s."

"Yes, I am aware of it. And this is only another, and still stronger
reason why you should protect yourself against possible loss. It is well
to pattern after Charlemagne [1] in this house. The other night, the
Count d'Antas quietly made his escape bareheaded. He took a thousand
louis away with him, and left his hat in exchange. The count is a brave
man; and far from indulging in blame, every one applauded him the next
day. Come, you have decided, I see--you will go; and to be still more
safe, I will show you out through the servants' hall, then no one can
possibly see you."

Pascal had almost decided to yield to her entreaties; but this proposed
retreat through the back-door was too revolting to his pride to be
thought of for a moment. "I will never consent to such a thing," he
declared. "What would they think of me? Besides I owe them their revenge
and I shall give it to them."

Neither Madame d'Argeles nor Pascal had noticed M. de Coralth, who in
the meantime had stolen into the room on tiptoe, and had been listening
to their conversation, concealed behind the folds of a heavy curtain. He
now suddenly revealed his presence. "Ah! my dear friend," he exclaimed,
in a winning tone. "While I honor your scruples, I must say that I think
madame is a hundred times right. If I were in your place, if I had won
what you have won, I shouldn't hesitate. Others might think what they
pleased; you have the money, that is the main thing."

For the second time, the viscount's intervention decided Pascal. "I
shall remain," he said, resolutely.

But Madame d'Argeles laid her hand imploringly on his arm. "I entreat
you, monsieur," said she. "Go now, there is still time."

"Yes, go," said the viscount, approvingly, "it would be a most excellent
move. Retreat and save the cash."

These words were like the drop which makes the cup overflow. Crimson
with anger and assailed by the strangest suspicions, Pascal turned from
Madame d'Argeles and hastened into the dining-room. The conversation
ceased entirely on his arrival there. He could not fail to understand
that he had been the subject of it. A secret instinct warned him that
all the men around him were his enemies--though he knew not why--and
that they were plotting against him. He also perceived that his
slightest movements were watched and commented upon. However he was a
brave man; his conscience did not reproach him in the least, and he was
one of those persons who, rather t