lde, "that M. Raoul said the Prince de
Listhnay had no right to that title, and was only a prince of the third
order."

"I guarantee him of the first," said Buvat, "sabre de bois! a man of
five feet ten, who throws his money about, and pays for copies at
fifteen francs the page, and has given twenty-five louis in advance!"

Then another fear began to come into Bathilde's mind, that this
pretended customer, whom Raoul had found for Buvat, was only a pretext
to induce him to accept money. This fear had in it something
humiliating; Bathilde turned her eyes toward D'Harmental's window, but
she saw D'Harmental looking at her with so much love through the glass,
that she thought of nothing but looking at him in return, which she did
for so long, that Buvat came forward to see what was attracting her
attention; but D'Harmental, seeing him, let fall the curtain.

"Well, then," said Bathilde, wishing to turn off his attention, "you are
content?"

"Quite; but I must tell you one thing."

"What is it?"

"You remember that I told you that I thought I recognized the face and
voice of this young man, but could not tell you where I had seen or
heard them?"

"Yes, you told me so."

"Well, it suddenly struck me to-day, as I was crossing the Rue des Bons
Enfants, that it was the same young man whom I saw on that terrible
night, of which I cannot think without trembling."

"What folly!" said Bathilde, trembling, however, herself.

"I was on the point of returning, however, for I thought this prince
might be some brigand chief, and that they were going to entice me into
a cavern; but as I never carry any money, I thought that my fears were
exaggerated, and so I went on."

"And now you are convinced, I suppose," replied Bathilde, "that this
poor young man, who came from the Abbe Brigaud, has no connection with
him of the Rue des Bons Enfants."

"Certainly, a captain of thieves could have no connection with his
highness; and now," continued Buvat, "you must excuse me if I do not
stay with you this evening. I promised his highness to begin the copies
directly, and I must do so." Buvat went into his room, leaving Bathilde
free to resume the interrupted conversation. Heaven only knows at what
hour the windows were closed.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

FENELON'S SUCCESSOR.

The events which were to rouse our lovers from their happy idleness were
preparing in silence. The Duc de Richelieu had kept his promise. The
Marshal Villero