matrimonial designs, and perhaps she was right.

On the evening that the Count de Chalusse was struck with apoplexy M.
Isidore Fortunat had been dining alone and was sipping a cup of tea when
the door-bell rang, announcing the arrival of a visitor. Madame Dodelin
hastened to open the door, and in walked Victor Chupin, breathless from
his hurried walk. It had not taken him twenty-five minutes to cover
the distance which separates the Rue de Courcelles from the Place de la
Bourse.

"You are late, Victor," said M. Fortunat, quietly.

"That's true, monsieur, but it isn't my fault. Everything was in
confusion down there, and I was obliged to wait."

"How is that? Why?"

"The Count de Chalusse was stricken with apoplexy this evening, and he
is probably dead by this time."

M. Fortunat sprang from his chair with a livid face and trembling lips.
"Stricken with apoplexy!" he exclaimed in a husky voice. "I am ruined!"

Then, fearing Madame Dodelin's curiosity, he seized the lamp and rushed
into his office, crying to Chupin: "Follow me."

Chupin obeyed without a word, for he was a shrewd fellow, and knew how
to make the best of a trying situation. He was not usually allowed
to enter this private room, the floor of which was covered with a
magnificent carpet; and so, after carefully closing the door, he
remained standing, hat in hand, and looking somewhat intimidated. But
M. Fortunat seemed to have forgotten his presence. After depositing the
lamp on the mantel-shelf, he walked several times round and round the
room like a hunted beast seeking for some means of egress.

"If the count is dead," he muttered, "the Marquis de Valorsay is lost!
Farewell to the millions!"

The blow was so cruel, and so entirely unexpected, that he could not,
would not believe in its reality. He walked straight to Chupin, and
caught him by the collar, as if the young fellow had been the cause
of this misfortune. "It isn't possible," said he; "the count CANNOT
be dead. You are deceiving me, or they deceived you. You must have
misunderstood--you only wished to give some excuse for your delay
perhaps. Speak, say something!"

As a rule, Chupin was not easily impressed, but he felt almost
frightened by his employer's agitation. "I only repeated what M. Casimir
told me, monsieur," was his reply.

He then wished to furnish some particulars, but M. Fortunat had already
resumed his furious tramp to and fro, giving vent to his wrath and
despair in i