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foresaw that some day must come when all would be discovered, I always carried about me a loaded revolver, with which to blow out my brains when they came to arrest me.”

And he showed to Marius the handle of a revolver protruding from his pocket.

“And if only she had been faithful to me!” he continued, becoming more and more animated.  “But what have I not endured!  When the Marquis de Tregars returned to Paris, and they set about defrauding him of his fortune, she did not hesitate a moment to become his mistress again.  She used to tell me, ‘What a fool you are! all I want is his money.  I love no one but you.’  But after his death she took others.  She made use of our house in the Rue du Cirque for purposes of dissipation for herself and her daughter Cesarine.  And I—miserable coward that I was!—I suffered all, so much did I tremble to lose her, so much did I fear to be weaned from the semblance of love with which she paid my fearful sacrifices.  And now she would betray me, forsake me!  For every thing that has taken place was suggested by her in order to procure a sum wherewith to fly to America.  It was she who imagined the wretched comedy which I played, so as to throw upon myself the whole responsibility.  M. de Thaller has had millions for his share:  I have only had twelve hundred thousand francs.”

Violent nervous shudders shook his frame:  his face became purple.  He drew himself up, and, brandishing the letters which he held in his hand,

“But all is not over!” he exclaimed.  “There are proofs which neither the baron nor his wife know that I have.  I have the proof of the infamous swindle of which the Marquis de Tregars was the victim.  I have the proof of the farce got up by M. de Thaller and myself to defraud the stockholders of the Mutual Credit!”

“What do you hope for?”

He was laughing a stupid laugh.

“I?  I shall go and hide myself in some suburb of Paris, and write to Affrays to come.  She knows that I have twelve hundred thousand francs.  She will come; and she will keep coming as long as I have any money.  And when I have no more:—”

He stopped short, starting back, his arms outstretched as if to repel a terrifying apparition.  Mlle. Gilberte had just appeared at the door.

“My daughter!” stammered the wretch.  “Gilberte!”

“The Marquise de Tregars,” uttered Marius.

An inexpressible look of terror and anguish convulsed the features of Vincent Favoral:  he guessed that it was the end.

“What do you want with me?” he stammered.

“The money that you have stolen, father,” replied the girl in an inexorable tone of voice,—“the twelve hundred thousand francs which you have here, then the proofs which are in your hands, and, finally your weapons.”

He was trembling from head to foot.

“Take away my money!” he said.  “Why, that would be compelling me to give myself up!  Do you wish to see me in prison?”

“The disgrace would fall back upon your children, sir,” said M. de Tregars.  “We shall, on the contrary, do every thing in the world to enable you to evade the pursuit of the police.”

“Well, yes, then.  But to-morrow I must write to Affrays:  I must see her!”

“You have lost your mind, father,” said Mlle. Gilberte.  “Come, do as I ask you.”

He drew himself up to his full height.

“And suppose I refuse?”

But it was the last effort of his will.  He yielded, though not without an agonizing struggle and gave up to his daughter the money, the proofs and the arms.  And as she was walking away, leaning on M. de Tregars’ arm,

“But send me your mother, at least,” he begged.  “She will understand me:  she will not be without pity.  She is my wife:  let her come quick.  I will not, I can not remain alone.”

XII

It was with convulsive haste that the Baroness de Thaller went over the distance that separated the Rue St. Lazare from the Rue de la Pepiniere.  The sudden intervention of M. de Tregars had upset all her ideas.  The most sinister presentiments agitated her mind.  In the courtyard of her residence, all the servants, gathered in a group, were talking.  They did not take the trouble to stand aside to let her pass; and she even noticed some smiles and ironical gigglings.  This was a terrible blow to her.  What was the matter?  What had they heard?  In the magnificent vestibule, a man was sitting as she came in.  It was the same suspicious character that Marius de Tregars had seen in the grand parlor, in close conference with the baroness.

“Bad news,” he said with a sheepish look.

“What?”

“That little Lucienne must have her soul riveted to her body.  She is only wounded; and she’ll get over it.”

“Never mind Lucienne.  What about M. de Tregars?”

“Oh! he is another sharp one.  Instead of taking up our man’s provocation, he collared him, and took away from him the note I had sent him.”

Mme. de Thaller started violently.

“What is the meaning, then,” she asked, “of your letter of last night, in which you requested me to hand two thousand francs to the bearer?”

The man became pale as death.

“You received a letter from me,” he stammered, “last night?”

“Yes, from you; and I gave the money.”

The man struck his forehead.

“I understand it all!” he exclaimed.

“What?”

“They wanted proofs.  They imitated my handwriting, and you swallowed the bait.  That’s the reason why I spent the night in the station-house; and, if they let me go this morning, it was to find out where I’d go.  I have been followed, they are shadowing me.  We are gone up, Mme. le Baronne. Sauve qui peut!

And he ran out.

More agitated than ever Mme. de Thaller went up stairs.  In the little red-and-gold parlor, the Baron de Thaller and Mlle. Cesarine were waiting for her.  Stretched upon an arm-chair, her legs crossed, the tip of her boot on a level with her eye, Mlle. Cesarine, with a look of ironical curiosity, was watching her father, who, livid and trembling with nervous excitement, was walking up and down, like a wild beast in his cage.  As soon as the baroness appeared,

“Things are going badly,” said her husband, “very badly.  Our game is devilishly compromised.”

“You think so?”

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