de Nanterre, that famous steeplechaser,
of which he owned one-third part, and he had, moreover, to give orders
to the jockey, whose lord and master he was to an equal extent. These
were sacred duties, since Wilkie's share in a race-horse constituted
his only claim to a footing in fashionable society. But it was a strong
claim--a claim that justified the display of whips and spurs that
decorated his apartments in the Rue du Helder, and allowed him to aspire
to the character of a sporting man. Wilkie really imagined that folks
were waiting for him at Vincennes; and that the fete would not be
complete without his presence.

Still, when he presented himself inside the enclosure, a cigar in his
mouth, and his racing card dangling from his button-hole, he was obliged
to confess that his entrance did not create much of a sensation. An
astonishing bit of news had imparted unusual excitement to the ring.
People were eagerly discussing the Marquis de Valorsay's sudden
determination to pay forfeit and withdraw his horses from the contest;
and the best informed declared that in the betting-rooms the evening
before he had openly announced his intention of selling his racing
stable. If the marquis had hoped that by adopting this course he would
silence the suspicions which had been aroused, he was doomed to grievous
disappointment. The rumor that he had secretly bet against his own
horse, Domingo, on the previous Sunday, and that he had given orders not
to let the animal win the race, was steadily gaining credence.

Large sums had been staked on Domingo's success. He had been the
favorite in the betting ring and the losers were by no means pleased.
Some declared that they had seen the jockey hold Domingo back; and they
insisted that it was necessary to make an example, and disqualify both
the marquis and his jockey. Still one weighty circumstance pleaded in
M. de Valorsay's favor--his fortune, or, at least, the fortune he was
supposed to possess. "Why should such a rich man stoop to cheat?" asked
his defenders. "To put money into one's pocket in this way is even worse
than to cheat at cards! Besides, it's impossible! Valorsay is above such
contemptible charges. He is a perfect gentleman."

"Perhaps so," replied the skeptical bystanders. "But people said exactly
the same of Croisenois, of the Duc de H., and Baron P., who were finally
convicted of the same rascality that Valorsay is accused of."

"It's an infamous slander! If he had