ens almost every door.
"I will enter the nearest cafe and ask for a directory," he said to
himself. "I shall certainly find Baron Trigault's address in it."

The baron lived in the Rue de la Ville-l'Eveque. His mansion was one
of the largest and most magnificent in the opulent district of the
Madeleine, and its aspect was perfectly in keeping with its owner's
character as an expert financier, and a shrewd manufacturer, the
possessor of valuable mines. The marvellous luxury so surprised Pascal,
that he asked himself how the owner of this princely abode could find
any pleasure at the gaming table of the Hotel d'Argeles. Five or six
footmen were lounging about the courtyard when he entered it. He walked
straight up to one of them, and with his hat in his hand, asked: "Baron
Trigault, if you please?"

If he had asked for the Grand Turk the valet would not have looked at
him with greater astonishment. His surprise, indeed, seemed so profound
that Pascal feared he had made some mistake and added: "Doesn't he live
here?"

The servant laughed heartily. "This is certainly his house," he replied,
"and strange to say, by some fortunate chance, he's here."

"I wish to speak with him on business."

The servant called one of his colleagues. "Eh! Florestan--is the baron
receiving?"

"The baroness hasn't forbidden it."

This seemed to satisfy the footman; for, turning to Pascal he said: "In
that case, you can follow me."

II.

The sumptuous interior of the Trigault mansion was on a par with its
external magnificence. Even the entrance bespoke the lavish millionaire,
eager to conquer difficulties, jealous of achieving the impossible, and
never haggling when his fancies were concerned. The spacious hall, paved
with costly mosaics, had been transformed into a conservatory full of
flowers, which were renewed every morning. Rare plants climbed the walls
up gilded trellis work, or hung from the ceiling in vases of rare old
china, while from among the depths of verdure peered forth exquisite
statues, the work of sculptors of renown. On a rustic bench sat a couple
of tall footmen, as bright in their gorgeous liveries as gold coins
fresh from the mint; still, despite their splendor, they were stretching
and yawning to such a degree, that it seemed as if they would ultimately
dislocate their jaws and arms.

"Tell me," inquired the servant who was escorting Pascal, "can any one
speak to the baron?"

"Why?"

"This gentlema