and, later, despoiled
by the husband of that mistress. But all this availed me nothing.
Being ignorant of my father's life and connections, the letters
giving neither a name nor a precise detail, I knew not whom to
accuse. Besides, in order to accuse, it is necessary to have, at
least, some material proof."

The baroness had resumed her seat; and every thing about her--her
attitude, her gestures, the motion of her lips--seemed to say,

"You are my guest. Civility has its demands; but really you abuse
your privileges."

M. de Tregars went on,

"At this moment I was still a sort of savage, wholly absorbed in
my experiments, and scarcely ever setting foot outside my
laboratory. I was indignant; I ardently wished to find and to
punish the villains who had robbed us: but I knew not how to go
about it, nor in what direction to seek information. The wretches
would, perhaps, have gone unpunished, but for a good and worthy man,
now a commissary of police, to whom I once rendered a slight service,
one night, in a riot, when he was close pressed by some half-dozen
rascals. I explained the situation to him: he took much interest
in it, promised his assistance, and marked out my line of conduct."

Mme. de Thaller seemed restless upon her seat.

"I must confess," she began, "that I am not wholly mistress of my
time. I am dressed, as you see: I have to go out."

If she had preserved any hope of adjourning the explanation which
she felt coming, she must have lost it when she heard the tone in
which M. de Tregars interrupted her.

"You can go out to-morrow."

And, without hurrying,

"Advised, as I have just told you," he continued, "and assisted by
the experience of a professional man, I went first to No. 3, Rue
des Bergers, in Grenelle. I found there some old people, the
foreman of a neighboring factory and his wife, who had been living
in the house for nearly twenty-five years. At my first question,
they exchanged a glance, and commenced laughing. They remembered
perfectly the Marquise de Javelle, which was but a nickname for a
young and pretty laundress, whose real name was Euphrasie Taponnet.
She had lived for eighteen months on the same landing as themselves:
she had a lover, who passed himself off for a clerk, but who was,
in fact, she had told them, a very wealthy nobleman. They added
that she had given birth to a little girl, and that, two weeks later
she had disappeared, and they had never heard a word