through two fortunes before he made the one
he left you; and you wouldn't be a Manerville if you didn't do likewise.
Besides, seizures of real estate have a whole section of the Code to
themselves; they are expected and provided for; you are in a position
recognized by the law.--If I were not an old man with white hair, I
would thrash those fools I hear reading aloud in the streets such an
abomination as this," added the worthy notary, taking up a paper; "'At
the request of Dame Natalie Evangelista, wife of Paul-Francois-Joseph,
Comte de Manerville, separated from him as to worldly goods and chattels
by the Lower court of the department of the Seine--'"

"Yes, and now separated in body," said Paul.

"Ah!" exclaimed the old man.

"Oh! against my wife's will," added the count, hastily. "I was forced to
deceive her; she did not know that I was leaving her."

"You have left her?"

"My passage is taken; I sail for Calcutta on the 'Belle-Amelie.'"

"Two day's hence!" cried the notary. "Then, Monsieur le comte, we shall
never meet again."

"You are only seventy-three, my dear Mathias, and you have the gout, the
brevet of old age. When I return I shall find you still afoot. Your
good head and heart will be as sound as ever, and you will help me
to reconstruct what is now a shaken edifice. I intend to make a noble
fortune in seven years. I shall be only forty on my return. All is still
possible at that age."

"You?" said Mathias, with a gesture of amazement,--you, Monsieur le
comte, to undertake commerce! How can you even think of it?"

"I am no longer Monsieur le comte, dear Mathias. My passage is taken
under the name of Camille, one of my mother's baptismal names. I have
acquirements which will enable me to make my fortune otherwise than in
business. Commerce, at any rate, will be only my final chance. I start
with a sum in hand sufficient for the redemption of my future on a large
scale."

"Where is that money?"

"A friend is to send it to me."

The old man dropped his fork as he heard the word "friend," not in
surprise, not scoffingly, but in grief; his look and manner expressed
the pain he felt in finding Paul under the influence of a deceitful
illusion; his practised eye fathomed a gulf where the count saw nothing
but solid ground.

"I have been fifty years in the notariat," he said, "and I never yet
knew a ruined man whose friend would lend him money."

"You don't know de Marsay. I am certain that he ha