desire what I desired—a life of luxury, brief if it must be, but happy—a life of gayety, wild excitement, and dissipation. You, too, have a passion for pleasure and gambling, race-horses, and notorious women, a table always bountifully spread, glasses ever overflowing with wine, all the delights of luxury, and everything that gratifies your vanity! But an abyss of shame awaits you at the end of it all. I am in it now. I await you there, for there you will surely, necessarily, inevitably come. Ah, ha! you will not then think my downfall so very strange. Let me pass! make way! if you please."

He advanced with his head haughtily erect, and would actually have made his escape if a frightened servant had not at that moment appeared crying: "Monsieur—Monsieur le Baron! a commissary of police is downstairs. He is coming up. He has a warrant!"

The marquis's frenzied assurance deserted him. He turned even paler than he already was if that were possible, and reeled like an ox but partially stunned by the butcher's hammer. Suddenly a desperate resolution could be read in his eyes, the resolution of the condemned criminal, who, knowing that he cannot escape the scaffold, ascends it with a firm step.

He hastily approached Baron Trigault, and asked in a husky voice: "Will you allow me to be arrested in your house, baron? me—a Valorsay!"

It might have been supposed that the baron had expected this reproach, for without a word he led the marquis and M. de Coralth to a little room at the end of the hall, pushed them inside, and closed the door again.

It was time he did so, for the commissary of police was already upon the threshold. "Which of you gentlemen is the Marquis de Valorsay?" he asked. "Which of you is Paul Violaine, alias the Viscount de——"

The sharp report of firearms suddenly interrupted him. Every one at once rushed to the little room, where the wretched men had been conducted. There extended, face upward, on the floor, lay the Marquis de Valorsay, with his brains oozing from his fractured skull, and his right hand still clutching a revolver. He was dead. "And the other!" cried the throng; "the other!"

The open window, and a curtain rudely torn from its fastenings and secured to the balustrade, told how M. de Coralth had made his escape. It was not till later that people learned what precautions the baron had taken. On the table in that room he had laid two revolvers, and two packages containing ten thousand francs each. The viscount had not hesitated.

* * * * *

Pascal Ferailleur and Mademoiselle Marguerite de Chalusse were married at the church of Saint Etienne du Mont, only a few steps from the Rue d'Ulm. Those who knew the mystery connected with the bride's parentage were greatly astonished when they saw Baron Trigault act as a witness on this occasion, in company with the venerable justice of the peace. But such was the fact, nevertheless. Treated more and more outrageously by his daughter and her husband, separated from his wife, who had nearly lost her reason, although her letters were saved, the baron has nowadays found affection and a home with Pascal and his wife. He plays cards but seldom now—only an occasional game of piquet with Madame Ferailleur, and he amuses himself by making her start when she is too long in discarding, by ejaculating, in a stentorian voice: "We are wasting precious time!" Sometimes they go out together, to the great astonishment of such as chance to meet the puritanical old lady leaning on the baron's arm. She often goes to visit and console the widow Gordon, formerly known as Lia d'Argeles, who now keeps an establishment near Montrouge, where she provides poor, betrayed and forsaken girls with a home and employment. She has yet to receive any token of remembrance from her son. As for her husband, she supposes he is dead or incarcerated in some prison.

It is to Madame Gordon that the Fondeges are often indebted for bread. Obliged to disgorge their plunder, and left with no resources save the fifty francs a month allowed them by their son, who has been promoted to the rank of captain, their poverty is necessarily extreme. Oh! those Fondeges! M. Fortunat only speaks of them with horror. But he is loud in his praises of Madame Marguerite, who repaid him the forty thousand francs he had advanced to M. de Valorsay. He speaks in the highest terms of Chupin also; but in this, he is scarcely sincere, for Victor, who has been set up in business by Pascal, told him very plainly that he was determined not to put his hand to any more dirty work, and that expression, "dirty work," rankles in M. Fortunat's heart.

Chupin's resolution did not, however, prevent him from attending the trial of Vantrasson and Madame Leon—the former of whom was sentenced to hard labor for life, and the latter to ten years' imprisonment. Nothing is known concerning M. de Coralth; but his wife has disappeared, to the great disappointment of M. Mouchon. As a dentist, Dr. Jodon is successful. As for M. Wilkie, you can learn anything you wish to know concerning him in the newspapers, for his sayings, doings, and movements, are constantly being chronicled. The reporters exhaust all the resources of their vocabulary in describing his horses, carriages, and stables, and the gorgeous liveries of his servants. His changes of residence are always mentioned; his brilliant sayings are quoted. He is a social success; he is admired, fondled, and flattered. He makes a great stir in the fashionable world—in fact, he reigns over it like a king. After all, assurance is the winning card in the game of life!

THE END