icuous by shouting. "Now! Now! Here he is! Look! Bravo,
Pompier! One hundred on Pompier!"

But, alas! poor Pompier de Nanterre fell exhausted before half the
distance was accomplished; and that evening Wilkie described his defeat,
with a profusion of technical terms that inspired the uninitiated with
the deepest awe. "What a disaster, my friends," he exclaimed. "Pompier
de Nanterre, an incomparable steeplechaser, to break down in such a
fashion! And beaten by whom? My Mustapha, an outsider, without any
record whatever! The ring was intensely excited--and I was simply
crazed."

However, his defeat did not affect him very deeply. It was forgotten at
thought of the inheritance which his friend Coralth had spoken to him
about. And to-morrow M. de Coralth would tell him the secret. He had
only twenty hours longer to wait! "To-morrow! to-morrow!" he said to
himself again and again, with a thrill of mingled joy and impatience.
And what bright visions of future glory haunted him! He saw himself the
possessor of a magnificent stud, of sufficient wealth to gratify every
fancy; he would splash mud upon all the passers-by, and especially upon
his former acquaintances, as he dashed past them in his superb equipage;
the best tailor should invent astonishing garments for him; he would
make himself conspicuous at all the first performances in a stage-box,
with the most notorious women in Paris; his fetes would be described in
the papers; he would be the continual subject of comment; he would be
credited with splendid, perfect "form."

It is true that M. de Coralth had promised him all this, without a word
of explanation; but what did that matter? Should he doubt his friend's
word? Never! The viscount was not merely his model, but his oracle as
well. By the way in which he spoke of him, it might have been supposed
that they had been friends from their childhood, or, at least, that they
had known each other for years. Such was not the case, however. Their
acquaintance dated only seven or eight months back, and their first
meeting had apparently been the result of chance; though it is needless
to say, perhaps, that this chance had been carefully prepared by M. de
Coralth. Having discovered Madame Lia d'Argeles's secret, the viscount
watched Wilkie, ascertained where he spent his evenings, contrived a way
of introducing himself into his society, and on their third meeting was
skilful enough to render him a service--in other words, to len