like a butterfly from a grub, under the name
and estate of Charles de Sallenauve, son of Francois-Henri-Pantaleon
Dumirail, Marquis de Sallenauve. Here follows the tale of certain facts
which preceded this brilliant transformation.

Leaving Paris on the evening of May 1st, I arrived at Arcis, according
to my father's directions, on the following day. You can believe my
surprise when I saw in the street where the diligence stopped the
elusive Jacques Bricheteau, whom I had not seen since our singular
meeting on the Ile Saint-Louis. This time I beheld him, instead of
behaving like the dog of Jean de Nivelle, come towards me with a smile
upon his lips, holding out his hand and saying:--

"At last, my dear monsieur, we are almost at the end of all our
mysteries, and soon, I hope, you will see that you have no cause to
complain of me. Have you brought the money?"

"Yes," I replied, "neither lost nor stolen." And I drew from my pocket
a wallet containing the two hundred and fifty thousand francs in bank
notes.

"Very good!" said Jacques Bricheteau. "Now let us go to the Hotel de la
Poste; no doubt you know who awaits you there."

"No, indeed I do not," I replied.

"You must have remarked the name and title under which that money was
paid to you?"

"Certainly; that strange circumstance struck me forcibly, and has, I
must own, stirred my imagination."

"Well, we shall now completely lift the veil, one corner of which we
were careful to raise at first, so that you might not come too abruptly
to the great and fortunate event that is now before you."

"Am I to see my father?"

"Yes," replied Jacques Bricheteau; "your father is awaiting you; but I
must warn you against a probable cloud on his manner of receiving you.
The marquis has suffered much; the court life which he has always led
has trained him to show no outward emotions; besides, he has a horror of
everything bourgeois. You must not be surprised, therefore, at the cold
and dignified reception he will probably give you; at heart, he is good
and kind, and you will appreciate him better when you know him."

"Here," thought I, "are very comforting assurances, and as I myself am
not very ardently disposed, I foresee that this interview will be at
some degrees below zero."

On going into the room where the Marquis awaited me, I saw a very tall,
very thin, very bald man, seated at a table on which he was arranging
papers. On hearing the door open, he pushed his spe