I am
without relations. Mother Marechal, a kind fruiterer of the Rue Pavee au
Marais, found me one morning by the curbstone, rolled in a number of the
Constitutionnel, like an old pair of boots. The good woman took me home,
brought me up and sent me to college. I must tell you that I was very
successful and gained a scholarship. I won all the prizes. Yes, and I
had to sell my gilt-edged books from the Lycee Charlemagne in the days
of distress. I was eighteen when my benefactress, Mother Marechal, died.
I was without help or succor. I tried to get along by myself. After
ten years of struggling and privations I felt physical and moral vigor
giving way. I looked around me and saw those who overcame obstacles were
stronger than I. I felt that I was doomed not to make way in the world,
not being one of those who could command, so I resigned myself to obey.
I fill a humble position as you know, but one which satisfies my wants.
I am without ambition. A little philosophical, I observe all that goes
on around me. I live happily like Diogenes in his tub."

"You are a wise man," resumed Suzanne. "I, too, am a philosopher, and I
live amid surroundings which do not please me. I, unfortunately, lost
my mother when I was very young, and although my father is very kind, he
has been obliged to neglect me a little. I see around me people who are
millionaires or who aspire to be. I am doomed to receive the attentions
of such men as Le Bride and Du Tremblay--empty-headed coxcombs, who
court my money, and to whom I am not a woman, but a sack of ducats
trimmed with lace."

"These gentlemen are the modern Argonauts. They are in search of the
Golden Fleece," observed Marechal.

"The Argonauts!" cried Suzanne, laughing. "You are right. I shall never
call them anything else."

"Oh, they will not understand you!" said Marechal, gayly. "I don't think
they know much of mythology."

"Well, you see I am not very happy in the bosom of riches," continued
the young girl. "Do not abandon me. Come and talk with me sometimes. You
will not chatter trivialities. It will be a change from the others."

And, nodding pleasantly to Marechal, Mademoiselle Herzog joined her
father, who was gleaning details about the house of Desvarennes from
Savinien.

The secretary remained silent for a moment.

"Strange girl!" he murmured. "What a pity she has such a father."

The door of the room in which Monsieur and Mademoiselle Herzog, Marechal
and Savinien were,