to a great millionnaire to amuse
people who do not possess a cent! He did not get off again until they
reached Dantzic; he did not even put his nose to the window; he sucked
solitary consolation from his porcelain pipe, on which Leda caressed her
swan and smiled not.

Wearisome, wearisome journey! But he did reach home nevertheless. It was
eight o'clock in the evening; the old domestic was waiting with ropes to
sling his master's trunk on his back. No more alarming figures, no more
mocking laughs! The history of the soup was fallen into the great
forgotten, like one of M. Heller's speeches. In the baggage room, Meiser
had already seized the handle of a black leather trunk, when, at the
other end, he saw the spectre of Fougas, which was pulling in the
opposite direction, and seemed inclined to dispute possession. He
bristled up, pulled stronger, and even plunged his left hand into the
pocket where the revolver was lying. But the luminous glance of the
Colonel fascinated him, his legs trembled, he fell, and fancied that he
saw Fougas and the black trunk rolling over each other. When he came to,
his old servant was chafing his hands, the trunk already had the slings
around it, and the Colonel had disappeared. The domestic swore that he
had not seen anybody, and that he had himself received the trunk from
the baggage agent's own hand.

Twenty minutes later, the millionnaire was in his own house, joyfully
rubbing his face against the sharp angles of his wife. He did not dare
to tell her about his visions, for Frau Meiser was a skeptic, in her own
way. It was she who spoke to him about Fougas.

"A whole history has happened to me," said she. "Would you believe that
the police have written to us from Berlin, to find out whether our uncle
left us a mummy, and when, and how long we kept him, and what we have
done with him? I answered, telling the truth, and adding that Colonel
Fougas was in such a bad condition, and so damaged by mites, that we
sold him for rags. What object can the police have in troubling
themselves about our affairs?"

Meiser heaved a heavy sigh.

"Let's talk about money!" said the lady. "The president of the bank has
been to see me. The million you asked him for, for to-morrow, is ready;
it will be delivered upon your signature. It seems that they've had a
deal of trouble to get the amount in specie. If you had but wanted
drafts on Vienna or Paris, you would have put them at their ease. But
at last the