a melancholy gesture. The Vidame de Pamiers was sitting with him.

"Monsieur le baron," said Jules, "I have something to say which makes it
desirable that I should see you alone."

"Monsieur," replied Auguste, "Monsieur le vidame knows about this
affair; you can speak fearlessly before him."

"Monsieur le baron," said Jules, in a grave voice, "you have troubled
and well-nigh destroyed my happiness without having any right to do so.
Until the moment when we can see clearly which of us should demand, or
grant, reparation to the other, you are bound to help me in following
the dark and mysterious path into which you have flung me. I have now
come to ascertain from you the present residence of the extraordinary
being who exercises such a baneful effect on your life and mine. On my
return home yesterday, after listening to your avowals, I received that
letter."

Jules gave him the forged letter.

"This Ferragus, this Bourignard, or this Monsieur de Funcal, is a
demon!" cried Maulincour, after having read it. "Oh, what a frightful
maze I put my foot into when I meddled in this matter! Where am I going?
I did wrong, monsieur," he continued, looking at Jules; "but death is
the greatest of all expiations, and my death is now approaching. You can
ask me whatever you like; I am at your orders."

"Monsieur, you know, of course, where this man is living, and I must
know it if it costs me all my fortune to penetrate this mystery. In
presence of so cruel an enemy every moment is precious."

"Justin shall tell you all," replied the baron.

At these words the vidame fidgeted on his chair. Auguste rang the bell.

"Justin is not in the house!" cried the vidame, in a hasty manner that
told much.

"Well, then," said Auguste, excitedly, "the other servants must know
where he is; send a man on horseback to fetch him. Your valet is in
Paris, isn't he? He can be found."

The vidame was visibly distressed.

"Justin can't come, my dear boy," said the old man; "he is dead. I
wanted to conceal the accident from you, but--"

"Dead!" cried Monsieur de Maulincour,--"dead! When and how?"

"Last night. He had been supping with some old friends, and, I dare say,
was drunk; his friends--no doubt they were drunk, too--left him lying in
the street, and a heavy vehicle ran over him."

"The convict did not miss _him_; at the first stroke he killed," said
Auguste. "He has had less luck with me; it has taken four blows to put
me out of the wa