. It was thus,
under the most trivial pretext, that the man gained admittance to the
house where he was to play such an important part.

CHAPTER II. THE GALLEY-SLAVE OF PLEASURE

One morning in the month of May, 1879, a young man, elegantly attired,
alighted from a well-appointed carriage before the door of Madame
Desvarennes's house. The young man passed quickly before the porter in
uniform, decorated with a military medal, stationed near the door. The
visitor found himself in an anteroom which communicated with several
corridors. A messenger was seated in the depth of a large armchair,
reading the newspaper, and not even lending an inattentive ear to
the whispered conversation of a dozen canvassers, who were patiently
awaiting their turn for gaining a hearing. On seeing the young man enter
by the private door, the messenger rose, dropped his newspaper on the
armchair, hastily raised his velvet skullcap, tried to smile, and made
two steps forward.

"Good-morning, old Felix," said the young man, in a friendly tone to the
messenger. "Is my aunt within?"

"Yes, Monsieur Savinien, Madame Desvarennes is in her office; but she
has been engaged for more than an hour with the Financial Secretary of
the War Department."

In uttering these words old Felix put on a mysterious and important air,
which denoted how serious the discussions going on in the adjoining room
seemed to his mind.

"You see," continued he, showing Madame Desvarennes's nephew the
anteroom full of people, "madame has kept all these waiting since this
morning, and perhaps she won't see them."

"I must see her though," murmured the young man.

He reflected a moment, then added:

"Is Monsieur Marechal in?"

"Yes, sir, certainly. If you will allow me I will announce you."

"It is unnecessary."

And, stepping forward, he entered the office adjoining that of Madame
Desvarennes.

Seated at a large table of black wood, covered with bundles of papers
and notes, a young man was working. He was thirty years of age, but
appeared much older. His prematurely bald forehead, and wrinkled brow,
betokened a life of severe struggles and privations, or a life of
excesses and pleasures. Still those clear and pure eyes were not those
of a libertine, and the straight nose solidly joined to the face was
that of a searcher. Whatever the cause, the man was old before his time.

On hearing the door of his office open, he raised his eyes, put down
his pen, and wa