ositively necessary," said Prosper, "if--"

"It is necessary; so come on. You must have confidence, put on a brave
face. Hurry and fix yourself up a little; it is getting late, and I am
hungry. We will breakfast on our way there."

Prosper had hardly passed into his bedroom when the bell rang again.
M. Verduret opened the door. It was the porter, who handed him a thick
letter, and said:

"This letter was left this morning for M. Bertomy; I was so flustered
when he came that I forgot to hand it to him. It is a very odd-looking
letter; is it not, monsieur?"

It was indeed a most peculiar missive. The address was not written, but
formed of printed letters, carefully cut from a book, and pasted on the
envelope.

"Oh, ho! what is this?" cried M. Verduret; then turning toward the
porter he cried, "Wait."

He went into the next room, and closed the door behind him; there he
found Prosper, anxious to know what was going on.

"Here is a letter for you," said M. Verduret.

He at once tore open the envelope.

Some bank-notes dropped out; he counted them; there were ten.

Prosper's face turned purple.

"What does this mean?" he asked.

"We will read the letter and find out," replied M. Verduret.

The letter, like the address, was composed of printed words cut out and
pasted on a sheet of paper.

It was short but explicit:

"MY DEAR PROSPER--A friend, who knows the horror of your situation,
sends you this succor. There is one heart, be assured, that shares your
sufferings. Go away; leave France; you are young; the future is before
you. Go, and may this money bring you happiness!"

As M. Verduret read the note, Prosper's rage increased. He was angry and
perplexed, for he could not explain the rapidly succeeding events which
were so calculated to mystify his already confused brain.

"Everybody wishes me to go away," he cried; "then there must be a
conspiracy against me."

M. Verduret smiled with satisfaction.

"At last you begin to open your eyes, you begin to understand. Yes,
there are people who hate you because of the wrong they have done you;
there are people to whom your presence in Paris is a constant danger,
and who will not feel safe till they are rid of you."

"But who are these people, monsieur? Tell me, who dares send this
money?"

"If I knew, my dear Prosper, my task would be at an end, for then I
would know who committed the robbery. But we will continue our searches.
I have finally procure