om the Marquis de Croisenois, the sum of so many
francs, in settlement of the account of the Viscountess Bois Arden.'"

"If I could only understand the game," muttered the puzzled Van Klopen.

"There is no necessity for that now; only act up to your instructions."

"I will obey, but remember that we shall not only lose her custom, but
that of all her acquaintance."

Again the same angry sounds were heard in the corridor.

"It is scandalous," cried a voice. "I have been waiting an hour;
my sword and armor. What, ho, lackeys; hither, I say. Van Klopen is
engaged, is he? Hie to him and say I must see him at once."

The two accomplices exchanged looks, as though they recognized the
shrill, squeaky voice.

"That is our man," whispered Mascarin, as the door was violently
flung open, and Gaston de Gandelu burst in. He was dressed even more
extravagantly than usual, and his face was inflamed with rage.

"Here am I," cried he; "and an awful rage I am in. Why, I have been
waiting twenty minutes. I don't care a curse for your rules and
regulations."

The tailor was furious at this intrusion; but as Mascarin was present,
and he felt that he must respect his orders, he by a great effort
controlled himself.

"Had I known, sir," said he sulkily, "that you were here----"

These few words mollified the gorgeous youth, who at once broke in.

"I accept your apologies," cried he; "the lackeys remove our arms, the
joust is over. My horses have been standing all this time, and may have
taken cold. Of course you have seen my horses. Splendid animals, are
they not? Zora is in the other room. Quick, fetch her here."

With these words he rushed into the passage and shouted out, "Zora,
Mademoiselle de Chantemille, my dear one, come hither."

The renowned tailor was exquisitely uncomfortable at so terrible a scene
in his establishment. He cast an appealing glance at Mascarin, but the
face of the agent seemed carved in marble. As to Paul, he was quite
prepared to accept this young gentleman as a perfect type of the glass
of fashion and the mould of form, and could not forbear pitying him in
his heart. He went across the room to Mascarin.

"Is there no way," whispered he, "of saving this poor young fellow?"

Mascarin smiled one of those livid smiles which chilled the hearts of
those who knew him thoroughly.

"In fifteen minutes," said he, "I will put the same question to you,
leaving you to reply to it. Hush, this is the first rea