member everything. Thus if he failed--for he admitted the
possibility of defeat, without believing in it--he would have no cause
to reproach himself. Only fools find consolation in saying: "Who could
have foreseen that?" Great minds do foresee. And Pascal felt almost
certain that he was fully prepared for any emergency.

That morning, before leaving home, he had dressed with extreme care,
realizing that the shabby clothes he had worn on his first visit to the
Trigault mansion would not be appropriate on such an occasion as this.
The baron's agent could scarcely have a poverty-stricken appearance,
for contact with millionaires is supposed to procure wealth as surely
as proximity to fire insures warmth. So he arrayed himself in a suit
of black, which was neither too elegant nor too much worn, and donned
a broad white necktie. He could see only one immediate, decisive chance
against him. M. de Valorsay might possibly recognize him. He thought
not, but he was not sure; and anxious on this account, he at first
decided to disguise himself. However, on reflection, he concluded not
to do so. An imperfect disguise would attract attention and awaken
suspicion; and could he really disguise his physiognomy? He was certain
he could not. Very few men are capable of doing so successfully, even
after long experience. Only two or three detectives and half a dozen
actors possess the art of really changing their lineaments. Thus after
weighing the pros and cons, Pascal determined to present himself as he
was at the marquis's house.

On approaching M. de Valorsay's residence in the Avenue des Champs
Elysees, he slackened his pace. The mansion, which stood between a
courtyard and a garden, was very large and handsome. The stables and
carriage-house--really elegant structures--stood on either side of the
courtyard, near the half-open gate of which five or six servants were
amusing themselves by teasing a large dog. Pascal was just saying to
himself that the coast was clear, and that he should incur no danger by
going in, when he saw the servants step aside, the gate swing back, and
M. de Coralth emerged, accompanied by a young, fair-haired man, whose
mustaches were waxed and turned up in the most audacious fashion. They
were arm in arm, and turned in the direction of the Arc de Triomphe.
Pascal's heart thrilled with joy. "Fate favors me!" he said to himself.
"If it hadn't been for Kami-Bey, who detained me a full quarter of an
hour at Baron