reality. Why should I not profit by this stolen
secret? I went to the desk and asked for some wafers and a Directory.
Then, returning, I fastened the torn fragments upon a clean sheet of
paper, discovered the address of the writer, and then left the _cafe_.
The house was situated in the Rue Chaussee d'Autin. For fully half an
hour I paced up and down before his magnificent dwelling-place. Was he
alive? Had the reply of Charles been in the affirmative? I decided at
last to venture, and rang the bell. A liveried domestic appeared at my
summons, and said that his master did not receive visitors at that hour;
besides, he was at dinner. I was exasperated at the man's insolence,
and replied hotly, 'If you want to save your master from a terrible
misfortune, go and tell him that a man has brought him the rough draft
of the letter he wrote a little time back at the _Cafe Semblon_.' The
man obeyed me without a word, no doubt impressed by the earnestness of
my manner. My message must have caused intense consternation, for in
a moment the footman reappeared, and, in an obsequious manner, said,
'Follow at once, sir; my master is waiting for you.' He led me into a
large room, magnificently furnished as a library, and in the centre of
this room stood the man of the _Cafe Semblon_. His face was deadly pale,
and his eyes blazed with fury. I was so agitated that I could hardly
speak.

"'You have picked up the scraps of paper I threw away?' exclaimed he.

"I nodded, and showed him the fragments fastened on to the sheet of
note-paper.

"'How much do you want for that?' asked he. 'I will give you a thousand
francs.'

"I declare to you, gentlemen, that up to this time I had no intention
of making money by the secret. My intention in going had been simply to
say, 'I bring you this paper, of which some one else might have taken an
undue advantage. I have done you a service; lend me a hundred francs.'
This is what I meant to say, but his behavior irritated me, and I
answered,--

"'No, I want two thousand francs.'

"He opened a drawer, drew out a bundle of banknotes, and threw them in
my face.

"'Pay yourself, you villain!' said he.

"I can, I fear, never make you understand what I felt at this undeserved
insult. I was not myself, and Heaven knows that I was not responsible
for any crime that I might have committed in the frenzy of the moment,
and I was nearly doing so. That man will, perhaps, never see death so
near him, save at his