x. "Well, I think I can manage
my business so as to get there--For," he thought to himself, "that power
of attorney ought not to be in my name; as old Heron says, it would look
too much like theft."

This lion, tangled in the meshes Philippe Bridau was weaving for him,
muttered between his teeth as he went along; he avoided the looks of
those he met and returned home by the boulevard Vilatte, still talking
to himself.

"I will have that money before I fight," he said. "If I die, it shall
not go to Philippe. I must put it in Flore's name. She will follow my
instructions, and go straight to Paris. Once there, she can marry, if
she chooses, the son of some marshal of France who has been sent to the
right-about. I'll have that power of attorney made in Baruch's name, and
he'll transfer the property by my order."

Max, to do him justice, was never more cool and calm in appearance
than when his blood and his ideas were boiling. No man ever united in
a higher degree the qualities which make a great general. If his career
had not been cut short by his captivity at Cabrera, the Emperor would
certainly have found him one of those men who are necessary to the
success of vast enterprises. When he entered the room where the hapless
victim of all these comic and tragic scenes was still weeping, Max asked
the meaning of such distress; seemed surprised, pretended that he knew
nothing, and heard, with well-acted amazement, of Flore's departure.
He questioned Kouski, to obtain some light on the object of this
inexplicable journey.

"Madame said like this," Kouski replied, "--that I was to tell monsieur
she had taken twenty thousand francs in gold from his drawer, thinking
that monsieur wouldn't refuse her that amount as wages for the last
twenty-two years."

"Wages?" exclaimed Rouget.

"Yes," replied Kouski. "Ah! I shall never come back," she said to
Vedie as she drove away. "Poor Vedie, who is so attached to monsieur,
remonstrated with madame. 'No, no,' she answered, 'he has no affection
for me; he lets his nephew treat me like the lowest of the low'; and she
wept--oh! bitterly."

"Eh! what do I care for Philippe?" cried the old man, whom Max was
watching. "Where is Flore? how can we find out where she is?"

"Philippe, whose advice you follow, will help you," said Max coldly.

"Philippe?" said the old man, "what has he to do with the poor child?
There is no one but you, my good Max, who can find Flore. She will
follow you--y