had endured on that memorable
Sunday evening be fully gratified.

It was with a light and swinging step that he ran down the narrow stairs
of the hotel. In the little entrance hall below he met Clyffurde.

In his usual impulsive way, without thought of what had gone before or
was likely to happen in the future, he went up to the Englishman with
outstretched hand.

"My dear Clyffurde," he said with unaffected cordiality, "I am glad to
see you! I have been wondering what had become of you since we parted on
Sunday last. My dear friend," he added ecstatically, "what glorious
events, eh?"

He did not wait for Clyffurde's reply, nor did he appear to notice the
latter's obvious coldness of manner, but went prattling on with great
volubility.

"What a man!" he exclaimed, nodding significantly in the direction
whence he had just come. "A six days' march--mostly on foot and along
steep mountain paths! and to-day as fresh and vigorous as if he had just
spent a month's holiday at some pleasant watering place! What luck to be
serving such a man! And what luck to be able to render him really useful
service! The tables will be turned, eh, my dear Clyffurde?" he added,
giving his taciturn friend a jovial dig in the ribs, "and what lovely
discomfiture for our proud aristocrats, eh? They will be sorry to have
made an enemy of Victor de Marmont, what?"

Whereupon Clyffurde made a violent effort to appear friendly and jovial
too.

"Why," he said with a pleasant laugh, "what madcap ideas are floating
through your head now?"

"Madcap schemes?" ejaculated de Marmont. "Nothing more or less, my dear
Clyffurde, than complete revenge for the humiliation those de Cambrays
put upon me last Sunday."

"Revenge? That sounds exciting," said Clyffurde with a smile, even while
his palm itched to slap the young braggart's face.

"Exciting, _par Dieu!_ Of course it will be exciting. They have no idea
that I guessed their little machinations. Mme. la Duchesse d'Agen
travelling to Paris forsooth! Aye! but with five and twenty millions
sewn somewhere inside her petticoats. Well! the Emperor happens to want
his own five and twenty millions, if you please. So Mme. la Duchesse or
M. le Comte will have to disgorge. And I shall have the pleasing task
of _making_ them disgorge. What say you to that, friend Clyffurde?"

"That I am sorry for you," replied the other drily.

"Sorry for me? Why?"

"Because it is never a pleasing task to bully a defenc