On hearing Mlle. de Beaumesnil speak of a promise which she had made to M. Olivier, and which she intended to keep, M. de Maillefort seemed both surprised and uneasy, especially when the duchess repeated:

"What! the promise made to M. Olivier—"

"Yes, this promise, I repeat, I intend to keep, my dear Herminie. Did you not approve my acceptance of M. Olivier's offer? Did you not regard it as a sure guarantee of happiness to come? Did you not appreciate the great generosity of his offer as much as I did?"

"Yes, Ernestine, but it was to the little embroideress that this offer was made."

"Ah, well, why should M. Olivier's generosity seem less great and less noble now, my dear Herminie? Why should not the guarantee of happiness to come be just as certain?"

"I do not know how to answer you, Ernestine. I feel that you are right, and yet I am conscious of a vague uneasiness in spite of myself. But you must have no secrets from M. de Maillefort. You must tell him all."

"I will, and I am sure that M. de Maillefort will approve my decision."

The marquis had been listening silently but thoughtfully.

"Is this M. Olivier the young man who invited you to dance out of charity, and to whom frequent allusion is made in your journal?"

"Yes, M. de Maillefort."

"And it was M. Olivier's uncle that Ernestine saved from almost certain death the other day," added Herminie.

"His uncle?" exclaimed the hunchback, quickly.

Then, after a moment's reflection, he added:

"I understand. Gratitude, combined with another and more tender sentiment which had its birth at her first meeting with this young man at Madame Herbaut's house, led him to propose to Ernestine when he believed her to be poor and unprotected."

"And a brilliant match it seemed for one of my supposed position," remarked Mlle. de Beaumesnil, "for M. Olivier had just been made an officer, so it was an enviable social position as well as comparative affluence that he offered a penniless and obscure girl who laboured for her daily bread."

"Is his name Olivier Raymond?" exclaimed the hunchback, as if a new idea had suddenly occurred to him.

"That is his name. Do you know him, monsieur?" asked Ernestine.

"Olivier Raymond, formerly a non-commissioned officer of hussars, decorated in Africa, is it not?" continued the marquis.

"The same."

"Then it was for him, though not at his request, nor even with his knowledge, that I requested his promotion the other day in company with my dear young friend, Gerald de Senneterre, who loves the young man like a brother," added the hunchback, thoughtfully.

Then, turning to Ernestine, he continued:

"My child, it is your mother's devoted friend, almost a father, that speaks. All this seems very serious to me, and I tremble lest the natural generosity of your character should cause you to go too far. Have you engaged yourself to Olivier Raymond?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"And do you love him?"

"As profoundly as I esteem him, my dear M. de Maillefort."

"I can very well understand, my dear child, why, after the shocking revelations at the ball, night before last, you should have felt the need of sincere and disinterested affection more than ever. I can understand, too, why you should find a wonderful charm, and even see a certain guarantee of future happiness, in M. Olivier Raymond's generous offer, but this should not have prevented you from exercising more prudence. Remember how short your acquaintance with M. Olivier has been!"

"That is true, monsieur, but it did not take me long, when my eyes had once been opened, to realise the fact that your heart was full of the tenderest solicitude for me, and that Herminie was the noblest creature that ever lived, so you may be sure that I am no more deceived in M. Olivier."

"I hope you are right, my child, Heaven knows! This young man is Gerald de Senneterre's most intimate friend, which is a very strong recommendation, I must admit. Besides, before interesting myself in Gerald's protégé, as I feared his affection for a former comrade might have blinded him somewhat, I made numerous inquiries about M. Olivier."

"Well?" exclaimed Ernestine and Herminie, in the same breath.

"Well, the best proof of my satisfaction at the result of these inquiries was the fact that I brought the full force of an influence I rarely exert to bear on M. Olivier's advancement."

"Then why should you feel any apprehensions, M. de Maillefort?" urged Ernestine. "How could I have made a better choice? M. Olivier's birth is honourable, his profession honoured. He is poor, but am I not, alas! only too rich? And then think of my position as an heiress continually exposed to machinations like those you exposed and punished, night before last! Remember, too, that, in order to protect me from such shameless cupidity, you yourself aroused in me a distrust which has become well-nigh incurable. A prey henceforth to the dreadful thought that I am sought only for my wealth, whom can I trust? Is it strange that, under circumstances like these, I should appreciate disinterestedness and unselfishness? And where could I ever find greater disinterestedness than that of which M. Olivier has given convincing proof? For in the offer that he made me, when he believed me to be poor and unprotected, was it not he who had everything to give?"

There was a half smile on the lips of the marquis as he turned to Herminie and said:

"Your friend, the little embroideress, has quick wit and a ready tongue. There is a good deal of sense and justice in what she says, I must admit, and I should find it very difficult to prove that she is wrong."

"I think so, too," replied Herminie, "for though I have been trying to discover some objections to her keeping her promise, I can find none."

"Nor can I, my dear children," said the hunchback; "but, unfortunately, human reason is not infallible, neither does right always make might; besides, even if this should prove to be a suitable marriage for Ernestine, the consent of her guardian is necessary to this marriage, and with ideas like his, it is not at all likely that he will ever consent to such a union. Ernestine would consequently be obliged to wait several years. Nor is this all. M. Olivier will discover sooner or later that his little embroideress is the richest heiress in France, and from what you have said of him, as well as from what Gerald himself has told me of his friend's extreme sensitiveness in money matters, there is good reason to fear that M. Olivier will shrink from the possibility of being accused of mercenary motives in wedding so rich an heiress when he himself is poor; so, in spite of his love and gratitude, he may be capable of sacrificing everything to his scruples."

On hearing these words, which she felt were only too true, mademoiselle shuddered. A pang of real anguish pierced her heart, and she exclaimed, bitterly:

"Ah, my accursed wealth! Shall I never escape the torments it causes me!"

Then, in an entreating voice, and gazing at the hunchback with eyes swimming in tears, she added:

"Ah, M. de Maillefort, you were my mother's devoted friend, you love Herminie devotedly,—save me and save her! Come to our assistance. Be our guardian angel, for I feel that my life will be blighted for ever by the suspicions and the distrust you have awakened in my heart. The only chance of happiness left for me is to marry M. Olivier, and Herminie will die of grief if she does not marry M. de Senneterre, so once more I beseech you, my dear M. Maillefort, to take pity on us."

"Oh, Ernestine," cried the duchess, reproachfully, blushing scarlet in her confusion, "that secret was confided to you alone!"

"Gerald!" exclaimed the marquis, in his turn astounded by this revelation. "Gerald! is it possible that you love Gerald?" he continued, with a searching look at Herminie. "Then it was to this irresistible passion that he alluded when I was praising him yesterday for his generous conduct towards Mlle. de Beaumesnil. He told me, then, that he lived only for a young girl who was worthy of his adoration. Yes, I understand everything now, my poor, dear children, and I tremble for your future."

"Forgive me, oh, forgive me, Herminie," pleaded Ernestine, for her friend's tears were flowing fast. "Do not be angry with me for having betrayed your confidence. But in whom can we have any hope and confidence if not in M. de Maillefort? Who else can guide and comfort and sustain us in these trying hours? Alas! as he himself remarked just now, right does not make might. He admits that, in the trying position in which my accursed wealth places me, I could not have given my affections more wisely, and yet there are great, if not insurmountable, difficulties in the way of my marriage. It is the same with you, Herminie. M. de Maillefort is certainly convinced that there can be no happiness for you and for M. de Senneterre save in your union, which seems even more uncertain than mine."

"Ah, my children, if you knew what kind of a woman the Duchesse de Senneterre is! I told you the other day, Herminie, when you asked me about her. I understand your motive now. But I tell you now, as I told you then, that no woman ever lived who was more absurdly vain of her rank."

"And yet Herminie says she will never marry Gerald unless Madame de Senneterre comes and tells her that she consents to this marriage. This only shows a proper pride in Herminie, though. You think so, too, do you not, M. de Maillefort?"

"She has made that resolve? Ah, what a brave and noble-hearted girl she is!" exclaimed the marquis. "This is still another proof of the laudable pride that makes me love her so much. Most assuredly I approve her decision. I admire it, too, for such a resolve could be born only of a noble soul. I no longer wonder at Gerald's ardent devotion."

"You hear what M. de Maillefort says, Herminie," said Ernestine. "Are you angry with me now for having betrayed your secret?"

"No, Ernestine," replied the duchess, gently. "I blame you only for one thing, and that is for grieving M. de Maillefort by telling him of misfortunes which he cannot remedy."

"But why may he not be able to remedy them?" retorted Ernestine. "You do not know him. You do not know the great influence he exerts in the world,—how much noble-hearted people love and admire him, and how abjectly afraid cowards and evil-doers are of him. And, then, he is so good, so kind to all who are in trouble; he loved my mother so dearly!"

And as M. de Maillefort, overwhelmed with emotion, averted his face to conceal his tears, Mlle. de Beaumesnil continued, in even more beseeching tones:

"Oh, is it not true that you feel all a father's solicitude for us, M. de Maillefort? Are we not sisters in your eyes, and in the tenderness and attachment we feel for you? Oh, do not, I beseech you, in mercy, do not desert us!"

And Ernestine seized one of the hunchback's hands, while Herminie, involuntarily following her friend's example, possessed herself of the other, saying, in entreating tones:

"Ah, M. de Maillefort, you are our only hope!"

The hunchback was deeply affected. One of these young girls was the child of a woman he had loved devotedly, though secretly, for years.

The other, too, was, perhaps, her child, for very frequently the conviction that Herminie was Madame de Beaumesnil's daughter returned.

But however that might be, M. de Maillefort had received from this dying mother the sacred trust of watching over and protecting Ernestine and Herminie. He had sworn to fulfil this trust, and, unable to make even a pretence of concealing his emotion any longer, he clasped both the young girls passionately to his breast, and, in a voice broken with sobs, exclaimed:

"Yes, yes, my poor, dear children. I will do all the most loving of fathers could do for you!"

It is impossible to describe the touching scene and the eloquent silence that followed, which Ernestine, now radiant with hope, was the first to break, by exclaiming:

"Herminie, we are saved! You will marry M. Gerald, and I, M. Olivier!"

On hearing Ernestine's joyful exclamation, M. de Maillefort shook his head, and said, with a faint smile:

"One moment, young ladies, don't go and indulge in all sorts of wild hopes that will worry me almost as much as your despair. Let us look at the situation calmly and sensibly. All this excitement is not going to help matters; on the contrary, it unnerves one. One weeps and laments, or exults, as the case may be, and that is all it amounts to."

"But, M. de Maillefort, these are tears of happiness," replied Ernestine, wiping her eyes. "I have no reason to regret them."

"No, but they should not be indulged in again. They impair one's vision, and it is necessary to see our situation clearly, very clearly."

"M. de Maillefort is right," said Herminie. "Let us be calm and sensible."

"Yes, yes, we will!" cried Ernestine. "Sit down here between us, M. de Maillefort, and let us talk the matter over calmly and sensibly, as you say."

"Very well," replied the hunchback, seating himself on the sofa between the two girls, and taking a hand of each in his. "Which one of you shall we consider first?"

"Herminie," replied Ernestine, promptly.

"So be it," responded the marquis. "Very well, Herminie and Gerald love each other devotedly, and are worthy of each other, that is understood; but, with a pride that I both admire and approve,—because there is no possibility of either love or happiness without dignity,—Herminie will not consent to marry Gerald unless the Duchesse de Senneterre calls on her and gives her consent to this marriage. The question is, therefore, to devise a means of compelling this haughtiest of duchesses to make these overtures."

"But nothing is impossible to you, M. de Maillefort," said Ernestine, naïvely.

"Just hear this wheedler with her 'Nothing is impossible to you, M. de Maillefort,'" said the marquis, smiling. Then he added with a sigh: "Ah, my dear child, if you knew what hard things vanity and selfishness are to fight! And those two words describe Madame de Senneterre exactly. But though I am not the great necromancer you say, I shall have to devise some way of taming this two-headed monster, I suppose."

"Ah, if you can ever accomplish that feat, monsieur," said Herminie, "my whole life—"

"I count upon that, my child. Yes, I hope and trust that you will love me during your whole life, even if I should fail in what I am about to undertake, for in that case I believe I should be quite as unhappy as you are, and stand in almost equal need of consolation. Now it is your turn, my dear Ernestine!"

"It seems to me that my prospects are even gloomier than Herminie's," said Mlle. de Beaumesnil, sadly.

"I don't know about that, but I must warn you, my poor child, that I can do nothing for you until after I have satisfied myself beyond a doubt of M. Olivier Raymond's worth."

"Why, doesn't what you already know satisfy you, M. de Maillefort?"

"It is perfectly satisfactory so far as his life as a soldier is concerned, but as a man can be a very brave officer and a very bad husband, I shall make some further inquiries concerning him."

"But M. de Senneterre speaks very highly of M. Olivier, you say."

"Yes, my dear child, but a man may be an admirable friend and an excellent comrade, and yet make his wife very unhappy."

"How suspicious you are! You forget that M. Olivier thinks me a poor girl—and that—"

"That his gratitude, generosity, and love impelled him to offer you a more brilliant future than one in your supposed position had a right to expect, perhaps. It was a very generous and noble impulse, I admit, and a little while ago I was so touched by it that I allowed myself to become almost as enthusiastic as you and Herminie."

"And has your opinion changed, now?" asked Ernestine, anxiously.

"Now, my child, I judge not only with my heart but with my head; and reason tells me that, though M. Olivier's impulse was highly commendable, it was only an impulse. I do not doubt for an instant that M. Olivier will keep the promise he made you, and that he will act honourably in the matter, but I want to be sure—that is, as sure as one can be of anything in this world—that, in case M. Olivier married you, his whole life would harmonise with the impulse which I admire as much as you do."

Ernestine could not conceal a sort of sorrowful impatience as she listened to these wise and prudent words, and noting this fact, the marquis continued, in a tone that was both grave and affectionate:

"My poor child, the confidence you have in me, the affection I felt for your mother, the very interest I take in your future, all compel me to say this, though it may disappoint and grieve you. But I promise you that, if I find M. Olivier is worthy of you, I will devote myself body and soul to overcoming the obstacles that stand in the way of your marriage."

"Ernestine, we must trust M. de Maillefort implicitly, blindly," Herminie said to her friend. "The responsibility he assumes is so great, we must not hamper him in any way. Besides, instead of opposing the inquiries he intends to make, you should urge him to make them as searching as possible, for, believe me, they will only prove still more conclusively that M. Olivier is worthy of you."

"That is true, Herminie; and you, M. de Maillefort, will forgive me, I trust," said Mlle. de Beaumesnil. "I was wrong, but, alas! with my only chance of happiness at stake, you can perhaps understand my terror and my wretchedness at the thought that I may lose it."

"On the contrary, it is to make your chance of happiness more certain that I speak as I do. But even supposing that M. Olivier should be found to possess all the attributes we desire, it will, first of all, be necessary to persuade your guardian to consent to this marriage; then, what will prove an even more difficult task, I fear, we shall have to convince M. Olivier that he can, with honour, marry the richest heiress in France, inasmuch as he loved her when he thought her penniless and unprotected."

"In this, alas! I agree with you, M. de Maillefort," said Ernestine, despondently. "I, too, am afraid that M. Olivier will refuse to marry me. And yet this refusal would show such nobility of soul that, even though it made me miserable, I could not help admiring it. Alas, alas! what are we to do, M. de Maillefort?"

"I do not know, my dear child. I will think the matter over to-night, and try to devise some means of accomplishing our object. I have a vague, shadowy idea of one expedient," added the hunchback, thoughtfully. "Yes, why not? But I must reduce this chaotic mass of ideas to a little order first, and, above all, don't let us give way to despair."

"Do you think Ernestine might see M. Olivier again soon?" inquired Herminie.

"Not for several days."

"Oh, dear, what will he think of me?" sighed Mlle. de Beaumesnil.

"So far as that is concerned, Ernestine, you remember you told him that the relative with whom you were living was so peculiar that you would need several days to decide whether it had better be M. Olivier or Commander Bernard who should go to her to ask your hand in marriage."

"That is true."

"And this pretended relative is your governess, I suppose, my dear child?" said the marquis.

"Yes, monsieur."

"Can you rely upon her discretion?"

"Self-interest ensures that."

"That is a very important point, for there can be little or no chance of success in our undertaking without absolute secrecy," remarked the hunchback; "and I need not say, my dear Herminie, that even Gerald himself must not know that the little embroideress, about whom M. Olivier has often talked to him, is Mlle. de Beaumesnil."

"Alas! monsieur, it will be an easy matter for me to promise that, for I shall not see Gerald again until his mother comes to me, or, in other words, I shall never see him again."

"Courage, my child, courage!" said the hunchback. "I am not a very devout man, but I do believe in the God of good people, and that virtue is rewarded, even in this world. Courage, then! But to return to the subject of M. Olivier; my dear Herminie, if you see him, as you probably will, you must tell him that Ernestine is not very well. This will give me time to form my plans, for I only ask that you will give me one week, my dear children. If I have not brought these matters to a successful termination in one week, I never shall. Then it will be time to think of resignation and consolation, and you, my children, must admit, I think, that if you are obliged to give up all idea of these much desired marriages, your grief and disappointment will be much more endurable if you are together, than alone. Besides, I shall be left to you, and we three, together, can surely make a brave stand against misfortune."

"Ah, if I had to endure such a sorrow, deprived of Ernestine's friendship and yours, I believe it would kill me," murmured Herminie.

"Alas! my dear Herminie, how fraught with fears and anxiety this coming week will be!" exclaimed Ernestine. "But we shall at least see each other every day, shall we not? Or what is far better," exclaimed Mlle. de Beaumesnil, starting violently as a new idea suddenly occurred to her, "we need not be separated any more."

"What do you mean, Ernestine?"

"You must stay here with me from now on. Must she not, M. de Maillefort?"

"It would be a great happiness for me," answered Herminie, blushing, "but I cannot accept it."

The hunchback understood Herminie's feelings. She felt that it would be humiliating to accept an idle and luxurious life from the rich heiress; besides, Ernestine's proposal, even if it were accepted by the duchess, might injure M. de Maillefort's plans, and he said as much to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, who was as greatly surprised as chagrined by her friend's refusal.

"I think it might seriously interfere with my plans, my dear child, if your guardian and his family should discover your fondness for Herminie, for they would immediately institute an inquiry into the cause of this sudden intimacy with the young girl you had apparently met to-day for the first time, and the suspicious distrusts thus aroused might give me a great deal of trouble."

"We shall be obliged to resign ourselves to a separation, then, I suppose," said Ernestine, sadly; "but it would have been such a comfort to spend this week of anxiety and suspense with Herminie."

"I share your regret, Ernestine," said the duchess, "but M. de Maillefort knows what will further our interests better than we do; besides, my sudden disappearance would, perhaps, arouse M. Olivier's suspicions. It would be utterly impossible to give him any news of you, and last, but not least, my dear Ernestine, it will not do to forget that I support myself by my music lessons, and I could not remain idle for a whole week."

For an instant, Mlle. de Beaumesnil gazed at the duchess in a sort of bewilderment, not understanding how Herminie could think of working for her living now she had the richest heiress in France for an intimate friend; but remembering the young musician's delicacy and pride, Mlle. de Beaumesnil shuddered at the thought that she had, perhaps, been in danger of alienating her friend for ever by her thoughtless, though kindly meant proposal.

"True, my dear Herminie, I forgot all about your lessons," she replied. "You must not miss them, of course; but you will at least number me among your favourite pupils, and not let a day pass without coming. Won't you promise me that?"

"Oh, yes," replied Herminie, greatly relieved, for, as Ernestine had suspected, the duchess had trembled lest her friend should insist upon her acceptance of a hospitality which she regarded as humiliating.

"And now we can only hope that fate will prove propitious, my children," said the marquis, rising. "As for your manner towards your guardian, my dear Ernestine, let it be slightly cold and reserved. Remain in your own room as much as possible, but do not manifest any very bitter resentment towards these people. A quarrel might injure us deeply. Later we will see."

"By the way, M. de Maillefort," said Ernestine, "I think it might be well to inform you that Madame de la Rochaiguë, who is still under the impression that I intend to marry M. Gerald, wanted me to promise that I would see Madame de Senneterre to-morrow, but I asked for a few days for reflection."

"You did wisely, my child, but to-morrow you must formally announce to Madame de la Rochaiguë that you have decided not to marry Gerald. You need not give any explanation whatever. I will attend to the rest."

"I will follow your advice, monsieur. To-morrow, Herminie, I will make you both proud and happy by telling you how nobly and frankly M. de Senneterre behaved towards me. Did he not, M. de Maillefort?"

"His conduct was admirable. Gerald warned me in advance of his plan, and he kept his promise. But now you girls will be obliged to separate for awhile."

"Already!" cried Ernestine. "Let me at least keep Herminie until evening, M. de Maillefort."

"I can not remain any longer, unfortunately, Ernestine," said the duchess, trying to smile. "At five o'clock I have to give a lesson at the house of a M. Bouffard, whom M. de Maillefort knows, and I am obliged to be very punctual."

"I must submit then, I suppose," replied Mlle. de Beaumesnil, with a sigh, thinking what a drawback Herminie's occupation was to the pleasures of life; "but you will at least promise to come and see me to-morrow, will you not, Herminie?"

"Yes, yes," replied the duchess. "I shall await the morrow with quite as much impatience as you will, I assure you."

"Herminie," asked Mlle. de Beaumesnil, suddenly, "do you love me as much as when you believed me to be Ernestine, the little embroideress?"

"I love you even more, perhaps," replied the duchess, earnestly, "for Mlle. de Beaumesnil has retained the heart of Ernestine, the little embroideress."

The two girls embraced each other affectionately once again and then separated.

Two days after this conversation with Herminie and Ernestine, M. de Maillefort, after two long and serious consultations with Gerald, wrote to the Duchesse de Senneterre, asking her to see him that afternoon, and, his request being granted, the marquis presented himself at the appointed hour.

The marquis, warned by Gerald, was not surprised at the expression of bitter anger and chagrin on the face of Madame de Senneterre, for that very morning Madame de la Rochaiguë had informed the duchess that Mlle. de Beaumesnil, though she liked and admired M. de Senneterre very much, had no intention of marrying him.

At the sight of the hunchback, Madame de Senneterre's wrath blazed up still more fiercely, and she exclaimed, bitterly:

"You must confess, monsieur, that I am wonderfully generous!"

"In what way?"

"Am I not giving you the pleasure of coming to exult over the misery you have caused?"

"To what misery do you allude?"

"What misery?" exclaimed the duchess, wrathfully. "Is it not your fault that my son's marriage with Mlle. de Beaumesnil is broken off?"

"My fault?"

"Oh, I am not your dupe, monsieur, and it is to assure you of that fact that I consented to the interview you had the audacity to ask of me. I did not want to miss this opportunity to tell you face to face how much I hate and despise you."

"So be it, madame. It affords just as good a topic of conversation as any other, and you excel in this kind of discourse, I believe."

"M. de Maillefort will oblige me by reserving his insulting irony for some other occasion," retorted Madame de Senneterre, haughtily. "He would also do well to remember that he has the honour of speaking to the Duchesse de Senneterre."

"Madame la Duchesse de Senneterre will do me the honour to treat me with the consideration due me," replied the hunchback, sternly; "if not, I shall govern my words exactly by Madame de Senneterre's."

"Is that intended as a threat, monsieur?"

"As a lesson, madame."

"A lesson, to me?"

"And why not, may I ask? What, I who was your husband's oldest and most trusted friend, I who love Gerald as a son, I who have a right to the respect and esteem of every one,—do you understand, madame? to the respect of every one,—I whose birth is at least equal to yours (it is well to remind you of that, as you attach such an absurd importance to such trifles), I am to be greeted with insulting words and eyes flashing with anger; and yet I am not to remind you of what you owe to me and what you owe to yourself?"

Like all vain and arrogant persons who are not accustomed to the slightest contradiction, Madame de Senneterre was at first surprised and irritated, but afterwards, awed by this stern and sensible language, her anger giving place to a profound despondency, she replied:

"Ah, monsieur, you should at least make some allowance for the despair a mother naturally feels on seeing her son ruined for ever."

"Ruined?"

"Yes, and through you."

"Will you have the goodness to prove that?"

"I have heard of the wonderful influence you have recently acquired over Mlle. de Beaumesnil. My son, too, has more confidence in you than he has in his mother, and if you had been favourably disposed, this marriage, which had been virtually decided upon, would not have been suddenly broken off for no apparent reason. Yes, there is a mystery about all this which you only can solve. And when I think that Gerald, with his illustrious name, might be the richest landed proprietor in France, but for you, I am,—well, yes, I am,—the most wretched of women and mothers, and I positively weep with rage and chagrin, as you see, monsieur. You are satisfied now, are you not?"

For the proud Duchesse de Senneterre was indeed weeping bitterly.

Had it not been for the deep interest he felt in Gerald and Herminie, M. de Maillefort, not in the least affected by these absurd tears, would have turned his back on this haughty and avaricious woman, who naïvely believed herself the tenderest and most unfortunate of mothers simply because she had left no means untried to secure her son an immense fortune and because this scheme of hers had failed; but desiring above all things to ensure the successful termination of the undertaking entrusted to him, the marquis allowed this ebullition of grief, which did not touch him in the least, to pass unnoticed.

"The mystery you speak of is very simple, it seems to me. Gerald and Mlle. de Beaumesnil like and appreciate each other, but are not the least bit in love, that is all."

"What has love to do with the matter? Are there not plenty of marriages, besides those in royal families, made without love?"

"You must know that I have not requested an important interview with you merely to discuss a question which has been a matter of contention ever since the world began, viz., which is better, a marriage of convenience or a love match. We should never come to any agreement; besides, we have to deal with an accomplished fact: Gerald's marriage with Mlle. de Beaumesnil is now an impossibility, and you may as well make the best of it. That young lady's millions will never belong to your son, who, fine fellow that he is, cares nothing whatever about them."

"Yes, and thanks to such idiotic disinterestedness, or rather such shameful indifference to enhancing the splendour of their name, the scions of our most illustrious houses are lapsing into a disgraceful mediocrity. It was for this very reason that my father and my husband—by neglecting the means of reestablishing the fortune of which that infamous revolution stripped us—left my son and my daughters almost penniless. In the present condition of affairs, I have little chance of marrying off my daughters, while Gerald, if he were rich, could help his sisters pecuniarily, and they would thus be able to secure eligible partis. And you wonder that I am overwhelmed with despair at the ruin of my plans,—at the destruction of my hope of securing for my son a fortune suited to his rank!"

"I suppose that you love Gerald after your fashion. It is not a very commendable fashion, still you do love him, I suppose."

"Yes, I do love him—I love him as I ought to love him, too."

"We will see about that."

"What do you mean, monsieur?"

"In the first place, it is my duty to tell you that Gerald is deeply in love, and that—"

Madame de Senneterre sprang up out of her armchair, fairly purple with anger, and, interrupting the hunchback, exclaimed, vehemently:

"It is outrageous! I have suspected it all along! The mystery is cleared up now. It is my son who has refused, for that little Beaumesnil was wild about him. I could see that at the ball, and it is you, you, monsieur, who have had a hand in this abominable intrigue. I will never see my son again. He has no heart, no soul!"

The marquis had anticipated this explosion, and, without taking the slightest notice of it, continued:

"You interrupted me, madame. I was about to say that Mlle. de Beaumesnil, far from being in love with Gerald, entertains a very ardent affection for another man."

"The bold-faced hussy!" exclaimed the duchess with such naïveté that the marquis could not help smiling slightly, in spite of his anxiety.

"I also feel it my duty to inform you, madame, that Gerald is in love with a young girl who is in every respect worthy of his love."

"I beg, monsieur, that you will not say another word to me on the subject," said Madame de Senneterre, feigning a calmness which the trembling of her voice grievously belied. "All is ended between my son and me. He can love whom he pleases and marry whom he pleases, as he is old enough to dispense with my consent. Let him drag his name through the mire if he likes. From this day I shall resume my maiden name, and I shall proclaim high and low and everywhere why I blush to bear a name so dishonoured and degraded. It is to be hoped that I shall, at least, find some consolation in my daughters."

To these senseless ravings the marquis replied, quietly and gravely:

"Your son understands his duty towards you very differently from what you understand yours towards him. He will not even make the formal request for parental consent on the part of a person who is of legal age, which is usual in such cases. He will both honour and respect your wishes to this extent: he will not marry without your consent."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Madame de Senneterre, with a sardonic laugh. "He really does me this honour?"

"And, in spite of the profound love she cherishes for him, the young lady he loves will consent to marry him only upon one condition: that you, madame, go and tell this young lady that you consent to her marriage with your son."

"This, M. de Maillefort, must be only a jest."

"It is a matter of life or death for your son, madame."

The voice of the marquis and the expression of his face were so full of earnestness and authority, that Madame de Senneterre, impressed in spite of herself, cried in alarm:

"What do you mean, monsieur?"

"I mean that you must be a hard-hearted mother if you have not noticed your son's pallor and almost prostrated condition for several days past. On the day of the ball at which your son behaved so nobly, did not your physician tell you that, but for the heroic treatment to which he had resorted, you would have been in great danger of losing your son by brain fever?"

Gradually recovering from her alarm, and regretting that she had allowed herself to display even a momentary solicitude, Madame de Senneterre retorted, disdainfully:

"Nonsense! A brain fever can be cured by a few bleedings, monsieur, and one dies of love only in novels, and in very poor novels."

"That is a kind and motherly remark, madame, and to keep it company I will say to you, with equal coolness, that if, after you have had time to make proper inquiries and obtain all needful information concerning the young lady of whom I have spoken, you do not take the step expected of you—"

"Well, monsieur?"

"Well, madame, your son will kill himself—"

"Yes, as the disappointed lover does in all the thrilling melodramas," retorted Madame de Senneterre, with an even shriller laugh.

"I tell you that your son will kill himself, you poor fool!" exclaimed the marquis, terrible in his earnestness. "I tell you the last Duc de Senneterre will perish by his own hand like the last Duc de Bretigny!"

This allusion to a recent tragical event, which had been one of the chief topics of conversation at Madame de Mirecourt's ball, gave the duchess a severe shock. She knew Gerald's remarkable energy and determination of character, and consequently knew how much he must suffer from this hidden grief; besides, she had such a profound respect for M. de Maillefort, much as she disliked him personally, that she knew he would be incapable of threatening her with the possibility of Gerald's suicide if he was not really convinced that such a danger was imminent, so the now thoroughly frightened woman cried:

"What you say is terrible, monsieur. The house of De Senneterre become extinct by a suicide!"

The blind pride of race spoke more loudly than maternal love in this cry.

The proud woman shuddered first chiefly at the thought that the name of the Senneterres, of that great and illustrious house, might become extinct through an act that the society in which she moved considered a crime.

The marquis understood Madame de Senneterre's real feelings so well that he exclaimed:

"Yes; if you are as blind as you are pitiless, this illustrious name of Senneterre, often famous and always honoured, will be blotted out for ever in tears and in blood."

"M. de Maillefort, such an idea is horrible! I know my son is capable of going to almost any extreme—but no, no, I will not believe that. You make me shudder! And when I think of the grief and despair and shame of a family that sees its head end his life by his own rash act—hold—enough—enough—I should go mad!"

And passing her hand hastily across her brow, covered with big drops of cold sweat, Madame de Senneterre continued:

"I tell you, monsieur, that I cannot and will not think of such a thing. But who is this young woman you speak of? Though I am in mortal dread as to the choice Gerald has made, there is one thing that reassures me a little. It is that the young woman insists that I shall come and tell her that I consent to her marriage with my son. For her to dare expect such a concession from me, she must hold such a social position that I, at least, have no cause to fear an unworthy love on the part of my son."

"Gerald has placed his affections creditably, even nobly, madame. I have already had the honour of assuring you of this fact," responded the marquis, severely, "and usually what I say can be believed."

"That is true, monsieur. Your assurance should satisfy me on that point. It is not likely that I shall ever have another opportunity to make such a match as that which I dreamed of for my son; but if the birth and fortune of the young lady in question are satisfactory, and—"

But here the hunchback interrupted Madame de Senneterre by saying:

"The young lady in question is an orphan. She is a music teacher, and supports herself by giving lessons."

It is impossible to describe the expression of Madame de Senneterre's face as the words of the marquis fell upon her ear. Had she experienced an electric shock, the movement she made could not have been more convulsive.

"An adventuress, then! The wretched boy, to degrade himself like this!" she cried. "What a humiliation for me and my daughters!"

And as M. de Maillefort sprang up no less hastily to reply to Madame de Senneterre, the latter interrupted him by adding:

"And such a creature has the audacity to ask me—me to so degrade myself as to go to her, the—"

But Madame de Senneterre did not complete the sentence. She had fully intended to add an opprobrious epithet, but she burst into a shrill, almost frenzied, laugh instead.

A cold silence following this ebullition of rage, Madame de Senneterre placed a trembling hand on M. de Maillefort's arm, and said:

"My dear marquis, listen to me. If my unworthy son should come and stand there,—right before me, do you understand?—and say to me,'I will kill myself before your very eyes if you refuse your consent,' I should say, 'Kill yourself, then. I would rather see you dead than disgraced. I would rather your name should die out, than to see it perpetuated to your dishonour, mine, and that of your sisters.'"

Then seeing the marquis was about to protest, she added:

"M. de Maillefort, I am not in a passion, I am calm, and I am saying exactly what I mean. I am telling you exactly what I should do, and after the insulting demand of my son and his accomplice, it is no longer maternal love or even indifference I feel for him; it is contempt, it is hatred, yes, hatred, do you hear? Tell him so. All the affection I once felt for this scoundrel I shall now bestow upon my daughters."

"This woman would do what she says," thought the marquis, with a feeling of horror. "It is useless to insist further. Reason is no match for such blind obstinacy as this. This woman, as she says, would watch her son kill himself before her very eyes unmoved. This is a pride of race that amounts to the stupid ferocity of the brute. Poor Gerald! Poor Herminie!"

After a moment's silence, during which Madame de Senneterre sat positively panting with rage at this odious revelation which she could not yet fully make up her mind to believe, viz., that her son wished to marry a music teacher who supported herself by her own exertions, M. de Maillefort said, coldly, and exactly as if the foregoing conversation had never taken place:

"Madame, what do you think of the nobility and illustriousness of the house of Haut-Martel?"

At first Madame de Senneterre gazed at the hunchback with evident surprise, then she said:

"Really, monsieur, this question is most extraordinary."

"And why, madame?"

"What, monsieur, you see me crushed under the blow that has just struck me, or, rather, that you have just dealt me, unintentionally, no doubt," she added, with bitter irony, "and then ask me without rhyme or reason what I think of the illustriousness of the house of Haut-Martel."

"My question is less extraordinary, as you do not seem to think there can be the slightest ameliorating circumstance in the blow that has just overtaken you. So once more I ask, what do you think of the house of Haut-Martel?"

"There is not an older or more illustrious family in France, you most know very well, as you are closely connected with it on your father's side."

"I am now the head of that house, madame."

"You?" exclaimed Madame de Senneterre.

And strange to say the lady's acerbity of manner gave place to a sort of envious deference for the new representative of this powerful family.

"But I thought that the Prince Duc de Haut-Martel, who has resided on his estates in Germany since that idiotic revolution of 1830—"

"That Prince Duc de Haut-Martel is dead, madame, and as he had neither brothers nor children, and as I am his cousin-germain, I inherit his estates and title."

"Then this event must have occurred very recently."

"I received the first intimation of it through the Austrian ambassador, and last night I had an official confirmation of the fact."

"So you are now the Marquis de Maillefort, Prince Duc de Haut-Martel?" said Madame de Senneterre, with mingled admiration and envy.

"Precisely, and without troubling myself very much about it, as you see."

"But your position is magnificent," exclaimed this monomaniac, quite forgetting the son whose despair might end in suicide. "Why, you are now one of the greatest noblemen in France."

"Good Heavens! yes. My newly acquired dignities enable me to aspire to anything, do they not? And to think that only yesterday I was but a simple marquis! What a change to-day, is there not? Don't you find my hump a little smaller since you have heard that I am so great a nobleman?"

"One should no more sneer at rank than at religion, monsieur."

"Certainly not. There are plenty of other subjects for ridicule. But I forgot to tell you that the Prince Duc de Haut-Martel left me estates in Hungary which yield a yearly income of about fifty thousand crowns, free of all incumbrances."

"One hundred and fifty thousand francs! Why, though no one knows the exact amount of your fortune, you are supposed to be very rich already, monsieur," replied Madame de Senneterre, with a sort of jealous envy.

"I scarcely know the exact amount of my income, myself," said the hunchback, "for my tenants, poor souls! pay me only when they can do so without too great an effort; but even in the worst of times I can generally count upon at least sixty thousand francs a year, to say nothing of the fact—of course, this is little more than an empty honour—that the electors of the arrondissement in which my estates are located propose to do me the honour of making me their deputy, their former representative having recently died; so you see that wealth and honours are falling upon me thick as hail."

"Then you have an income of more than two hundred thousand francs, and are Prince Duc de Haut-Martel and—"

"Prospective deputy, besides. Don't forget that."

"Your position is certainly a very enviable one."

"Yes, and with my figure and appearance I can aspire to the most beautiful woman in the land, can I not? Say, what a pity it is that Mlle. de Beaumesnil is in love with a handsome young man! But for that, I might have married her myself."

A new thought suddenly occurred to Madame de Senneterre, and after a moment's reflection the avaricious creature, casting a keen glance at M. de Maillefort, said:

"I think I understand you, M. le marquis."

"Let me see if you do."

"The question you asked me just now as to what I thought of the house of Haut-Martel was intended to suggest a sort of compensation for the terrible disappointment my unworthy son has caused me."

"You are right, madame."

"And as you have unexpectedly become the head of an illustrious house, you do not want it to become extinct."

"There is some truth in that, also," replied the hunchback, not a little surprised at Madame de Senneterre's penetration, though he was far from suspecting the lady's real thought.

"Yes, I admit that I would not like the name to die out, madame," he added, after a slight pause.

"And as you know that only a carefully reared girl of noble birth would be capable of bearing this noble name as it should be borne, and of understanding the sacred obligations she would have to fulfil towards the man to whom she owed such a magnificent position, you are thinking of my eldest daughter,—and believe you can thus offer me an adequate compensation for the misery my son's insubordination has caused me."

"I! marry?" exclaimed the hunchback, even more revolted than surprised by Madame de Senneterre's heartless proposal.

But anxious to see how far the blindness, hardness of heart, and love of greed would carry this cruel parent, he responded with one of those half way refusals that seem to be made only in the hope of seeing them overcome.

"I think of such a marriage! Besides, even if I did, would there be any possibility of compassing it? Think of it, madame, at my age and deformed as I am, while your daughter Bertha is a charming girl of barely twenty. She would laugh in my face and she would do perfectly right."

"You are mistaken, monsieur," replied this incomparable parent, gravely. "In the first place, Mlle. de Senneterre has been reared in habits of respect and submission from which I feel sure she will never depart. Besides, she knows that she is poor, and that she would never be likely to attain another position to be compared with that you offer her."

"But again let me remind you that I am old and ugly and a hunchback besides."

"M. le marquis, my daughters have been brought up in such a way that they would not dare to so much as look at the husband I select for them until the marriage ceremony is over."

"A pleasant surprise you would give the poor child that married me!"

"I repeat, M. le marquis, that my daughters have not those lewd imaginations that are capable only of a carnal appreciation of a husband. If I tell my daughter my wishes, that will suffice."

"I am strongly inclined to tell this heartless, unscrupulous woman what I think of her," the hunchback said to himself; "but what should I gain by it? She is an egregious fool, and there is nothing for me to do but answer the fool according to her folly."

So seeing that Madame de Senneterre was awaiting his reply with keen anxiety, the marquis said:

"You said a few minutes ago, and very sensibly, I think, that one should no more speak lightly of rank than of religion, did you not?"

"Yes, M. le marquis."

"You will admit, too, probably, that it is equally wrong to treat marriage lightly."

"Certainly, M. le marquis."

"Then allow me to say that your desire to see your daughter Bertha Princesse de Haut-Martel would result in nothing more or less than a cruel mockery of religion, nobility of rank, and marriage,—three sacred things, as you call them."

"How is that, monsieur?"

"Mlle. de Senneterre would outrage all the laws of marriage and religion, or rather of nature and the Creator, which is even worse, by pledging love and fidelity to an old hunchback like me; and I, in turn, would bring disgrace and ridicule upon the nobility in general, and upon the houses of Senneterre and Haut-Martel in particular, by running any risk of perpetuating their illustrious line with a set of hideous little hunchbacks made in my image. They might serve as convincing proof of my wife's resignation and faithfulness, but they would certainly give the world a droll opinion of our great historic races."

"Really, M. le marquis—I—"

"You are going to cite Prince Eugène, possibly, as an example for me, and I ought, perhaps, to feel greatly flattered by the comparison, but it would not be well to impair the lustre of such rarities by multiplying them. I am extremely grateful to you for your kind offer, and Mlle. Bertha, believe me, will be equally grateful to me for having declined it. It depends entirely upon you, however, whether a union of our two powerful houses is realised or not, and also whether this income of two hundred thousand francs is allowed to go out of your family. I make haste to assure you that I am too thoroughly convinced of my own unworthiness to venture to lift my eyes to you, madame la duchesse," added the hunchback, with a low, though decidedly ironical bow. "In the first place I should make you the most detestable husband in the world, and then I have no inclination for marriage."

"It is hardly necessary to decline with such alacrity a proposition that has never been made to you," replied the Duchesse de Senneterre, rather spitefully. "You would oblige me by explaining yourself more clearly, however, for I never was good at solving enigmas. You are kind enough to speak of a union of our two houses, and of preventing your fortune from going out of my family, but I haven't the slightest idea how you propose to bring these things about."

"First permit me to say—not at all by way of reproach, understand—that you were not so very difficult to please in regard to lineage when Gerald's marriage with Mlle. de Beaumesnil was under consideration. Beaumesnil is not an aristocratic name by any means,—the grandfather of the late count, though a highly respected man, was simply M. Joseph Vert-Puis, a very wealthy banker."

"I know perfectly well that Mlle. Vert-Puis de Beaumesnil is a mere nobody, so far as birth is concerned, but—"

"But the numerous millions gild this recently ennobled plebeian, do they not? Very well, though that number of millions may have to be divided by four or five, what would you say to a notice couched in the following terms:

"M. le Marquis de Maillefort, Prince Duc de Haut-Martel, etc., etc., has the honour to inform you of the marriage of Mlle. Herminie de Haut-Martel, with M. le Duc de Senneterre."

Madame de Senneterre, surprised beyond expression, gazed wonderingly at the hunchback, who continued:

"The marriage contract stipulates that all male children that may be born of this marriage shall take the name of Senneterre-Haut-Martel, which I fancy will sound quite as well as Noailles-Noailles, Rohan-Rochefort, or Montmorency-Luxembourg, and as Mlle. Herminie Haut-Martel is an only child, and I am very frugal in my tastes, the young couple will have, up to the time of my death, one hundred and fifty thousand francs a year to sustain their exalted rank in a suitable manner."

"I really do not understand you at all, M. de Maillefort. You have never been married, and you have no daughter."

"No, but what is there to prevent me from adopting one, and thus giving her my name and fortune?"

"Nothing, of course. But who are the parents of this girl you contemplate adopting?"

"She is an orphan, and, as I told you before, she is a music teacher, and supports herself by giving lessons."

"What!" exclaimed Madame de Senneterre, "that same creature Gerald is crazy about?"

"Enough, madame," said the marquis, sternly. "I will not permit any one to speak in that way in my presence of a young lady whom I love and esteem sufficiently to give her my name."

"But what you say is so strange—"

"Strange or not, do you accept my proposal, yes or no?"

"Accept—monsieur? Accept for a daughter-in-law—a—a person who has given music lessons for a living?"

"Such sensitiveness on your part is truly heroic, doubtless, but I must call your attention to the fact that your son has little or nothing, and that Mlle. Herminie de Maillefort, though she has done such a scandalous thing as to earn an honest living, would bring M. de Senneterre two hundred thousand francs a year, and an alliance with the Haut-Martel family. I also take the liberty of reminding you that your son will probably kill himself if he does not marry this young lady. I know you would rather see him dead than married to some one beneath him, for the mother of the Gracchi is not to be compared with you, so far as stoicism is concerned, but it is none the less certain that the extinction of the house of Senneterre in such a fashion would cause a frightful scandal, which would, I think, be even worse than a mésalliance, especially when a Senneterre makes a mésalliance with a Maillefort de Haut-Martel."

"But, monsieur, every one will know that this young person is only your adopted child."

"All I can say in reply to that objection, madame, is that I, myself, could never have had so beautiful, so affectionate, and so truly noble a child."

"You know her well, then?"

"You certainly ask a singular question, madame. What! can you believe that I—being the man you know me to be—would give my name to a person who would not be an honour to that name?"

"But, monsieur," exclaimed Madame de Senneterre, in a tone of sorrowful reproach, "there can be no denying the fact that your adopted daughter has been a—a professional artiste."

"My adopted daughter, will, indeed, have the terrible misfortune to be and to have been a musical artiste of a high order. This is truly deplorable. I weep—I mourn—I bewail the fact. But, alas! you know the proverb, 'The prettiest girl in the world has some fault.'"

"And her patrons, do they belong to our set?"

"No, she is too proud for that."

"Mon Dieu! marquis, you place me in a very embarrassing position."

"I shall be able to put an end to this perplexity, I think. Listen attentively," continued M. de Maillefort, no longer in an ironical manner, but in firm, even stern tones. "I tell you plainly, once for all, that, if you refuse your consent, I shall go straight to Herminie, tell her exactly, what I intend to do for her, and prove to her that though, as a nameless and penniless girl, her dignity demanded the advances she asked from you, lest it might be said that she had forced herself upon the Senneterre family from ambitious or mercenary motives, as the adopted child of M. de Maillefort, who brings an illustrious name and a fortune of two hundred thousand francs a year to her husband, she need feel no such scruples. As Herminie adores Gerald, and my reasoning is perfectly just and sensible, I think, in fact I am sure, that she will be guided by me. Your son will make the usual formal application for your consent, and then there is nothing more to be said."

"Monsieur—"

"It will pain Gerald a good deal, I am sure, to have to dispense with your consent, for he loves you—blindly—that is the proper word to use in this connection; but in order to spare him all remorse, I shall repeat your words to him, madame: 'I had rather see him dead, than married to one beneath him.' Atrocious, or, rather, senseless words, when I, myself, assured you that Gerald could not find a wife more worthy of him than the one he has chosen!"

"You surely would not create discord between my son and me, monsieur."

"I shall certainly do everything in my power to ensure Gerald's peace of mind and happiness, since you are so stubborn and opinionated as to be willing to sacrifice both to your absurd prejudices—"

"That expression, monsieur—"

"These prejudices are not only absurd, madame, but after the adoption I propose, there is no longer even an excuse for them. One word more. If you have the good sense to prefer to live in peace and on affectionate terms with your son, and spare yourself, as well as him, a most deplorable scandal, you will go to Herminie's home to-morrow—any further inquiries being entirely unnecessary after what I have told you about her."

"I—monsieur—I, go first to the home of this young person?"

"You will be obliged to degrade yourself to that extent, the degradation being the more terrible, as Herminie, for certain reasons, must remain ignorant of my intention of adopting her until after your visit. So it will be to Mlle. Herminie, the poor music teacher, that you will go to give your consent to her marriage with your son."

"Never, monsieur, never will I so lower myself as to do this thing."

"But remember that there is nothing really humiliating about this step, and that no one will witness it but me, for I shall be there at the time."

"I tell you that it is impossible, monsieur. Never will I subject myself to such a humiliation."

"Then, instead of making your son adore you by consenting to a thing you cannot prevent, Gerald will know exactly what your affection is worth, and dispense with your consent entirely."

"But you cannot expect me to come to such an important decision in a moment, as it were."

"So be it, madame. I will give you until to-morrow noon. I will call then to hear your decision, and, if it conforms alike to the dictates of common sense and maternal love, I will precede you by a few moments to Herminie's home, in order that I may be there when you arrive. If you do not agree to this, I declare to you that your son will be married in less than six weeks."

Having said this, the marquis bowed low to Madame de Senneterre, and walked straight out of the room.

"I am satisfied that the egregious simpleton will do what I ask," he said to himself, "for her ambition and her avarice will both be so thoroughly gratified by this marriage that she will forget that objectionable feature,—the adoption. Besides, by one of those strange contradictions we so often see in poor, frail human nature, this woman, who in her obstinacy would drive her son to suicide, is as jealous of his affection as if she were the tenderest and most devoted of mothers; and, understanding how Gerald will adore her if she pretends to give a free consent to his marriage, she will go to Herminie, I am sure of it.

"But, alas! the game is only half won so far as I am concerned," mused the hunchback. "Will Herminie, who is so proud, consent to become my adopted child, when she knows the advantages which this adoption will give her, and which alone decided Madame de Senneterre to take the initiative? I am very much afraid that she will not. Did I not see how uncomfortable she felt when Ernestine insisted, not that she should share her wealth, but merely give up her lessons and remain with her? And yet, she perhaps knows that Ernestine is her sister, for I can doubt it no longer,—Herminie is, and knows she is, the daughter of Madame de Beaumesnil.

"Under these circumstances will Herminie, proud and sensitive as she is, accept my offer? I am by no means certain of it, though I told Gerald's mother so in order to frighten her. That, too, is the reason I desired that the marriage should be definitely arranged before I broached the subject of adoption at all. But I found that could not be managed. Madame de Senneterre would have seen her son kill himself in her presence rather than consent to a mésalliance with a poor girl without name or fortune. All I have been able to do is, perhaps, to induce Madame de Senneterre to make the desired advances to Herminie,—the poor orphan and music teacher. Afterwards we will see."

"I shall now go straight to M. de la Rochaiguë. Having done all I can for Herminie, I must now see what I can do for Ernestine. I shall have to take the baron unawares, for, in his exasperation against me as the fell destroyer of his hopes of a seat in the Senate, he will refuse to see me, but, with Ernestine's aid, I shall be able to surprise him, I think, and, fortunately for my plans, he is much more stupid than wicked."

And M. de Maillefort, reëntering his carriage, was driven to M. de la Rochaiguë's house.

M. de Maillefort, having asked to see Mlle. de Beaumesnil, was conducted straight to Ernestine's apartments.

"Have you some good news for Herminie?" cried Ernestine, hastening forward to meet him.

"A little, I think."

"How glad I am! Can I tell Herminie when I see her what you have just told me?"

"Yes; tell her to hope, and yet not to expect too much. And now, as you seem to have forgotten all about yourself, I will add that the result of my inquiries concerning M. Olivier has been eminently satisfactory."

"I was sure it would be."

"I even discovered one rather strange fact. It is that, while he was working during his leave so he might be able to assist his uncle, he went down to Beaumesnil, your estate near Luzarches, to help a contractor with his estimates there."

"M. Olivier? That was, indeed, strange."

"And this circumstance suggested a plan which I think may prove a good one, for now I think, with you, that you could not have made a wiser choice, but—"

"But what?"

"It is such an important matter that I have thought one more test might be advisable. What is your opinion on the subject?"

"Try it; I have no fears."

"Besides, you shall witness it yourself, my dear child. If M. Olivier withstands it, you will be the proudest and happiest of women, and there can be no further doubt of your future happiness. If, on the contrary, he succumbs, it will, alas! only be a fresh proof that the noblest natures sometimes yield to certain temptations. This test, too, will have another and very important result."

"And what is that?"

"After this test M. Olivier can not feel the slightest scruples about marrying the richest heiress in France, and you know, my dear child, that you have some very grave apprehensions on that score."

"Ah, monsieur, you are, indeed, our good angel!"

"Wait a little, my child. Don't praise me too soon. Now, one thing more. Didn't you tell me that there was a back stairway that led up to your guardian's rooms?"

"Yes, monsieur, several of his intimate friends, who are never formally announced, always make use of it mornings."

"Very well; I propose to play the part of an intimate friend myself, then, and give the baron a surprise. Show me the way, my child."

As they were passing through Madame Laîné's room, Ernestine paused and said to the hunchback:

"I have always forgotten to tell you how I managed to leave the house unobserved the night I went to Madame Herbaut's party, M. de Maillefort. That door you see over there opens upon another back stairway that leads down to the street. The door at the foot of it was nailed up a long time ago, but my governess succeeded in opening it, and it was through that door we left the house and entered it."

"Has this door been securely nailed up again?" inquired the hunchback, thoughtfully.

"My governess told me that she had fastened it securely on the inside."

"My dear child, your governess is an unprincipled woman. She assisted you in making your escape from the house and also favoured your long visits to Herminie. No matter how reprehensible your motives had been, she would have obeyed you just the same, so she is not to be trusted."

"I have no confidence in her, of course, M. de Maillefort, and, as soon as I can, I intend to pay her liberally, as I promised, and send her away."

"This door, which affords such easy access to your apartments and which is so entirely at this woman's disposal, seems to me a very bad thing," remarked the hunchback. "You had better tell your guardian to-day that you have discovered this door, and ask him to have it walled up as soon as possible, or else give you some other room."

"I will do as you say, monsieur, but what fears can you have on the subject?"

"I have no well-founded fears at all, my dear child. I consider the walling up of this door as, first, a matter of propriety, and subsequently as a matter of prudence. There is nothing in this to alarm you in the least. Now, au revoir. I am going to have a bout with your guardian, and hope to have some good news for you on my return."

A moment afterwards M. de Maillefort had reached the floor above. Seeing a key in the lock of the door in front of him, he opened this door, and, finding himself in a narrow passage, he followed this passage until he came to a second door, which he opened like the first and found himself in M. de la Rochaiguë's study.