o deal with the political filibusters of other
cabinets, and it would be a pity therefore to employ him on our
internal detective police. He is above a common spy, for he is
able to understand a plan; he could skilfully carry through a dark
piece of work and cover his retreat safely."

Des Lupeaulx was succinctly analyzed in five or six such
paragraphs,--the essence, in fact, of the biographical portrait which
we gave at the beginning of this history. As he read the words the
secretary felt that a man stronger than himself sat in judgment on
him; and he at once resolved to examine the memorandum, which evidently
reached far and high, without allowing Dutocq to know his secret
thoughts. He therefore showed a calm, grave face when the spy returned
to him. Des Lupeaulx, like lawyers, magistrates, diplomatists, and all
whose work obliges them to pry into the human heart, was past being
surprised at anything. Hardened in treachery and in all the tricks and
wiles of hatred, he could take a stab in the back and not let his face
tell of it.

"How did you get hold of this paper?"

Dutocq related his good luck; des Lupeaulx's face as he listened
expressed no approbation; and the spy ended in terror an account which
began triumphantly.

"Dutocq, you have put your finger between the bark and the tree," said
the secretary, coldly. "If you don't want to make powerful enemies I
advise you to keep this paper a profound secret; it is a work of the
utmost importance and already well known to me."

So saying, des Lupeaulx dismissed Dutocq by one of those glances that
are more expressive than words.

"Ha! that scoundrel of a Rabourdin has put his finger in this!" thought
Dutocq, alarmed on finding himself anticipated; "he has reached the ear
of the administration, while I am left out in the cold. I shouldn't have
thought it!"

To all his other motives of aversion to Rabourdin he now added the
jealousy of one man to another man of the same calling,--a most powerful
ingredient in hatred.

When des Lupeaulx was left alone, he dropped into a strange meditation.
What power was it of which Rabourdin was the instrument? Should he, des
Lupeaulx, use this singular document to destroy him, or should he keep
it as a weapon to succeed with the wife? The mystery that lay behind
this paper was all darkness to des Lupeaulx, who read with something
akin to terror page after page, in which the men of his acquaintance
were judged with une