ter on
a silver salver. De Mussidan tore it open; it was from M. de
Breulh-Faverlay, asking to be released from his engagement to Sabine de
Mussidan. This last stroke was almost too much for the Count's nerves,
for in this act he saw the hand of the man who had come to him with
such deadly threats, and terror filled his soul as he thought of the
far-stretching arm of him whose bondslave he found himself to be; but
before he could collect his thoughts, his daughter's maid went into the
room crying with all her might, "Help, help; my poor mistress is dying!"

CHAPTER XIV.

FATHER AND DAUGHTER.

Van Klopen, the man-milliner, knew Paris and its people thoroughly like
all tradesmen who are in the habit of giving large credit. He knew
all about the business of his customers, and never forgot an item of
information when he received one. Thus, when Mascarin spoke to him about
the father of the lovely Flavia, whose charms had set the susceptible
heart of Paul Violaine in a blaze, the arbiter of fashion had replied,--

"Martin Rigal; yes, I know him; he is a banker." And a banker, indeed,
Martin Rigal was, dwelling in a magnificent house in the Rue Montmartre.
The bank was on the ground floor, while his private rooms were in the
story above. Though he did not do business in a very large way, yet
he was a most respectable man, and his connection was chiefly with the
smaller trades-people, who seem to live a strange kind of hand-to-mouth
existence, and who might be happy were it not for the constant
reappearance of that grim phantom--bills to be met. Nearly all these
persons were in the banker's hands entirely. Martin Rigal used his power
despotically and permitted no arguments, and speedily quelled rebellion
on the part of any new customer who ventured to object to his arbitrary
rules. In the morning the banker was never to be seen, being engaged in
his private office, and not a clerk would venture to knock at his
door. Even had one done so, no reply would have been returned; for the
experiment had been tried, and it was believed that nothing short of an
alarm of fire would have brought him out.

The banker was a big man, quite bald, his face was clean shaved, and
his little gray eyes twinkled incessantly. His manner was charmingly
courteous, and he said the most cruel things in the most honied accents,
and invariably escorted to the door the man whom he would sell up the
next day. In his dress he affected a fashionable s