ho escorted her to the corner of the Rue Boursault. The General and his
wife had returned home in advance of Marguerite. She found them sitting
in the drawing-room, with distorted faces and teeth chattering with
fear. With them was a bearded man who, as soon as she appeared,
exclaimed:

"You are Mademoiselle Marguerite, are you not? I arrest you in the name
of the law. There is my warrant." And without more ado he led her away.

XX.

Money, which nowadays has taken the place of the good fairies of former
times, had gratified M. Wilkie's every longing in a single night.
Without any period of transition, dreamlike as it were, he had passed
from what he called "straitened circumstances" to the splendid enjoyment
of a princely fortune. Madame d'Argeles's renunciation had been
so correctly drawn up, that as soon as he presented his claims and
displayed his credentials he was placed in possession of the Chalusse
estate. It is true that a few trifling difficulties presented
themselves. For instance, the old justice of the peace who had affixed
the seals refused to remove them from certain articles of furniture,
especially from the late count's escritoire, without an order from the
court, and several days were needed to obtain this. But what did that
matter to M. Wilkie? The house, with its splendid reception-rooms,
pictures, statuary and gardens, was at his disposal, and he installed
himself therein at once. Twenty horses neighed and stamped in his
stables; there were at least a dozen carriages in the coach-house. He
devoted his attention exclusively to the horses and vehicles; but acting
upon the advice of Casimir, who had become his valet and oracle, he
retained all the former servants of the house, from Bourigeau the
concierge down to the humblest scullery maid. Still, he gave them
to understand that this was only a temporary arrangement. A man like
himself, living in this progressive age, could scarcely be expected to
content himself with what had satisfied the Count de Chalusse. "For I
have my plans," he remarked to Casimir, "but let Paris wait awhile."

He repudiated his former friends. Costard and Serpillon, pretended
viscounts though they were, were quite beneath the notice of a
Gordon-Chalusse, as M. Wilkie styled himself on his visiting cards.
However, he purchased their share of Pompier de Nanterre, feeling
convinced that this remarkable steeplechaser had a brilliant future
before him. He did not trouble