teen days of torture, of
anguish! Ah! what I suffered in that time! I neglected my business,
being totally unfit for work. During the day, I tried by incessant
action to fatigue my body, that at night I might find forgetfulness
in sleep. Vain hope! since I found these letters, I have not slept an
hour."

From time to time, old Tabaret slyly consulted his watch. "M. Daburon
will be in bed," thought he.

"At last one morning," continued Noel, "after a night of rage, I
determined to end all uncertainty. I was in that desperate state of
mind, in which the gambler, after successive losses, stakes upon a card
his last remaining coin. I plucked up courage, sent for a cab, and was
driven to the de Commarin mansion."

The old amateur detective here allowed a sigh of satisfaction to escape
him.

"It is one of the most magnificent houses, in the Faubourg St. Germain,
my friend, a princely dwelling, worthy a great noble twenty times
millionaire; almost a palace in fact. One enters at first a vast
courtyard, to the right and left of which are the stables, containing
twenty most valuable horses, and the coach-houses. At the end rises the
grand facade of the main building, majestic and severe, with its immense
windows, and its double flight of marble steps. Behind the house is
a magnificent garden, I should say a park, shaded by the oldest trees
which perhaps exist in all Paris."

This enthusiastic description was not at all what M. Tabaret wanted. But
what could he do, how could he press Noel for the result of his visit!
An indiscreet word might awaken the advocate's suspicions, and reveal to
him that he was speaking not to a friend, but to a detective.

"Were you then shown over the house and grounds?" asked the old fellow.

"No, but I have examined them alone. Since I discovered that I was the
only heir of the Rheteau de Commarin, I have found out the antecedents
of my new family.

"Standing before the dwelling of my ancestors," continued Noel, "you
cannot comprehend the excess of my emotion. Here, said I, is the house
in which I was born. This is the house in which I should have been
reared; and, above all, this is the spot where I should reign to-day,
whereon I stand an outcast and a stranger, devoured by the sad and
bitter memories, of which banished men have died. I compared my
brother's brilliant destinies with my sad and labourious career; and my
indignation well nigh overmastered reason. The mad impulse stirred me