s. I know my rights. I have already arranged with
a party to prosecute my claims; the agreement will be signed on the day
after to-morrow."

"With whom?"

"Ah, excuse me; that's my affair."

He had finished his chocolate, and he now poured out a glass of
ice-water, drank it, wiped his mouth, and rose from the table. "You will
excuse me, my dear sir, if I leave you," he remarked. "As I said before,
I am going to Vincennes. I have staked a thousand louis on 'Pompier de
Nanterre,' my horse, and my friends have ventured ten times as much. Who
knows what may happen if I'm not there at the start?" And then, ignoring
M. Fortunat as completely as if he had not existed, M. Wilkie exclaimed:
"Toby, you fool! where are you? Is my carriage below? Quick, bring me my
cane, my gloves, and my glasses. Take down that basket of champagne. Run
and put on your new livery. Make haste, you little beast, I shall be too
late."

M. Fortunat left the room. The frightful anger that had followed his
idiotic stupor sent his blood rushing madly to his brain. A purple mist
swam before his eyes; there was a loud ringing in his ears, and with
each pulsation of his heart his head seemed to receive a blow from
a heavy hammer. His feelings were so terrible that he was really
frightened. "Am I about to have an attack of apoplexy?" he wondered.
And, as every surrounding object seemed to whirl around him, the very
floor itself apparently rising and falling under his feet, he remained
on the landing waiting for this horrible vertigo to subside and doing
his best to reason with himself. It was fully five minutes before he
dared to risk the descent; and even when he reached the street, his
features were so frightfully distorted that Chupin trembled.

He sprang out, assisted his employer into the cab, and bade the driver
return to the Place de la Bourse. It was really pitiful to see the
despair which had succeeded M. Fortunat's joyful confidence. "This is
the end of everything," he groaned. "I'm robbed, despoiled, ruined! And
such a sure thing as it seemed. These misfortunes happen to no one but
me! Some one in advance of me! Some one else will capture the prize! Oh,
if I knew the wretch, if I only knew him!"

"One moment," interrupted Chupin; "I think know the man."

M. Fortunat gave a violent start. "Impossible!" he exclaimed.

"Excuse me, monsieur--it must be a vile rascal named Coralth."

It was a bellow rather than a cry of rage that escaped M. Fo