orn out in three months as a pair of old boots," said the poet,
smiling. "But stay, you shall not come from Havre to Paris to see
Canalis without carrying something back with you. Warrior!" (Canalis had
the form and action of an Homeric hero) "learn this from the poet: Every
noble sentiment in man is a poem so exclusively individual that his
nearest friend, his other self, cares nothing for it. It is a treasure
which is his alone, it is--"

"Forgive me for interrupting you," said Dumay, who was gazing at the
poet with horror, "but did you ever come to Havre?"

"I was there for a day and a night in the spring of 1824 on my way to
London."

"You are a man of honor," continued Dumay; "will you give me your word
that you do not know Mademoiselle Modeste Mignon?"

"This is the first time that name ever struck my ear," replied Canalis.

"Ah, monsieur!" said Dumay, "into what dark intrigue am I about to
plunge? Can I count upon you to help me in my inquiries?--for I am
certain that some one has been using your name. You ought to have had a
letter yesterday from Havre."

"I received none. Be sure, monsieur, that I will help you," said
Canalis, "so far as I have the opportunity of doing so."

Dumay withdrew, his heart torn with anxiety, believing that the wretched
Butscha had worn the skin of the poet to deceive Modeste; whereas
Butscha himself, keen-witted as a prince seeking revenge, and far
cleverer than any paid spy, was ferretting out the life and actions
of Canalis, escaping notice by his insignificance, like an insect that
bores its way into the sap of a tree.

The Breton had scarcely left the poet's house when La Briere entered his
friend's study. Naturally, Canalis told him of the visit of the man from
Havre.

"Ha!" said Ernest, "Modeste Mignon; that is just what I have come to
speak of."

"Ah, bah!" cried Canalis; "have I had a triumph by proxy?"

"Yes; and here is the key to it. My friend, I am loved by the sweetest
girl in all the world,--beautiful enough to shine beside the greatest
beauties in Paris, with a heart and mind worthy of Clarissa. She has
seen me; I have pleased her, and she thinks me the great Canalis. But
that is not all. Modeste Mignon is of high birth, and Mongenod has just
told me that her father, the Comte de La Bastie, has something like six
millions. The father is here now, and I have asked him through Mongenod
for an interview at two o'clock. Mongenod is to give him a hint, just
a