ngry. Such a man, as cold and
as smooth as a hundred franc piece, has no useless passions. But he was
intensely irritated to hear his client foolishly chanting the paeons of
victory, while he was compelled to conceal his grief at the loss of his
forty thousand francs, deep in the recesses of his heart. So, far from
being touched by the marquis's evident alarm, it pleased him to be able
to turn the dagger in the wound he had just inflicted. "You must
excuse my incredulity," said he. "It comes entirely from something you,
yourself, told me about a week ago."

"What did I tell you?"

"That you suspected Mademoiselle Marguerite of a--how shall I express
it?--of a secret preference for some other person."

The gloomiest despondency had now followed the marquis's enthusiasm and
exultation. He was evidently in torture. "I more than suspected it,"
said he.

"Ah!"

"I was certain of it, thanks to the count's house-keeper, Madame Leon,
a miserable old woman whom I have hired to look after my interests. She
has been watching Mademoiselle Marguerite, and saw a letter written by
her----"

"Oh!"

"Certainly nothing has passed that Mademoiselle Marguerite has any
cause to blush for. The letter, which is now in my possession, contains
unmistakable proofs of that. She might proudly avow the love she has
inspired, and which she undoubtedly returns. Yet----"

M. Fortunat's gaze was so intent that it became unbearable. "You see,
then," he began, "that I had good cause to fear."

Exasperated beyond endurance, M. de Valorsay sprang up so violently that
he overturned his chair. "No!" he exclaimed, "no, a thousand times no!
You are wrong--for the man who loves Mademoiselle Marguerite is now
ruined. Yes, such is really the case. While we are sitting here, at this
very moment, he is lost--irredeemably lost. Between him and the woman
whom I wish to marry--whom I SHALL marry--I have dug so broad and deep
an abyss that the strongest love cannot overleap it. It is better
and worse than if I had killed him. Dead, he would have been mourned,
perhaps; while now, the lowest and most degraded woman would turn from
him in disgust, or, even if she loved him, she would not dare to confess
it."

M. Fortunat seemed greatly disturbed. "Have you then put into execution
the project--the plan you spoke of?" he faltered. "I thought you were
only jesting."

The marquis lowered his head. "Yes," he answered.

His companion stood for a moment as if pe