fixed on him that steady magnetic gaze,
in which the will flashes from the eye, as rays of light from the sun.
Such a look, mesmerizers say, penetrates to the person on whom it is
directed, and certainly Raoul seemed as though struck by a magic wand.
Raising his head, his eyes met those of the sisters. With that charming
feminine readiness which is never at fault, Mme. de Vandenesse seized
a cross, sparkling on her neck, and directed his attention to it by a
swift smile, full of meaning. The brilliance of the gem radiated
even upon Raoul's forehead, and he replied with a look of joy; he had
understood.

"Is it nothing then, Eugenie," said the Countess, "thus to restore life
to the dead?"

"You have a chance yet with the Royal Humane Society," replied Eugenie,
with a smile.

"How wretched and depressed he looked when he came, and how happy he
will go away!"

At this moment du Tillet, coming up to Raoul with every mark of
friendliness, pressed his hand, and said:

"Well, old fellow, how are you?"

"As well as a man is likely to be who has just got the best possible
news of the election. I shall be successful," replied Raoul, radiant.

"Delighted," said du Tillet. "We shall want money for the paper."

"The money will be found," said Raoul.

"The devil is with these women!" exclaimed du Tillet, still unconvinced
by the words of Raoul, whom he had nicknamed Charnathan.

"What are you talking about?" said Raoul.

"My sister-in-law is there with my wife, and they are hatching something
together. You seem in high favor with the Countess; she is bowing to you
right across the house."

"Look," said Mme. du Tillet to her sister, "they told us wrong. See how
my husband fawns on M. Nathan, and it is he who they declared was trying
to get him put in prison!"

"And men call us slanderers!" cried the Countess. "I will give him a
warning."

She rose, took the arm of Vandenesse, who was waiting in the passage,
and returned jubilant to her box; by and by she left the Opera and
ordered her carriage for the next morning before eight o'clock.

The next morning, by half-past eight, Marie had driven to the quai
Conti, stopping at the hotel du Mail on her way. The carriage could not
enter the narrow rue de Nevers; but as Schmucke lived in a house at the
corner of the quai she was not obliged to walk up its muddy pavement,
but could jump from the step of her carriage to the broken step of the
dismal old house, mended like por