ncoherent exclamations. "Forty thousand francs lost!" he
exclaimed. "Forty thousand francs, counted out there on my desk! I see
them yet, counted and placed in the hand of the Marquis de Valorsay in
exchange for his signature. My savings for a number of years, and I have
only a worthless scrap of paper to show for them. That cursed marquis!
And he was to come here this evening, and I was to give him ten thousand
francs more. They are lying there in that drawer. Let him come, the
wretch, let him come!"

Anger had positively brought foam to M. Fortunat's lips, and any one
seeing him then would subsequently have had but little confidence in his
customary good-natured air and unctuous politeness. "And yet the marquis
is as much to be pitied as I am," he continued. "He loses as much,
even more! And such a sure thing it seemed, too! What speculation can a
fellow engage in after this? And a man must put his money somewhere; he
can't bury it in the ground!"

Chupin listened with an air of profound commiseration; but it was only
assumed. He was inwardly jubilant, for his interest in the affair was in
direct opposition to that of his employer. Indeed, if M. Fortunat lost
forty thousand francs by the Count de Chalusse's death, Chupin expected
to make a hundred francs commission on the funeral.

"Still, he may have made a will!" pursued M. Fortunat. "But no, I'm
sure he hasn't. A poor devil who has only a few sous to leave behind him
always takes this precaution. He thinks he may be run over by an omnibus
and suddenly killed, and he always writes and signs his last wishes.
But millionaires don't think of such things; they believe themselves
immortal!" He paused to reflect for a moment, for power of reflection
had returned to him. His excitement had quickly spent itself by reason
of its very violence. "This much is certain," he resumed, slowly, and
in a more composed voice, "whether the count has made a will or not,
Valorsay will lose the millions he expected from Chalusse. If there
is no will, Mademoiselle Marguerite won't have a sou, and then, good
evening! If there is one, this devil of a girl, suddenly becoming
her own mistress, and wealthy into the bargain, will send Monsieur de
Valorsay about his business, especially if she loves another, as he
himself admits--and in that case, again good evening!"

M. Fortunat drew out his handkerchief, and, pausing in front of the
looking-glass, wiped the perspiration from his brow, and a