ament.

M. Cambray expressed his thanks, pressed his lips to the countess's
hand, and kissed the little Amelie, who smilingly lifted her face for
the caress. Then he bowed courteously, and returned to the salon. He was
met at the door by the Marquis de Fervlans, who exclaimed reproachfully:

"What, you are going to desert us already? Then, if you will go, you
must allow me to offer you my carriage." He gave his arm to the old
gentleman, and conducted him to the vestibule, where, among a number of
liveried servants, stood a trim hussar in Swiss uniform.

The marquis ordered the hussar to fetch his carriage, and, when it drew
up before the door, himself assisted M. Cambray to enter it. Then he
shook hands cordially with the old gentleman, stepped back to the
doorway, and watched the carriage roll swiftly across the square.

* * * * *

When the servant Jocrisse had closed the boudoir door behind M. Cambray,
the suffering countess sprang lightly from her couch, and pressed her
handkerchief to her lips to smother her laughter; the little Amelie,
overwhelmed by merriment, buried her face in her mother's skirts; the
maid giggled discreetly; while Jocrisse, clasping his rotund stomach
with both hands, bent his head toward his knees, and betrayed his
suppressed hilarity by his shaking shoulders. Even the more important of
the two physicians pursed his lips into a smile, and proffered his
snuff-box to his colleague, who, smothering with laughter, whispered:

"Are we not capital actors?"

* * * * *

Meanwhile M. Cambray drove rapidly in the Marquis de Fervlans's carriage
through the streets of Paris. He was buried in thought. He glanced only
now and then from the window. He was not altogether satisfied with
himself that he was riding in a carriage which belonged to so important
a person--a gentleman whose name he had never heard until that day.

Suddenly he was surprised to find the carriage entering a gateway. A
carriage could not enter the gate at his lodgings! The Swiss hussar
sprang from the box, opened the carriage door, and M. Cambray found
himself confronted by a sergeant with a drawn sword.

"This is not my residence," said the old gentleman.

"Certainly not," replied the sergeant. "This is the Prison of St.
Pelagie."

"What have I to do here? My name is Alfred Cambray."

"You are the very one we have been expecting."

And now it was M. Cambray