Paul shook his head. "It is not that," said he.

"What, then, is it?"

"Simply that the real man exists; I know him, and know where he lives."

"What do you mean?" they cried.

"I know him, I tell you--the son of the Duke de Champdoce."

"Let us hear all!" cried Mascarin, who was the first to come to his
senses. "Explain yourself."

"Simply this. I know such a young man, and it was the thought of this
that made me feel so ill. He is thirty-three. He was at the Foundling
Hospital; he left it at the age of twelve and a half years; and he has
just such a scald on his shoulder, which he got when he was apprenticed
to a tanner."

"And where," asked Mascarin quickly, "is this same young man? What is
his name, and what does he do for a living?"

"He is a painter; his name is Andre, and he lives--"

A blasphemous oath from Mascarin interrupted him. "This is the third
time," said he fiercely, "that this cursed fellow has crossed our path;
but I swear that it shall be the last."

Hortebise and Catenac were livid with alarm.

"What do you intend to do?" asked they.

"I shall do nothing," answered he; "but you know that this Andre,
in addition to being a painter, is an ornamental sculptor and house
decorator, and so is often on lofty scaffolds. Have you never heard that
accidents frequently happen to that class of people?"

CHAPTER XXI.

A MELANCHOLY MASHER.

When Mascarin spoke of suppressing the man who stood in his way as
easily as if he was alluding to extinguishing a candle, he was not
aware that there was one circumstance which considerably enhanced the
difficulty of his task, for Andre had been forewarned, and this note of
warning had been sounded on the day on which he had received that
letter from Sabine, in which she spoke in such despairing terms of her
approaching marriage, which she had been compelled to agree to to
save the honor of her family. This feeling was strengthened by a long
conversation he had had with M. de Breulh-Faverlay and the Viscountess
de Bois Arden, in which it was unanimously decided that the Count
and Countess de Mussidan were victims of some plot of which Henri de
Croisenois was certainly one of the promoters. He had no conception on
what side to look for the danger, but he had an instinctive feeling that
it was impending. He prepared, therefore, to act on the defensive. It
was not only his life that was in danger, but his love and his future
happiness. M. de Breulh-Fav