was killed on the spot."

"How horrible!"

"The marquise went instantly to pass the first months of her mourning
with her father in Normandy."

"Clotilde, I beseech you, write to her to-day; ask her for all the
information in her power, and, as she takes an interest in these poor
women, say she cannot find a warmer auxiliary than myself; that my only
desire is to find the widow of my friend, and share with her and her
daughter the little I possess. They are now all my family."

"Ever the same, always generous and devoted! Rely on me. I will write
to-day to Madame d'Harville. Where shall I address my answer?"

"To Asnieres _Poste-Restante_."

"How odd! Why do you live there, and not in Paris?"

"I detest Paris, because of the recollections it excites in me!" said M.
de Saint-Remy, with a gloomy air. "My old physician, Doctor Griffon,
with whom I have kept up a correspondence, has a small house on the
banks of the Seine, near Asnieres, which he does not occupy in the
winter; he offered it to me; it is almost close to Paris, and there I
could be undisturbed, and find the solitude I desire. So I accepted it."

"I will then write to you at Asnieres, and I can give you some
information which may be useful to you, and which I had from Madame
d'Harville. Madame de Fermont's ruin has been occasioned by the roguery
of the notary in whose hands all your deceased relative's fortune was
deposited. The notary denied that the money was ever placed in his
hands."

"The scoundrel! And his name?"

"M. Jacques Ferrand," replied the duchess, without being able to conceal
her inclination to laugh.

"How strange you are, Clotilde!" said the comte, surprised and annoyed;
"nothing can be more serious, more sad than this, and yet you laugh."

In fact, Madame de Lucenay, at the recollection of the amorous
declaration of the notary, had been unable to repress her hilarity.

"Pardon me, my dear sir," she replied, "but this notary is such a
singular being, and they tell such odd stories about him; but, in truth,
if his reputation as an honest man is not more deserved than his
reputation as a religious man (and I declare that is hypocrisy) he is a
great wretch."

"And he lives--"

"Rue du Sentier."

"I will call upon him. What you tell me confirms certain other
suspicions."

"What suspicions?"

"From certain information as to the death of the brother of my poor
friend, I should be almost tempted to believe that that unhappy m