Gerald greeted M. de Ravil with a cold politeness which did not disconcert his guest in the least, however.

"To what am I to attribute the honour of your visit?" asked Gerald, dryly, without sitting down himself or requesting his visitor to be seated.

The baron, apparently entirely indifferent to this cool reception, replied:

"M. le duc, I came to call your attention to a very promising business matter."

"I am not in business."

"Would you like to marry, M. le duc?"

"Monsieur," said Gerald, haughtily, "this question—"

"Excuse me, M. le duc, I called here in your interest, and necessarily, also, in my own. Will you consequently have the kindness to listen to me? What do you risk by doing so? I ask only ten minutes."

"I am listening, monsieur," replied Gerald, whose curiosity had been aroused by the baron's question.

"I ask once more, then, M. le duc: 'Would you like to marry?' I must have a reply before continuing the conversation."

"But monsieur, I—"

"Pardon me, I did not make my question explicit enough. Would you like to make a fabulously rich marriage, M. le duc?"

"Has M. de Ravil any particular person in view?"

"Possibly."

"But you are a bachelor and a society man. Why do you not marry the lady yourself?"

"I have no fortune, monsieur; my name is comparatively insignificant; my appearance by no means prepossessing. In short, there isn't the slightest chance of my making such a marriage, so I thought of you, M. le duc."

"I am greatly obliged to you for your generosity, monsieur, but before we go any further, permit me to ask you a rather delicate question. I would not like to wound your feelings, you know, but—"

"I'm not at all sensitive."

"I thought as much. Ah, well, what remuneration do you expect for your generous interest?"

"I ask one and a half per cent. of the dowry," answered the cynic, boldly.

And perceiving the disgust and contempt which his words had excited, the baron said, coolly:

"I thought I gave you clearly to understand that it was a purely business transaction."

"That is true, monsieur."

"Then what is the use of mincing matters?"

"None at all," replied Gerald, controlling himself; "so I will say very plainly that this charge of one and a half per cent. of the dowry seems to me quite reasonable."

"Yes, isn't it?"

"Certainly, but I must know to whom you think of marrying me, and how you will manage to bring the match about."

"You are very fond of hunting, I believe, M. le duc."

"Yes."

"And you are an adept at it, I am told."

"Yes."

"Well, when your pointer or your setter have made a sure stand, they have done their duty, have they not? The rest depends upon the accuracy of your aim and the quickness of your fire."

"If you mean by that, monsieur, that, when you have once told me there is a rich heiress in the market, your one and a half per cent. is earned, I—"

"Pardon me, M. le duc, I am too good a business man to come to you with any such proposition as that. In short, I stand ready to place you in a position which is not only admirable in every respect, but entirely inaccessible to any other person. Your own personal attractions and your illustrious name will easily do the rest."

"And this position?"

"You must know, M. le duc, that I am not green enough to tell you my secret before you have given me your word as a gentleman that—"

"M. de Ravil," said Gerald, interrupting the scoundrel whom he was strongly tempted to kick out of the house, "this jesting has lasted quite long enough."

"What jesting, M. le duc?"

"You must understand that I cannot consider such a proposition seriously. Wed under your auspices,—that would be a little too ridiculous."

"You refuse, then!"

"I have that honour."

"Reflect, M. le duc. Remember that saying of Talleyrand—"

"You quote Talleyrand very often."

"He is my teacher, M. le duc."

"And you do him honour. But to what saying of the great diplomatist do you refer?"

"This, M. le duc: 'One should always distrust one's first impulse, because it is usually a good one.' The saying is a wise one. Profit by it."

"Ah, monsieur, you little know how much truth there is in what you say, and how extremely apropos it is, so far as you are concerned."

"Indeed?"

"I accepted your counsel in advance, for if I had yielded to the first impulse which your proposition inspired, I—I should have—"

"Should have done what, M. le duc?"

"You are too shrewd not to suspect what it was, my dear baron, and I am too polite—to tell you—in my own house."

"Pardon me, M. le duc, but I have no time to waste in guessing riddles. So you refuse my offer?"

"Yes."

"One word more, M. le duc. I feel it my duty to warn you that to-night it will be too late,—in case you should change your mind,—for I have somebody else to put in your place. I will even admit that I thought of this other person first, but, upon reflection, I decided that you would have a much better chance of success than the other man. To make the match and get my one and a half per cent. is what I am after, so if you decline my offer, I shall return to my first combination."

"You are certainly a very cautious man, my dear baron, and it is a relief to know I shall not have the chagrin of seeing you lose, by reason of my refusal—for I still refuse—the honest gains you are endeavouring to secure by such honourable means. But are you not afraid that I may be so indiscreet as to noise your new industry abroad?"

"I should be only too delighted, M. le duc. Such a revelation would be a splendid advertisement for me, and bring me hosts of clients. Au revoir, then, M. le duc. I shall be none the less at your service another time."

With a low bow to Gerald, the baron left the room as cool and unconcerned as he had entered it, and wended his way towards the Rue de la Madeleine, where his friend, Mornand, lived.

"This dukeling, doubtless, suspected that Mlle. de Beaumesnil is the lady in question, and means to rob me of my profits by winning the prize without my assistance," the cynic said to himself as he walked along. "It is contemptible in him, but he hasn't got her yet, and he won't get her without a pretty hard fight, that is certain. But it is a great pity! The fellow is a duke, and handsome and clever, too. I was sure of success with him, and now I've got to fall back on that ass, Mornand. I was wise not to say anything about my intentions in relation to the Duc de Senneterre, to that old sneak, Rochaiguë. There was plenty of time to do that, if this handsome gosling responded to my call, as well as to take back all I had said in Mornand's favour, and give the necessary instructions to that old female rake of a Laîné, the governess. Whatever I want done, she will do, and she can be of incalculable assistance to me—self-interest will ensure her devotion and prudence. Fortunately, too, I have managed to get on the right side of Rochaiguë, so now I have nothing to do but state the case to Mornand, who must be waiting very impatiently to hear the result of my interview with the baron."

Pursuing this train of thought, M. de Ravil had reached the corner of the Rue Champs Élysées, where he had first met Herminie when the latter was on her way to the house of Madame de Beaumesnil.

"It was here I met that young girl on the day of Mornand's duel with the hunchback," Ravil said to himself. "She spent the night at the Hôtel de Beaumesnil, and the next day I ascertained from the servants that she was a singing teacher, and lived on the Rue de Monceau in the Batignolles. I've haunted that locality, but have never been able to catch a glimpse of her. Why the devil that pretty blonde took such a hold on me I can't imagine! If I had my percentage of the little Beaumesnil's dowry I would certainly gratify my fancy for that pretty musician, who carries herself like a duchess, in spite of her shabby attire. I am quite sure she wouldn't decline my offer of a neat little establishment, for she must be nearly starving on her music lessons. Now I must set to work to stir up Mornand. He is stupid, but perseveres when you once get him started. Rochaiguë is all right, so our chances are good."

And Ravil entered the abode of his intimate friend.

"Well!" exclaimed M. de Mornand, as soon as he saw Ravil enter his modest study filled with huge piles of printed reports and all sorts of communications from members of the Chamber of Deputies; "well, have you seen M. de Rochaiguë?"

"Yes, I have seen him, and everything looks very promising."

"You may rest assured that I shall never forget your kindness in the matter. It is evident that it is quite as much a matter of friendship as of money with you, and I am all the more grateful from the fact that your heart is not supposed to be particularly vulnerable."

"It is vulnerable enough to you, and that is all that is necessary in the present instance."

"And the governess, have you spoken to her?"

"Not yet."

"Why not?"

"Because several little matters must be settled between us. I'll explain what they are presently; besides, there is no hurry. Madame Laîné, the governess, will do whatever I wish, and whenever I wish it done."

"Whatever did Rochaiguë say? Is he satisfied with the information he has secured in regard to me. Have my colleagues and political supporters spoken a good word for me? Do you think—?"

"You give me no chance to answer any of your questions."

"But you see ever since the possibility of this marriage first occurred to me—and I have good reason to remember the date, for that ridiculous duel with that miserable hunchback will always remind me of it," added M. de Mornand, with a bitter smile—"ever since the possibility first occurred to me, as I said before, this marriage has been a fixed idea with me. Situated as I am, it means more than wealth to me,—power—the highest diplomatic positions—will all be within my reach."

"Have you finished?"

"Yes, yes, I am listening."

"That is fortunate. Very well, all the information M. de la Rochaiguë has received corroborates what I had already told him. He is firmly convinced that you will attain the position of minister or ambassador sooner or later, but that the time would be greatly hastened by your marriage with Mlle. de Beaumesnil, for men who are immensely rich are preferred for such positions, their wealth being considered a guarantee against all sorts of villainies. The good man is also certain that, if he brings about your marriage with his ward, you will as soon as you rise to power have him made a peer of France, for if persons who are hung could be restored to life, this man would willingly be hung to secure a seat in the Luxembourg. It is an infirmity, a positive mania with him, and you may rest assured that I have made the most of it."

"If he brings about the marriage, his elevation to the peerage is assured. He has been president of one of the commissions for years, and I will nominate him at once."

"He hasn't the slightest doubt of it, and, being an old-fashioned sort of a man, he relies upon your promise, and is willing to do anything in his power to further your interests with his ward at once."

"Bravo! and Mlle. de Beaumesnil, what does he say about her? Being so young and so entirely alone in the world, she isn't likely to offer much opposition, so I should think he would feel pretty confident of success."

"He never saw her until last evening, you recollect, but, thanks to a few judicious questions, he fancies he has been able to discover that this young woman is strongly inclined to be ambitious, and that her head would be quite turned by the prospect of marrying a future minister or ambassador, so she could have a crowd of other women under her feet."

"That is truly providential!" cried M. de Mornand, almost beside himself with joy. "And when can I see her?"

"I have an idea about that, but I concluded to say nothing to Rochaiguë on the subject until after I had spoken to you."

"Well, well, let us hear the idea!" said M. de Mornand, rubbing his hands, jubilantly.

"In the first place, you must understand that you are not handsome, that you are much too fat, that you have entirely too large an abdomen, and anything but a distinguished air. Pardon my sincerity, it is a friend who speaks."

"That is all right!" responded Mornand, trying hard to conceal the annoyance which his friend's plain speaking caused. "Between friends one can say and hear anything."

"That is an excellent maxim. I will therefore add that you are neither attractive, clever, nor good-tempered, but fortunately you have, or seem to have, a very considerable amount of political tact. You have made a careful study of the best means of corrupting consciences; you were born a corrupter as one is born a singer. Moreover, you are endowed with an eloquence of the continuous flow sort, capable of extinguishing and bewildering the best orators—on the other side. In a drawing-room you are heavy, clumsy, and awkward, like all big men; but in the tribune, with the railing concealing your abdomen, and your chest swelling out majestically under your embroidered coat, you are quite imposing, and can even be said to have some pretensions to good looks."

"Of what earthly use is all this?" retorted Mornand, impatiently; "you know very well that we politicians, we men of mark, care nothing in the world about being considered handsome."

"Oh, that is all nonsense! Don't interrupt me. I was about to say that so much depends upon a first impression that it is by all means advisable that you should appear before Mlle. de Beaumesnil in your most attractive guise, so you may fascinate and magnetise her, so to speak. Do you understand?"

"That is an excellent idea, but how is it to be managed?"

"You are to make a speech three days hence in the Chamber, are you not?"

"Yes, upon the cod fisheries,—a speech full of dry statistics."

"Ah, well, you must be flowery, poetical, pathetic, pastoral, anything but statistical, and this is an easy matter if you will only confine yourself to one side of the question. You can talk of the fishermen and their interesting families, the surf that breaks in thunder upon the beach, the pale moonlight on the dunes, our gallant navy, and all that kind of stuff."

"But I have considered the question from a purely financial point of view."

"Then tear up that speech and write another, for you must devote all the powers of your eloquence to dazzling the little Beaumesnil."

"What on earth do you mean?"

"Listen to me, innocent! Rochaiguë shall be notified, and day after to-morrow the young lady will hear everybody around her saying: 'On Thursday the eloquent M. Mornand, the future minister, is to speak in the House of Peers. All Paris will be there. They are issuing tickets of admission, for when M. de Mornand speaks it is an event!'"

"I understand. You are certainly nothing more or less than a genius, Ravil!" exclaimed M. de Mornand.

"M. de la Rochaiguë will naturally inquire if Mlle. de Beaumesnil would not like to attend the session, and we will arrange it so that Rochaiguë will amuse the girl with things outside until the time comes for you to ascend the tribune and unloose the fountains of your eloquence. I will then run out and warn the guardian, who will come in with his ward to witness your triumph."

"Admirably planned!"

"And if you can organise a claque from among your colleagues to interlard your speech with exclamations of 'Good! Bravo! Admirable!' our success is assured."

"The plan is admirable, as I said before. There is but one thing that worries me."

"And what is that?"

"Why, as soon as my speech is ended that fool Montdidier will begin to contradict all I said. He isn't much of a politician, and he is not at all practical, but he's as witty and sarcastic as the devil, and doesn't hesitate to say aloud what other people scarcely dare to think in their most secret hearts. If he should begin that before Mlle. de Beaumesnil—"

"Oh, you need have no fears on that score. As soon as you have finished your speech, and while you are receiving the congratulations of your colleagues, we will exclaim: 'A magnificent effort, truly! He is a Mirabeau, a Fox, a Sheridan, a Canning! It is not worth while to remain any longer. There will be nothing worth listening to after that!' So we will hurry out with the girl, after which Montdidier can ascend the tribune and tear you to pieces and ridicule you as much as he likes. But there is another means which I have not mentioned before,—an effectual means which I have reserved until the last, but which will not only win you the prize, but make it possible for you to retire from political life if you like, and also to tell Rochaiguë in so many words that you cannot make him a peer of France, for, thanks to a brilliant idea that has occurred to me, the baron will not only do everything in his power to further your marriage, but you will also have Madame de la Rochaiguë and her sister-in-law on your side, though the most we can hope for now is that they will remain neutral."

"Then why do you not employ this means, and at once?"

"I have hazarded a few words, thrown out a few hints, but I have ventured nothing decisive."

"And why not?"

"You see I am not positive that—that you will like it. You might have scruples—and yet the most honest and highly respected men, even kings themselves—"

"Kings themselves? May I be hanged if I have the slightest idea what you are driving at."

"But men are sometimes so absurdly sensitive on the subject."

"Sensitive?"

"Still, one is not responsible for it. Can one fight against nature?"

"Against nature? Really, Ravil, you must be losing your wits. What do you mean by all this?"

"You are fortunate, too, inasmuch as appearances are in your favour. You are stout, you have rather a shrill voice, and scarcely any beard—"

"And what of that?"

"You don't understand me?"

"No."

"And he calls himself a politician?"

"What the devil do you mean by prating about my shrill voice, my sparse beard, and my political astuteness?"

"Mornand, you make me doubt your sagacity. Think, what did you say to me only day before yesterday concerning the marriage of the young Queen of Spain?"

"Day before yesterday?"

"Yes, that state secret, you know."

"Hush, hush!"

"Oh, you needn't be afraid,—I shall be as silent as the grave. Do you recollect now?"

"Yes, I told you that if we could only marry a French prince to the sister of the Queen of Spain, it would be one of the most brilliant of diplomatic triumphs to give the aforesaid queen, for a husband, a prince who offered sufficient guarantees—through his antecedents—that the queen would never have any children. The throne would then pass eventually into the possession of her sister's children, that is to say, into the possession of French princes. A magnificent combination," added the future minister, enthusiastically. "It would be a continuation of the policy of the Great Monarch!"

"Well, the illustration is apt. Profit by it," retorted Ravil, shrugging his shoulders.

"What do you mean?"

"Answer me this: Who are Mlle. de Beaumesnil's only remaining relatives?"

"M. de la Rochaiguë, his sister, and, after them, M. de la Rochaiguë's daughter, who is married and resides in the provinces."

"Exactly; so if Mlle. de Beaumesnil should die without issue—?"

"It is the Rochaiguë family that would inherit the fortune. That is as plain as daylight. But what the devil are you driving at?"

"Wait; now suppose that the Rochaiguë family can persuade Mlle. de Beaumesnil to marry a man who can furnish those same guarantees,—those same reassuring antecedents you spoke of as desirable in the Queen of Spain's husband? Would not the Rochaiguës find it greatly to their interest to bring about a marriage that would ensure them the possession of their young relative's wealth at some future day?"

"I understand, Ravil," said M. de Mornand, thoughtfully, and as if deeply impressed by the grandeur of the scheme.

"Tell me, then, are you willing that I should pose you before the eyes of the Rochaiguës as a man (except for royal lineage) perfectly adapted to be the husband of a Queen of Spain who has a French prince for a brother-in-law? It will ensure you the support of the baron's wife and sister, remember."

After a prolonged silence, the Comte de Mornand said, with a both diplomatic and majestic air:

"De Ravil,—I give you carte blanche."

Near the close of the day in which Ernestine de Beaumesnil had unconsciously been the object of so much avaricious envy, and of so many more or less perfidious machinations, the young girl was alone in one of her sumptuous apartments, awaiting the dinner hour.

The richest heiress in France was far from being beautiful or even pretty. Her high forehead, prominent cheekbones, and rather long chin imparted considerable irregularity to her features, but this was soon forgotten in the charm of the young girl's face and expression; for the forehead, fair as alabaster, and surrounded with a wealth of rich chestnut hair, surmounted blue eyes of infinite sweetness, while rich scarlet lips, pearl white teeth, and a smile that was both ingenuous and melancholy seemed to implore forgiveness for the imperfections of the face.

Ernestine de Beaumesnil, who was now only sixteen, had grown very rapidly, so, although her tall figure was perfectly straight and symmetrical, the young girl, who had but just regained her health, still held herself slightly bent, an attitude which made the graceful lines of her remarkably beautiful throat all the more noticeable.

In short, antiquated and common as the comparison is, the expression, a lily bending upon its stem, described Ernestine de Beaumesnil's appearance exactly.

Poor orphan, crushed by the sorrow which her mother's death had caused her!

Poor child, overwhelmed by the, to her, crushing weight of her colossal wealth!

Strange contrast, indeed! It was pity, an even tender pity which the face and eyes and attitude of this heiress of almost royal wealth seemed to invoke!

The plain black dress which Ernestine wore enhanced the remarkable brilliancy of her complexion; but as she sat there with her hands folded upon her knees, and her head bowed upon her breast, the young orphan looked very sad and thoughtful.

It was half past five when the girl's governess stole softly into the room and said:

"Will mademoiselle see Mlle. de la Rochaiguë?"

"Certainly, my good Laîné," replied the girl, startled out of her reverie. "Why doesn't Mlle. de la Rochaiguë come in?"

The governess went out and returned almost immediately, followed by Mlle. Helena de la Rochaiguë, who made two profound and very ceremonious bows, which the poor child instantly returned, surprised and pained to see a woman of Mlle. Helena's age approach her with such obsequiousness.

"I thank Mlle. de Beaumesnil for having kindly granted me a moment's conversation," said Mlle. Helena, in a formal but extremely deferential tone, making another low bow, which Ernestine returned as before, after which she said, with evident embarrassment:

"I, too, have a favour to ask of you, Mlle. Helena."

"Of me? How glad I am!" exclaimed M. Macreuse's protectress, quickly.

"I beg you will have the goodness to call me Ernestine instead of Mlle. de Beaumesnil. If you knew how it overawes me, mademoiselle."

"I feared I should displease you, mademoiselle, by being more familiar."

"Once more I beseech you to say 'Ernestine' and not mademoiselle. Are we not relatives? And after a little, if you find I am deserving of your love, you will say 'My dear Ernestine,' will you not?"

"Ah, my affection was won the moment I saw you, my dear Ernestine," replied Helena, with effusion. "I could see that all the Christian graces, so adorable in one of your years, flourished in your heart. I will not speak of your beauty, though it is so charmingly spirituelle in its type, for you look like one of Raphael's madonnas. Beauty," continued the devotee, casting down her eyes, "beauty is a fleeting gift and valueless in the eyes of the Saviour, while the noble qualities with which you are endowed will ensure your eternal salvation."

Overwhelmed by this avalanche of extravagant praise, the orphan did not know what to say in reply, and could only stammer a feeble protest:

"I do not deserve such praise, mademoiselle," she said, "and—and—"

Then, well pleased to discover a means of escaping this flattery which made a singularly unpleasant impression upon her in spite of her inexperience, she added:

"But you said you wished to ask me something, did you not, mademoiselle?"

"Yes," responded Helena, "I came to ask your wishes in regard to service to-morrow."

"What service, mademoiselle?"

"Why, the holy office we attend every day."

Then, seeing that Ernestine evinced some surprise, Mlle. Helena added, sanctimoniously:

"We go every day to pray an hour for the souls of your father and mother."

Until then the young girl had never had any fixed hour to pray for her father and mother. The orphan prayed nearly all day; that is to say, almost every minute she was thinking with pious respect and ineffable tenderness of the parents whose loss she so deeply deplored. Now, scarcely daring to decline mademoiselle's invitation, Ernestine sadly replied:

"I thank you for the kind thought, mademoiselle. I will accompany you, of course."

"The nine o'clock mass would be most suitable, I think," said the devotee, "and that is said in the Chapel of the Virgin, for whom you have a special preference, I think you remarked last evening, Ernestine."

"Yes, mademoiselle, every Sunday in Italy I attended mass in the Chapel of the Madonna. She, too, was a mother, so it seemed most fitting that I should address my prayers for my mother to her."

"They will certainly prove efficacious, Ernestine, and as you have commenced your devotions under the invocation of the mother of our blessed Saviour, it would be well to continue them under the same protection, so we will perform our devotions in the Chapel of the Virgin every morning at nine o'clock."

"I will be ready, mademoiselle."

"Then will you authorise me to give the necessary orders so your carriage and servants will be ready at that hour?"

"My carriage,—my servants?"

"Certainly," said the devotee, with emphasis. "Your carriage, with your own coat of arms emblazoned upon it, and draped in mourning. One of the footmen will follow us into the church, carrying a black velvet bag containing our prayer-books. You know, of course, that is the custom followed by all people of fashion and position."

"Forgive me, mademoiselle, but I really do not see the use of so much pomp. I go to church only to pray, so can we not go afoot? The weather is so delightful at this season of the year."

"What an admirable example of modesty in the midst of opulence, and simplicity in the midst of grandeur!" cried the devotee. "Ah, Ernestine, you have indeed been blessed by the Saviour. Not a single virtue is lacking. You possess the rarest of all, saintly, divine humility,—you who are, nevertheless, the richest heiress in France."

Ernestine gazed at Mlle. Helena with increasing astonishment.

The artless girl did not feel that she was expressing any remarkably laudable sentiments in saying that she preferred to walk to church on a delightful summer morning; so her surprise increased on hearing the devotee continue to laud her to the skies in almost ecstatic tones.

"The grace of Heaven has indeed touched your heart, my dear Ernestine," she exclaimed. "Yes, yes, everything indicates beyond a doubt that the Saviour has blessed you by inspiring you with the most profoundly religious sentiments, by giving you a taste for an exemplary life, spent in the exercise of a piety which does not forbid those harmless diversions which may be found in society. May God protect and watch over you, my dear Ernestine, and soon, perhaps, he will give you a still more unmistakable sign of his all-powerful protection."

The loquacity of the usually silent and reserved devotee was interrupted by the appearance of Madame de la Rochaiguë, who, less discreet than her sister-in-law, entered unannounced.

The baroness, greatly surprised to find Ernestine tête-à-tête with Helena, eyed the latter rather suspiciously, but the devotee assumed such a vacant and sanctimonious expression that the lady's suspicions were instantly dispelled.

The orphan rose and advanced to meet Madame de la Rochaiguë who, bustling in, bright and sparkling and smiling, said to the girl in the tenderest manner, seizing both her hands:

"My dearest child, I have come—if you will permit me—to keep you company until the dinner hour, for I am really jealous of my dear sister-in-law's good fortune."

"How very kind you all are to me, madame!" replied Ernestine, grateful for the kind attentions of the baroness.

Helena rose to go, and, with the intention of anticipating any possible question Madame de la Rochaiguë's curiosity might prompt, said to the young girl:

"To-morrow morning at nine o'clock, that is understood, is it not?"

Then, after an affectionate nod of the head to the baroness, Helena departed, escorted to the door by Mlle. de Beaumesnil.

As she was returning to Madame de la Rochaiguë, that lady drew back a few steps in proportion as Ernestine approached, and said to her, in tones of tender reproach:

"Ah, my dear, sweet child, you are incorrigible!"

"And why, madame, do you say that?"

"I am terribly, pitilessly, brutally plain-spoken as I have told you. It is one of my greatest faults, so I shall scold you, scold you every day of your life, if you don't hold yourself straighter."

"It is true, madame, though I certainly try my best not to bend over so."

"But I shall not allow it, my darling child. I shall show you no mercy. What is the use of having such a lovely figure if you do not show it off any better? What is the use of having such a charming face, with such delicate features, and such an air of distinction, if you keep your head always bowed?"

"But, madame!" exclaimed the orphan, no less embarrassed by these worldly eulogiums than by those which the devotee had lavished upon her.

"Nor is this all," continued Madame de la Rochaiguë, with affectionate gaiety. "I have a good scolding in store for that excellent Madame Laîné. You have beautiful hair, and you would look a thousand times better if you wore it in curls. The carriage of your head is naturally so graceful and distinguished,—when you hold yourself erect, I mean of course,—that long curls would be wonderfully becoming to you."

"I have always worn my hair in this way, madame, and have never thought of changing my style of coiffure, it being, I confess, a matter of very little consequence to me."

"And that is very wrong in you, my dearest, for I want you to be attractive, very attractive. I am so proud of my charming ward that I want her to outshine everybody, even our greatest beauties."

"I could never hope to do that, madame," replied Ernestine, with a gentle smile.

"But you must and shall, mademoiselle," laughingly replied the baroness. "I want you to understand, once for all, that my ambition for you knows no bounds. In short, I mean that you shall be considered the prettiest and most charming of young girls, as you will by and by be known as the most elegant of women. It is true I saw you first only yesterday, but from certain traits and tendencies which I have noticed in you, I am sure, as I remarked just now, that you were born to be a brilliant star in the fashionable world."

"I, madame?" exclaimed the orphan, wonderingly.

"Yes, I am positive of it, for to be the rage it is not absolutely necessary to possess beauty or wealth or aristocratic lineage, or to be a marquise or a duchess, though it must be admitted that this last title aids one very materially. No, no, the one essential, I assure you, is a certain je ne sais quoi! You have it; it is the easiest thing in the world to discern it in you."

"Really, madame, you amaze me," exclaimed the poor child, utterly abashed.

"That is very natural, for you, of course, cannot understand this, my dear child; but I, who am studying you with the proud but jealous eye of a mother, do understand it. I can foresee what you will become, and I rejoice at it. No life can be half as delightful as that of one of society's favourites. Queen of every fête, her life is a continual enchantment. And, now I think of it, to give you some idea of the world of fashion over which you are certainly destined to reign some day, I will take you to the races in the Bois de Boulogne, where you will see the crême de la crême of Parisian society. It is a diversion entirely compatible with your mourning."

"Excuse me, madame, but such crowds always frighten me, and—and—"

"My darling child!" exclaimed the baroness, interrupting her ward, "it is useless to oppose me. I am the most obstinate creature in the world. Besides, I insist upon being treated as well as my good sister-in-law. By the way, my dear, tell me right here and now what you two have been plotting to do so early to-morrow morning."

"Mlle. Helena wishes to take me with her to church, madame."

"She is right, my dearest child. One should never neglect one's religious duties; but nine o'clock—that is frightfully early. Women of fashion never go before noon; then one at least has time to make a handsome morning toilet, and one also meets many of one's acquaintances there."

"I am in the habit of rising early, madame, and as Mlle. Helena seemed to prefer going at nine o'clock, it made no difference to me."

"My dear child, I told you a little while ago that I should be appallingly frank with you."

"And I shall thank you very much for it, madame."

"Of course, you ought not to be proud and arrogant because you are the richest heiress in France, but though you should not abuse your power to impose your wishes and caprices upon others, there is certainly no need of your going so far as to gratify the caprices of others. Do not forget that your immense wealth—"

"Alas! madame," said Ernestine, unable to repress two big tears that rose to her eyes and then rolled slowly down her cheeks, "on the contrary, I am doing my very best to forget this wealth, for it reminds me that I am an orphan."

"My poor dear little darling!" exclaimed Madame de la Rochaiguë, embracing Ernestine effusively, "how angry I am with myself for having unintentionally grieved you. Dry those lovely eyes, I beg of you. It makes me wretched to see you weep!"

Ernestine wiped away her tears, and the baroness continued, affectionately:

"Come, my child, you must be brave and sensible. Of course it is a terrible, an irreparable misfortune to be an orphan, but as the misfortune is irreparable you should make the best of it, and say to yourself that you at least are blessed with some devoted relatives and friends, and that, though the past is sad and gloomy, the future may be most brilliant."

As Madame de la Rochaiguë was thus consoling the orphan, a deprecating rap was heard at the door.

"Who is it?" inquired the baroness.

"Mlle. de Beaumesnil's majordomo, who solicits the honour of throwing himself at her feet."

Ernestine evinced so much surprise that the baroness said, smilingly:

"It is only one of M. de la Rochaiguë's jokes. It is he who is at the door."

Mlle. de Beaumesnil also tried to smile as the baroness said, in a loud voice:

"Come in, M. majordomo, come in!"

Whereupon the baron entered, showing his long teeth more than ever in the broad smile his joke had inspired. Approaching Ernestine with great deference, he bowed low before her and even kissed her hand, saying as he did so:

"Is my charming ward still content with me? Is anything lacking for her comfort? Does she find her establishment on a suitable footing? Has she discovered any inconveniences in her apartments? Is she satisfied with her servants?"

"There is nothing with which I can find the slightest fault," answered Ernestine; "quite the contrary, indeed, for this magnificent suite of rooms, exclusively for my use, is—"

"Nothing can be too handsome or too luxurious for the richest heiress in France," interrupted the baron, in his most peremptory tones.

"I am deeply gratified and touched by the affectionate welcome I have received from your family," said Ernestine; "and I assure you that everything else is of very little importance to me."

Just then the folding doors opened, and the butler announced, in a loud voice: "Mademoiselle is served."

The baron offered his arm to Ernestine, and conducted her into the dining-room. Helena came in a few minutes afterwards, a trifle late by reason of having despatched a letter to Abbé Ledoux, announcing her plans for the morrow.

During the entire repast Ernestine was the object of the most obsequious attentions, not only from the baron and his wife and sister, but also from the servants, who were as deeply impressed as their employers by the magical power of those words, "the richest heiress in France."

Towards the end of the meal, the baron, with the most careless air imaginable, remarked to Mlle. de Beaumesnil:

"Well, my dear ward, as you have now recovered from the fatigue of your journey, it seems to me you ought to go out to-morrow and amuse yourself a little."

"Helena and I think so, too," replied Madame de la Rochaiguë, "so your sister is going to take Ernestine to church to-morrow morning. In the afternoon, Mlle. Palmyre and Mlle. Barenne will come with some dresses and hats I ordered yesterday for our dear child, and day after to-morrow Ernestine and I are going for a drive."

"Capital, capital!" exclaimed the baron. "I see that to-morrow and the day after will be fully occupied, but I think it is hardly fair for me to be so entirely left out, so I beg to have my turn on the day following. Will you grant my request?"

"Certainly, with the greatest pleasure," replied Ernestine.

"The readiness of the response increases its value two-fold," said the baron, with such evident gratitude that the orphan was wondering what she could have said when the baroness, turning to her husband, exclaimed:

"Well, let us hear your plans for your day, M. de la Rochaiguë."

"I am not so spiritual-minded as my sister, nor as worldly as you, my dear," answered the baron, "so I am going to propose to our dear ward (weather, of course, permitting) a visit to one of the most beautiful gardens in Paris, where she will see a wonderful collection of plants and flowers."

"You could not have pleased me better, monsieur," exclaimed Ernestine, delightedly. "I am so fond of flowers."

"Nor is that all," added the baron, "for, as I am a prudent man, in case of bad weather, my charming ward and I can enjoy a promenade through several superb conservatories, or a magnificent picture-gallery, rich in masterpieces of the modern school of art."

"And where is this combination of rare and beautiful things to be found, monsieur?" inquired Ernestine, with great interest.

"A nice Parisienne you are, and you, too, baroness, and you, too, my sister," laughed M. de la Rochaiguë, with a knowing air, "for I see very plainly that none of you have the slightest idea where this collection of wonders is to be found, though it is almost at your very door."

"Really," began Mlle. de la Rochaiguë, "I have been trying to think."

"And you can't imagine," retorted the baron, radiant. "Ah, well, I will take pity on you. All these wonders are to be found at the Luxembourg."

"The Luxembourg!" exclaimed the baroness, laughing. Then, turning to Ernestine:

"Ah, my dear child, it is a trap, an abominable trap, M. de la Rochaiguë has set for you. You don't know my husband's passion for another of the wonders of the Luxembourg. He has taken good care not to reveal that, I'll be bound!"

"And what is this other attraction, madame?" asked the young girl, smiling.

"Ah, you poor, dear innocent, let me tell you that M. de la Rochaiguë is quite capable of taking you to a session of the Chamber of Peers, under pretext of showing you beautiful conservatories and flowers and picture-galleries."

"Well, why should I not take her into the diplomatic gallery, if she wishes?" retorted the baron. "She will find plenty of good company there in the shape of the fortunate wives of foreign ambassadors and ministers,—for I maintain that there is not a more delightful, charming, and enviable position in the world than that of the wife of a minister and ambassador. Ah, my dear wife," added this unknown Canning, turning to the baroness, "what would I not give to be able to elevate you to such a position. You would be envied, flattered, adored! You would become, I am sure, a wonderfully clever politician! It is not unlikely that you would even control the state, perhaps. Could any woman desire a grander rôle?"

"You see what a dangerous flatterer M. de la Rochaiguë is, my dear child," remarked the baroness. "He is quite capable of imbuing you with a taste for politics, too."

"Me? Oh, I have no fear of that," responded Ernestine, smiling.

"You may laugh at me as much as you like, my dear," the baron said to his wife; "but I do assert that I perceive in our dear ward a thoughtfulness, a self-control, and a power of discrimination remarkable in one of her years, to say nothing of the fact that she strikingly resembles the portrait of the beautiful and famous Duchesse de Longueville, who exerted such a marvellous influence in politics under the Fronde."

"Well, well, this is really too much," exclaimed the baroness, interrupting her husband with a fresh outburst of merriment.

The orphan, who had suddenly become thoughtful, did not join in this gaiety. She was thinking how very strange it was that within the last two hours three persons had, in turn, discovered that she was so singularly adapted to fill three such entirely different rôles, viz.: That of a devotee, that of a woman of fashion, and that of a female politician.

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of carriage-wheels in the courtyard below.

"Haven't you given orders that you are not at home this evening?" inquired the baron, turning to his wife.

"No, but I am expecting no one,—that is, no one but Madame de Mirecourt, who, you know, occasionally drops in for a few minutes on her way to some ball or reception."

"Shall you see her in case she does?"

"If it will not be disagreeable to you, and if you will allow me to receive her in your drawing-room," said the baroness, turning to Ernestine. "She is a very charming woman."

"Do exactly as you please, madame," replied Ernestine, cordially.

"Show the visitor into Mlle. de Beaumesnil's drawing-room," the baroness said to one of the servants.

The man withdrew, but returned a moment afterwards to say:

"I showed the visitor into mademoiselle's drawing-room as madame ordered, but it is not Madame de Mirecourt."

"Who is it, then?"

"M. le Marquis de Maillefort, madame."

"That detestable man!" exclaimed the baron. "A visit at this hour is an inexcusable familiarity on his part."

The baroness motioned to her husband to be more guarded before the servants, then whispered to Ernestine, who seemed surprised at this incident:

"M. de la Rochaiguë does not like M. de Maillefort, who is really one of the most spiteful and mischief-making hunchbacks imaginable."

"A positive devil!" added Helena.

"It seems to me that I have heard my mother speak of a M. de Maillefort," remarked Ernestine, thoughtfully.

"That is more than likely, my dearest child," replied the baroness, smiling, "though no one ever speaks of M. de Maillefort as one's good angel."

"I do not recollect to have heard her say anything either good or bad about M. de Maillefort," answered the orphan. "I merely remember the name."

"And the name is that of a veritable ogre," said the baron, spitefully.

"But if M. de Maillefort is so objectionable, why do you receive him, madame?" inquired the orphan, hesitatingly.

"Ah, my dear child, in society one is obliged to make many concessions, particularly when a person of M. de Maillefort's birth is concerned."

Then addressing the baron, she added:

"It is impossible to prolong the meal farther, for coffee has been served in the drawing-room."

Madame de la Rochaiguë arose from the table. The baron, concealing his annoyance as best he could, offered his arm to his ward, and the entire party returned to the drawing-room where M. de Maillefort was waiting.

The marquis had so long been accustomed to concealing his love for Madame de Beaumesnil,—the one passion of his life, but one which she alone had divined,—that, on seeing Ernestine, he betrayed none of the interest he felt in her. He remembered, too, not without annoyance, that it would be necessary to appear curt and sarcastic before the orphan, as any sudden change in his manner or language would be sure to arouse the suspicions of the Rochaiguës, and, in order to protect Ernestine from them, and, perhaps, even from herself, or, in other words, to carry out her mother's last wishes, he must carefully refrain from exciting the distrust of those around her.

M. de Maillefort, who was endowed with remarkably acute powers of perception, noted, with a pang of real anguish, the unpleasant impression his appearance seemed to make upon Ernestine; for the latter, still under the influence of the slanders that had been heaped upon him, had involuntarily shuddered, and averted her gaze from his distorted form.

Painful as the feelings of the marquis were, he had the courage to conceal them, and, advancing towards Madame de la Rochaiguë, with a smile on his lips and an ironical gleam in his eye, he said:

"I am very bold, am I not, my dear baroness? But you know, or rather you are ignorant, that one has friends only to impose upon their good nature, at least unless, like Mlle. de la Rochaiguë here," he added, bowing low to that lady, "one has no faults at all, but is nothing more or less than an angel descended from heaven for the edification of the faithful. Then it is even worse, I believe, for when one is perfect, one inspires one's friends with envy, or with admiration, for with many people these two sentiments are one and the same."

Then, turning to M. de la Rochaiguë, he continued:

"Am I not right, baron? I appeal to you who have the good fortune not to wound either by your virtues or your failings."

The baron smiled until he showed his long teeth in the most startling fashion, then, trying to conceal his ill-humour, he exclaimed:

"Ah, marquis, marquis, always sarcastic, but always charming!"

Then seeing that he could not avoid introducing M. de Maillefort to Ernestine, who was watching the hunchback with growing uneasiness, the baron said to his ward:

"My dear Ernestine, allow me to introduce M. le Marquis de Maillefort, one of my particular friends."

After bowing to the young girl, who returned the bow with an embarrassed air, the hunchback said, with formal politeness:

"I am delighted, mademoiselle, to have still another reason for often coming to Madame de la Rochaiguë's house."

And as if he considered himself released from the necessity of paying any further attention to the orphan by this commonplace remark, he bowed again, and then took a seat beside the baroness, while her husband tried to conceal his ill-temper by sipping his coffee very slowly, and Helena took Ernestine a few steps aside, under pretext of calling her attention to the plants in a jardinière.

The marquis, without seeming to pay the slightest attention to Ernestine, never once lost sight of them. He had a remarkably keen sense of hearing, and he hoped to catch a few words of the conversation between the devotee and the orphan, while he chatted gaily with Madame de la Rochaiguë, both of them endeavouring to conceal their real thoughts under the airiest persiflage, and to try and discover what the other was driving at, in vulgar parlance.

The frivolous character of such a conversation favoured the hunchback's intentions, so, while he listened to Madame de la Rochaiguë with a distrait ear, he listened eagerly with the other to Ernestine, the baron, and Helena.

The devotee and her brother, believing the marquis absorbed in his conversation with Madame de la Rochaiguë, reminded the orphan, in the course of their conversation, of the promise she had made to accompany Helena to church the next morning at nine o'clock, and also to go with the baron a couple of days afterwards to view the wonders of the Luxembourg.

Though there was nothing extraordinary in these plans, M. de Maillefort's distrust of the Rochaiguë family was so great that he deemed it advisable to neglect no detail, however insignificant it might appear, so he noted these facts carefully, even while replying with his accustomed wit to Madame de la Rochaiguë's commonplaces.

The hunchback's attention had been divided in this way for, perhaps, a quarter of an hour, when he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Helena make a whispered remark to Ernestine, accompanied by a glance at Madame de la Rochaiguë, as if to say that it was not worth while to interrupt her conversation, after which the orphan, Helena, and the baron left the room.

Madame de la Rochaiguë did not perceive their intention until the door closed behind them, but their departure suited her perfectly. The presence of other persons would prevent the explanation she considered it absolutely necessary to have with the marquis, for she was too shrewd and too well versed in the ways of the world not to have felt certain, as she had said to her husband, that the marquis, in thus renewing their acquaintance after a long interruption, had been actuated by a desire to meet the heiress, concerning whom, consequently, he must have some secret designs.

The hunchback's love for Madame de Beaumesnil having been suspected by no one, and his last interview with the dying countess being likewise a secret, Madame de la Rochaiguë did not and could not suspect the solicitude the marquis felt concerning Ernestine.

But wishing to ascertain the designs of the hunchback, so as to circumvent them if they interfered with her own, Madame de la Rochaiguë abruptly changed the subject as soon as the door had closed upon the orphan, by saying:

"Well, marquis, what do you think of Mlle. de Beaumesnil?"

"I think her very generous."

"Very generous, marquis? What do you mean by that?"

"Why, with her fortune, your ward would have a perfect right to be as ugly and humpbacked as I am. But does she really possess many admirable traits of character?"

"I have known her so short a time, I scarcely know how to answer you."

"Why this reticence? You must feel sure that I did not come to ask your ward's hand in marriage."

"Who knows?" retorted the baroness, laughing.

"I know, and I have told you."

"Seriously, marquis, I am positive that at this very moment a hundred matrimonial projects have already been formed—"

"Against Mlle. de Beaumesnil?"

"'Against' is very suggestive. But one moment, marquis. I wish to be perfectly frank with you."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the hunchback, in mocking surprise. "Ah, well, so do I. Come, my dear baroness, let us have this little treat in the way of sincerity, which is such a rare thing, alas!"

And M. de Maillefort drew his chair nearer the sofa on which the baroness was seated.

After a moment's silence, Madame de la Rochaiguë, with a penetrating glance at M. de Maillefort, said:

"Marquis, I understand you."

"Bah!"

"Understand you perfectly."

"You do everything to perfection, so this does not surprise me. But let me hear the proofs of these surprising powers of penetration on your part."

"For fear of harrowing my feelings too much, I will not count the number of years during which you never set foot in my house, and now you suddenly return with a truly flattering eagerness. So, being a sensible woman, and not a mere bundle of conceit, I say to myself—"

"Come, baroness, what is it you say to yourself?"

"I say to myself simply this: 'After M. de Maillefort's long desertion of me, to what am I now indebted for the novel pleasure of seeing him so often? It must be because I am Mlle. de Beaumesnil's guardian, and because this most estimable marquis has some special reason for again favouring me with his visits.'"

"You are about right, baroness, upon my word."

"What! you admit it?"

"I am compelled to."

"You almost make me doubt my powers of penetration by your prompt confession, marquis."

"Are we not striving to outdo each other in frankness?"

"True; I forgot that."

"And now I, in my turn, will explain why I so suddenly ceased to visit your house. You see, madame, I am something of a stoic, and when anything gives me very great pleasure I suddenly renounce it, so I may not allow myself to become enervated by too much pleasure. That is why I suddenly ceased to visit you."

"I would like to believe it, but—"

"You can at least try. As to the resumption of my visits—"

"Ah, that is the most curious part—"

"You have guessed the reason—pretty nearly."

"Pretty nearly, marquis?"

"Yes, for though I have no special plans in relation to the subject of your ward's marriage, I can't help saying to myself that this great heiress is sure to draw a crowd of unscrupulous fortune-hunters around her, and Madame de la Rochaiguë's house will soon be the scene of all sorts of amusing intrigues. A person who desires to see all the amusing acts of this comedy can view them from the reserved seats, so to speak, in Madame de la Rochaiguë's house. At my age, and made as I am, I have no other amusement in the world except what observation affords me; so I intend to frequent Madame de la Rochaiguë's house for that purpose. She will receive me, because she received me years ago, and because, after all, I am not any more stupid, nor any more of a bore than other people. So, from my quiet corner, I will watch the fierce struggle between the rival suitors. This is the truth, and now, baroness, you surely will not be so hard-hearted as to refuse me a place in your drawing-room where I can watch this contest, of which your ward is to be the prize."

"But, marquis, you are not one of those persons who can watch people fight, without taking a hand in it yourself," said Madame de la Rochaiguë, shaking her head.

"Well, I can't say that I am."

"So you will not remain neutral."

"I don't know about that," answered the marquis.

Then, emphasising the words strongly, he added:

"As I am experienced in the ways of the world, as I have a horror of cowardice and conceit, and as I have always maintained my habit of plain speaking, I admit that if I should see a brave warrior, whose courage and worth have interested me, perfidiously attacked, I should be very likely to come to that person's assistance with all the means at my disposal."

"But this, permit me to say, monsieur," responded the baroness, concealing her anger under a forced laugh, "is nothing more nor less than a sort of inquisition, of which you will be the inquisitor-general, and which will be located in my house."

"Yes, in your house, or elsewhere; for you know, baroness, that if the whim should seize you,—every pretty woman, you know, must have her whims, and you are certainly entitled to a good many of them,—I repeat that, if the whim should seize you, you could easily tell your servants that in future you will never be at home to me."

"Why, marquis, can you suppose—?"

"I was only jesting," replied M. de Maillefort, dryly. "The baron is too sensible a man to allow your doors to be closed against me without a cause, and he will spare me, I am sure, any explanation on the subject. I have the honour to tell you, my dear baroness, that having resolved to watch these very amusing doings, to see, in fact, how the richest heiress in France is married off, I can establish my point of observation almost anywhere, for, in spite of my diminutive stature, I can manage to see from almost any position, high or low."

"Then, my dear marquis, you must confess that it is an offensive and defensive alliance you are proposing to me," said Madame de la Rochaiguë, with the same forced smile.

"Not the least bit in the world. I shall neither be for you nor against you. I shall merely watch what goes on, with a keen eye, and perhaps try to aid this suitor, or to circumvent the other suitor, according to my best judgment and my feeble resources, if the desire seizes me, or rather if justice and truth demand it, for you know I am very peculiar in my notions."

"But why not content yourself with the rôle of a looker-on? Why can you not remain neutral?"

"Because, as you yourself remarked just now, my dear baroness, I am not one of those persons who can watch others fight without taking a hand in the fight myself."

"But," said Madame de la Rochaiguë, quite at her wits' end, "suppose,—and it is merely a supposition, for we have decided not to think of Ernestine's marriage for a long time yet,—suppose, I say, that we did have some one in view for her, what would you do?"

"I haven't the slightest idea, upon my word!"

"Come, come, M. le marquis, you are not acting fairly with me. You have some scheme of your own."

"Nothing of the kind. I do not know Mlle. de Beaumesnil; I have no suitor to suggest for her. I am, consequently, an entirely disinterested looker-on, and, this being the case, my dear baroness, I do not exactly understand why you should have any objection to my watching the amusing proceedings."

"That is true," said Madame de la Rochaiguë, recovering her composure, "for, after all, in marrying Ernestine, what can we have in view, except her happiness?"

"Nothing, of course."

"Consequently, we have nothing to fear from your observation, as you call it, my dear marquis."

"Nothing, absolutely nothing."

"For, in case we should make a mistake—"

"Which may happen to any one, even one who has the best intentions in the world."

"Certainly, marquis. Well, in that event, you would not fail to come to our assistance, and warn us of our danger."

"That is what an observer is for," laughingly remarked M. de Maillefort, rising to take leave.

"What, marquis, you are going so soon?"

"To my great regret. I must make the tour of five or six drawing-rooms, to hear what people are saying about your young heiress. You have no idea how amusing, curious, and sometimes revolting the remarks upon the subject of her immense dowry are!"

"Ah, well, my dear marquis," said Madame de la Rochaiguë, offering her hand to the hunchback in the most cordial manner, "I hope to see you often, very often; and as all this seems to interest you so much, I shall keep you fully posted."

"And I, too, will promise to tell you everything I hear. It will be wonderfully amusing. And, by the way," added the marquis, with the most careless air imaginable, though he had come to Madame de la Rochaiguë's house as much to endeavour to secure some light upon an as yet impenetrable mystery as to see Ernestine,—"by the way, did you ever hear anything about an illegitimate child that M. de Beaumesnil left?"

"M. de Beaumesnil?" asked the baroness, with evident surprise.

"Yes," replied the hunchback, for, in putting the question thus, he hoped to attain his object without endangering the secret he thought he had discovered in relation to Madame de Beaumesnil; "yes, did you never hear that M. de Beaumesnil had an illegitimate child?"

"No," replied the baroness, "this is the first time I ever heard of any such rumour, though a long while ago there was some talk about a liaison the countess had prior to her marriage. It must, consequently, have been in connection with her that you heard this story of an illegitimate child, but I, myself, have never heard anything on the subject before."

"Then whether this rumour relates to the count or the countess, there is evidently not the slightest truth in it, my dear baroness, for, by reason of your close connection with the family, you would have been sure to know of the matter."

"And I assure you, marquis, that we have never heard or seen anything that would lead us to suppose that either M. or Madame de Beaumesnil left any illegitimate child."

M. de Maillefort, who was endowed with an unusual amount of penetration, as well as tact, now felt fully convinced of Madame de la Rochaiguë's entire ignorance of the existence of any illegitimate child, and the failure of this fresh attempt on his part caused him deep chagrin, particularly as he began to despair of discovering any trace of this unknown child, and of thus complying with Madame de Beaumesnil's dying request.

Madame de la Rochaiguë, without appearing to notice the hunchback's preoccupation, continued, gaily:

"It is really very amusing to listen to all the rumours that are afloat concerning our ward's inheritance, as well as the large but singular legacies left by the countess."

"Indeed?"

"There is little or no foundation for these absurd reports," continued the baroness, in supercilious tones, for she had always disliked Madame de Beaumesnil. "The countess left a few trifling legacies to three or four old retainers, and small gratuities to her other servants. That is all the magnificent legacies, of which everybody is talking, amount to. But while the countess was in such a generous mood, she ought not to have been guilty of the ingratitude of forgetting a poor girl to whom she certainly owed some recognition of her services."

"To whom do you refer?" asked the marquis, concealing the pain he felt on hearing the baroness thus asperse Madame de Beaumesnil's memory. "Of what young girl are you speaking?"

"You have not heard, then, that, during the last days of her life, the countess, at the advice of her physician, summoned to her bedside a young and talented musician, who assisted not a little in assuaging the lady's sufferings?"