regle, and unattackable. Maumejan, who has
examined it, guarantees that the value of the count's estate cannot be
less than ten millions. Five will go to Madame d'Argeles, or her son
Wilkie, as their share of the property. The remaining five will be mine.
Come, confess that the plan is admirable!"

"Admirable, undoubtedly; but terribly complicated. When there are so
many wheels within wheels, one of them is always sure to get out of
order."

"Nonsense!"

"Besides, you have I don't know how many accomplices--Maumejan, the
doctor, Madame Leon, and Vantrasson, not counting myself. Will all these
people perform their duties satisfactorily?"

"Each of them is as much interested in my success as I am myself."

"But we have enemies--Madame d'Argeles, Fortunat----"

"Madame d'Argeles is about to leave Paris. If Fortunat is troublesome I
will purchase his silence; Maumejan has promised me money."

But M. de Coralth had kept his strongest argument until the last. "And
Pascal Ferailleur?" said he. "You have forgotten him."

No; M. de Valorsay had not forgotten him. You do not forget the man you
have ruined and dishonored. Still, it was in a careless tone that ill
accorded with his state of mind that the marquis replied: "The poor
devil must be en route for America by this time."

The viscount shook his head. "That's what I've in vain been trying to
convince myself of," said he. "Do you know that Pascal was virtually
expelled from the Palais de Justice, and that his name has been struck
off the list of advocates? If he hasn't blown his brains out, it is only
because he hopes to prove his innocence. Ah! if you knew him as well as
I do, you wouldn't be so tranquil in mind!"

He stopped short for the door had suddenly opened. The interruption
made the marquis frown, but anger gave way to anxiety when he perceived
Madame Leon, who entered the room out of breath and extremely red in the
face.

"There wasn't a cab to be had!" she groaned. "Just my luck. I came on
foot, and ran the whole way. I'm utterly exhausted;" and so saying, she
sank into an arm-chair.

M. de Valorsay had turned very pale. "Defer your complaints until
another time," he said, harshly. "What has happened? Tell me."

The estimable woman raised her hands to heaven, as she plaintively
replied: "There is so much to tell? First, Mademoiselle Marguerite has
written two letters, but I have failed to discover to whom they were
sent. Secondly, she remained for