rquis de Valorsay
and M. Wilkie, the brilliant viscount was gayly chatting with them,
when a footman, in a voice loud enough to interrupt all conversation,
suddenly announced: "M. Maumejan!"

It seemed such a perfectly natural thing to M. de Valorsay that
Maumejan, as one of the baron's business agents, should be received at
his house, that he was not in the least disturbed. But M. de Coralth,
having heard the name, wished to see the man who had aided and advised
the marquius so effectually. He abruptly turned, and as he did so the
words he would have spoken died upon his lips. He became livid, his eyes
seemed to start from their sockets, and it was with difficulty that he
ejaculated: "He!"

"Who?" inquired the astonished marquis.

"Look!"

M. de Valorsay did so, and to his utter amazement he perceived a
numerous party in the rear of the man announced under the name of
Maumejan. First came Mademoiselle Marguerite, leaning on the arm of the
white-haired magistrate, and then Madame Ferailleur; next M. Isidore
Fortunat, and finally Chupin--Victor Chupin, resplendent in a handsome,
bran-new, black dress-suit.

The marquis could no longer fail to understand the truth. He realized
who Maumejan really was, and the audacious comedy he had been duped by.
He was so frightfully agitated that five or six persons sprang forward
exclaiming: "What is the matter, marquis? Are you ill?" But he made
no reply. He felt that he was caught in a trap, and he glanced wildly
around him seeking for some loophole of escape.

However, the word of command had evidently been given. Suddenly all the
guests scattered about the various drawing-rooms poured into the main
hall, and the doors were closed. Then, with a solemnity of manner
which no one had ever seen him display before, Baron Trigault took
the so-called Maumejan by the hand and led him into the centre of the
apartment opposite the lofty chimney-piece. "Gentlemen," he began, in
a commanding tone, "this is M. Pascal Ferailleur, the honorable man who
was falsely accused of cheating at cards at Madame d'Argeles's house.
You owe him a hearing."

Pascal was greatly agitated. The strangeness of the situation, the
certainty of speedy and startling rehabilitation, perhaps the joy of
vengeance, the silence, which was so profound that he could hear his
own panting breath, and the many eyes riveted upon him, all combined to
unnerve him. But only for a moment. He swiftly conquered his weakness,