to tell me about Mr. Valentin you asked me to come here."

"Oh, the more we talk of Mr. Valentin the better," said Newman. "That's
exactly what I want. I was with him, as I told you, in his last hour.
He was in a great deal of pain, but he was quite himself. You know what
that means; he was bright and lively and clever."

"Oh, he would always be clever, sir," said Mrs. Bread. "And did he know
of your trouble?"

"Yes, he guessed it of himself."

"And what did he say to it?"

"He said it was a disgrace to his name--but it was not the first."

"Lord, Lord!" murmured Mrs. Bread.

"He said that his mother and his brother had once put their heads
together and invented something even worse."

"You shouldn't have listened to that, sir."

"Perhaps not. But I DID listen, and I don't forget it. Now I want to
know what it is they did."

Mrs. Bread gave a soft moan. "And you have enticed me up into this
strange place to tell you?"

"Don't be alarmed," said Newman. "I won't say a word that shall be
disagreeable to you. Tell me as it suits you, and when it suits you.
Only remember that it was Mr. Valentin's last wish that you should."

"Did he say that?"

"He said it with his last breath--'Tell Mrs. Bread I told you to ask
her.'"

"Why didn't he tell you himself?"

"It was too long a story for a dying man; he had no breath left in his
body. He could only say that he wanted me to know--that, wronged as I
was, it was my right to know."

"But how will it help you, sir?" said Mrs. Bread.

"That's for me to decide. Mr. Valentin believed it would, and that's why
he told me. Your name was almost the last word he spoke."

Mrs. Bread was evidently awe-struck by this statement; she shook her
clasped hands slowly up and down. "Excuse me, sir," she said, "if I take
a great liberty. Is it the solemn truth you are speaking? I MUST ask you
that; must I not, sir?"

"There's no offense. It is the solemn truth; I solemnly swear it. Mr.
Valentin himself would certainly have told me more if he had been able."

"Oh, sir, if he knew more!"

"Don't you suppose he did?"

"There's no saying what he knew about anything," said Mrs. Bread, with
a mild head-shake. "He was so mightily clever. He could make you believe
he knew things that he didn't, and that he didn't know others that he
had better not have known."

"I suspect he knew something about his brother that kept the marquis
civil to him," Newman propounded; "he made the marqu