again, and they went into the street together. Valentin shook his head
at his friend's proposal that he should get into Newman's own vehicle,
and stopped on the edge of the pavement. "I must go off alone," he
said; "I must look up a couple of friends who will take charge of this
matter."

"I will take charge of it," Newman declared. "Put it into my hands."

"You are very kind, but that is hardly possible. In the first place, you
are, as you said just now, almost my brother; you are about to marry
my sister. That alone disqualifies you; it casts doubts on your
impartiality. And if it didn't, it would be enough for me that I
strongly suspect you of disapproving of the affair. You would try to
prevent a meeting."

"Of course I should," said Newman. "Whoever your friends are, I hope
they will do that."

"Unquestionably they will. They will urge that excuses be made, proper
excuses. But you would be too good-natured. You won't do."

Newman was silent a moment. He was keenly annoyed, but he saw it was
useless to attempt interference. "When is this precious performance to
come off?" he asked.

"The sooner the better," said Valentin. "The day after to-morrow, I
hope."

"Well," said Newman, "I have certainly a claim to know the facts. I
can't consent to shut my eyes to the matter."

"I shall be most happy to tell you the facts," said Valentin. "They are
very simple, and it will be quickly done. But now everything depends on
my putting my hands on my friends without delay. I will jump into a cab;
you had better drive to my room and wait for me there. I will turn up at
the end of an hour."

Newman assented protestingly, let his friend go, and then betook himself
to the picturesque little apartment in the Rue d'Anjou. It was more
than an hour before Valentin returned, but when he did so he was able
to announce that he had found one of his desired friends, and that this
gentleman had taken upon himself the care of securing an associate.
Newman had been sitting without lights by Valentin's faded fire, upon
which he had thrown a log; the blaze played over the richly-encumbered
little sitting-room and produced fantastic gleams and shadows. He
listened in silence to Valentin's account of what had passed between him
and the gentleman whose card he had in his pocket--M. Stanislas Kapp,
of Strasbourg--after his return to Mademoiselle Nioche's box. This
hospitable young lady had espied an acquaintance on the other side
of the