This story of M. Vincent, as told by these two honest companions,was something like the vulgar legend of other people's money, soeagerly craved, and so madly dissipated. Easily-gotten wealth iseasily gotten rid of. Stolen money has fatal tendencies, and turnsirresistibly to gambling, horse-jockeys, fast women, all the ruinousfancies, all the unwholesome gratifications.

They are rare indeed, among the daring cut-throats of speculation,those to whom their ill-gotten gain proves of real service, - sorare, that they are pointed out, and are as easily numbered as thegirls who leap some night from the street to a ten-thousand-francapartment, and manage to remain there.

Seized with the intoxication of sudden wealth, they lose all measureand all prudence. Whether they believe their luck inexhaustible, orfear a sudden turn of fortune, they make haste to enjoy themselves,and they fill the noted restaurants, the leading cafes, the theatres,the clubs, the race-courses, with their impudent personality, theclash of their voice, the extravagance of their mistresses, thenoise of their expenses, and the absurdity of their vanity. Andthey go on and on, lavishing other people's money, until the fatalhour of one of those disastrous liquidations which terrify thecourts and the exchange, and cause pallid faces and a gnashing ofteeth in the "street," until the moment when they have the choicebetween a pistol-shot, which they never choose, the criminal court,which they do their best to avoid, and a trip abroad.

What becomes of them afterwards? To what gutters do they tumblefrom fall to fall? Does any one know what becomes of the women whodisappear suddenly after two or three years of follies and ofsplendors?

But it happens sometimes, as you step out of a carriage in front ofsome theatre, that you wonder where you have already seen the faceof the wretched beggar who opens the door for you, and in a huskyvoice claims his two sous. You saw him at the Caf Riche, duringthe six months that he was a big financier.

Some other time you may catch, in the crowd, snatches of a strangeconversation between two crapulous rascals.

"It was at the time," says one, "when I drove that bright chestnutteam that I had bought for twenty thousand francs of the eldest sonof the Duke de Sermeuse.""I remember," replies the other; "for at that moment I gave sixthousand francs a month to little Cabriole of the Varieties."And, improbable as this may seem, it is the exact truth; for onewas manager of a manufacturing enterprise that sank ten millions;and the other was at the head of a financial operation that ruinedfive hundred families. They had house like the one in the Rue duCirque, mistresses more expensive than Mme. Zelie Cadelle, andservants like those who were now talking within a step of Maxenceand Marius de Tregars. The latter had resumed their conversation;and the oldest one, the coachman with the red nose, was saying tohis younger comrade,"This Vincent affair must be a lesson to you. If ever you findyourself again in a house where so much money is spent, rememberthat it hasn't cost much trouble to make it, and manage somehowto get as big a share of it as you can.""That's what I've always done wherever I have been.""And, above all, make haste to fill your bag, because, you see,in houses like that, one is never sure, one day, whether, thenext, the gentleman will not be at Mazas, and the lady at St.

Lazares."They had done their second bowl of punch, and finished theirconversation. They paid, and left.

And Maxence and M. de Traggers were able, at last, to throw downtheir cards.

Maxence was very pale; and big tears were rolling down his cheeks.

"What disgrace!" he murmured: "This, then, is the other side ofmy father's existence! This is the way in which he spent themillions which he stole; whilst, in the Rue St. Gilles, hedeprived his family of the necessaries of life!

And, in a tone of utter discouragement,"Now it is indeed all over, and it is useless to continue oursearch. My father is certainly guilty.

But M. de Traggers was not the man thus to give up the game.

"Guilty? Yes," he said, "but dupe also.""Whose dupe?""That's what we'll find out, you may depend upon it.""What! after what we have just heard?""I have more hope than ever.""Did you learn any thing from Mme. Zelie Cadelle, then?""Nothing more than you know by those two rascals' conversation."A dozen questions were pressing upon Maxence's lips; but M. deTraggers interrupted him.

In this case, my friend, less than ever must we trust appearances.

Let me speak. Was your father a simpleton? No! His ability todissimulate, for years, his double existence, proves, on thecontrary, a wonderful amount of duplicity. How is it, then, thatlatterly his conduct has been so extraordinary and so absurd? Butyou will doubtless say it was always such. In that case, I answeryou, No; for then his secret could not have been kept for a year.

We hear that other women lived in that house before Mme. ZelieCadelle. But who were they? What has become of them? Is thereany certainty that they have ever existed? Nothing proves it.

"The servants having been all changed, Amanda, the chambermaid, isthe only one who knows the truth; and she will be very careful tosay nothing about it. Therefore, all our positive informationgoes back no farther than five months. And what do we hear? Thatyour father seemed to try and make his extravagant expenditures asconspicuous as possible. That he did not even take the trouble toconceal the source of the money he spent so profusely; for he toldMme. Zelie that he was at the end of his tether, and that, afterhaving spent his own fortune, he was spending other people's money.

He had announced his intended departure; he had sold the house, andreceived its price. Finally, at the last moment, what does he do?

"Instead of going off quietly and secretly, like a man who isrunning away, and who knows that he is pursued, he tells every onewhere he intends to go; he writes it on all his trunks, in lettershalf a foot high; and then rides in great display to the railwaystation, with a woman, several carriages, servants, etc. What isthe object of all this? To get caught? No, but to start a falsescent. Therefore, in his mind, every thing must have been arrangedin advance, and the catastrophe was far from taking him by surprise;therefore the scene with M. de Thaller must have been prepared;therefore, it must have been on purpose that he left his pocketbookbehind, with the bill in it that was to lead us straight here;therefore all we have seen is but a transparent comedy, got up forour special benefit, and intended to cover up the truth, andmislead the law."But Maxence was not entirely convinced.

"Still," he remarked, "those enormous expenses."M. de Tregars shrugged his shoulders.

"Have you any idea," he said, "what display can be made with amillion? Let us admit that your father spent two, four millionseven. The loss of the Mutual Credit is twelve millions. What hasbecome of the other eight?"And, as Maxence made no answer,"It is those eight millions," he added, "that I want, and that Ishall have. It is in Paris that your father is hid, I feel certain.

We must find him; and we must make him tell the truth, which Ialready more than suspect."Whereupon, throwing on the table the pint of beer which he had notdrunk, he walked out of the caf with Maxence.

"Here you are at last!" exclaimed the coachman, who had beenwaiting at the corner for over three hours, a prey to the utmostanxiety.

But M. de Traggers had no time for explanations; and, pushingMaxence into the cab, he jumped in after him, crying to thecoachman,"24 Rue Joquelet. Five francs extra for yourself." A driver whoexpects an extra five francs, always has, for five minutes at least,a horse as fast as Gladiateur.

Whilst the cab was speeding on to its destination,"What is most important for us now," said M. de Tregars to Maxence,"is to ascertain how far the Mutual Credit crisis has progressed;and M. Latterman of the Rue Joquelet is the man in all Paris whocan best inform us."Whoever has made or lost five hundred francs at the bourse knows M.

Latterman, who, since the war, calls himself an Alsatian and curseswith a fearful accent those "parparous Broossians." This worthyspeculator modestly calls himself a money-changer; but he wouldbe a simpleton who should ask him for change: and it is certainlynot that sort of business which gives him the three hundred thousandfrancs' profits which he pockets every year.

When a company has failed, when it has been wound up, and thedefrauded stockholders have received two or three per cent in allon their original investment, there is a prevailing idea that thecertificates of its stocks are no longer good for any thing, exceptto light the fire. That's a mistake. Long after the company hasfoundered, its shares float, like the shattered debris which thesea casts upon the beach months after the ship has been wrecked.

These shares M. Latterman collects, and carefully stores away; andupon the shelves of his office you may see numberless shares andbonds of those numerous companies which have absorbed, in the pasttwenty years, according to some statistics, twelve hundred millions,and, according to others, two thousand millions, of the publicfortune.

Say but a word, and his clerks will offer you some "Franco-AmericanCompany," some "Steam Navigation Company of Marseilles," some "Coaland Metal Company of the Asturias," some " TranscontinentalMemphis and El Paso" (of the United States), some "Caumart SlateWorks," and hundreds of others, which, for the general public, haveno value, save that of old paper, that is from three to five centsa pound. And yet speculators are found who buy and sell theserags.

In an obscure corner of the bourse may be seen a miscellaneouspopulation of old men with pointed beards, and overdressed youngmen, who deal in every thing salable, and other things besides.

There are found foreign merchants, who will offer you stocks ofmerchandise, goods from auction, good claims to recover, and whoat last will take out of their pockets an opera-glass, a Genevawatch (smuggled in), a revolver, or a bottle of patenthair-restorer.

Such is the market to which drift those shares which were onceissued to represent millions, and which now represent nothing buta palpable proof of the audacity of swindlers, and the credulityof their dupes. And there are actually buyers for these shares,and they go up or down, according to the ordinary laws of supplyand demand; for there is a demand for them, and here comes in theusefulness of M. Latterman's business.

Does a tradesman, on the eve of declaring himself bankrupt, wishto defraud his creditors of a part of his assets, to concealexcessive expenses, or cover up some embezzlement, at once he goesto the Rue Joquelet, procures a select assortment of " CantonalCredit," "Rossdorif Mines," or "Maumusson Salt Works," and putsthem carefully away in his safe.

And, when the receiver arrives,"There are my assets," he says. "I have there some twenty, fifty,or a hundred thousand francs of stocks, the whole of which is notworth five francs to-day; but it isn't my fault. I thought it agood investment; and I didn't sell, because I always thought theprice would come up again."And he gets his discharge, because it would really be too cruel topunish a man because he has made unfortunate investments.

Better than any one, M. Latterman knows for what purpose arepurchased the valueless securities which he sells; and he actuallyadvises his customers which to take in preference, in order thattheir purchase at the time of their issue may appear more natural,and more likely. Nevertheless, he claims to be a perfectly honestman, and declares that he is no more responsible for the swindlesthat are committed by means of his stocks than a gunsmith for amurder committed with a gun that he has sold.

"But he will surely be able to tell us all about the Mutual Credit,"repeated Maxence to M. de Traggers.

Four o'clock struck when the carriage stopped in the Rue Joquelet.

The bourse had just closed; and a few groups were still standing inthe square, or along the railings.

"I hope we shall find this Latterman at home," said Maxence.

They started up the stairs (for it is up on the second floor thatthis worthy operator has his offices) ; and, having inquired,"M. Latterman is engaged with a customer," answered a clerk.

" Please sit down and wait."M. Latterman's office was like all other caverns of the same kind.

A very narrow space was reserved to the public; and all around,behind a heavy wire screen, the clerks could be seen busy withfigures, or handling coupons. On the right, over a small window,appeared the word, "CASHIER." A small door on the left led tothe private office.

M. de Tregars and Maxence had patiently taken a seat on a hardleather bench, once red; and they were listening and looking on.

There was considerable animation about the place. Every fewminutes, well-dressed young men came in with a hurried andimportant look, and, taking out of their pocket a memorandum-book,they would speak a few sentences of that peculiar dialect,bristling with figures, which is the language of the bourse. Atthe end of fifteen or twenty minutes,"Will M. Latterman be engaged much longer?" inquired M. de Traggers.

"I do not know," replied a clerk.

At that very moment, the little door on the left opened, and thecustomer came out who had detained M. Latterman so long. Thiscustomer was no other than M. Costeclar. Noticing M. de Traggersand Maxence, who had risen at the noise of the door, he appearedmost disagreeably surprised. He even turned slightly pale, andtook a step backwards, as if intending to return precipitatelyinto the room that he was leaving; for M. Latterman's office,like that of all other large operators, had several doors, withoutcounting the one that leads to the police-court. But M. deTraggers gave him no time to effect this retreat. Stepping suddenlyforward,"Well?" he asked him in a tone that was almost threatening.

The brilliant financier had condescended to take off his hat,usually riveted upon his head, and, with the smile of a knave caughtin the act,"I did not expect to meet you here, my lord-marquis," he said.

At the title of "marquis," everybody looked up. "I believe you,indeed," said M. de Traggers. "But what I want to know is, howis the matter progressing?""The plot is thickening. Justice is acting."Indeed!""It is a fact. Jules Jottras, of the house of Jottras and Brother,was arrested this morning, just as he arrived at the bourse.""Why?""Because, it seems, he was an accomplice of Favoral; and it washe who sold the bonds stolen from the Mutual Credit."Maxence had started at the mention of his father's name but, witha significant glance, M. de Traggers bid him remain silent, and,in a sarcastic tone,"Famous capture!" he murmured. "And which proves theclear-sightedness of justice.""But this is not all," resumed M. Costeclar. "Saint Pavin, theeditor of 'The Financial Pilot,' you know, is thought to be seriouslycompromised. There was a rumor, at the close of the market, that awarrant either had been, or was about to be, issued against him.""And the Baron de Thaller?"The employes of the office could not help admiring M. Costeclar'sextraordinary amount of patience.

"The baron," he replied, "made his appearance at the bourse thisafternoon, and was the object of a veritable ovation..""That is admirable! And what did he say?""That the damage was already repaired.""Then the shares of the Mutual Credit must have advanced.""Unfortunately, not. They did not go above one hundred and tenfrancs.""Were you not astonished at that?""Not much, because, you see, I am a business-man, I am; and I knowpretty well how things work. When they left M. de Thaller thismorning, the stockholders of the Mutual Credit had a meeting; andthey pledged themselves, upon honor, not to sell, so as not to breakthe market. As soon as they had separated, each one said to himself,'Since the others are going to keep their stock, like fools, I amgoing to sell mine.' Now, as there were three or four hundred ofthem who argued the same way, the market was flooded with shares."Looking the brilliant financier straight in the eyes,"And yourself?" interrupted M. de Traggers.

"I!" stammered M. Costeclar, so visibly agitated, that the clerkscould not help laughing.

"Yes. I wish to know if you have been more faithful to your wordthan the stockholders of whom you are speaking, and whether youhave done as we had agreed.""Certainly; and, if you find me here"But M. de Traggers, placing his own hand over his shoulder, stoppedhim short.

"I think I know what brought you here," he uttered; "and in a fewmoments I shall have ascertained.""I swear to you.""Don't swear. If I am mistaken, so much the better for you. If Iam not mistaken, I'll prove to you that it is dangerous to try anysharp game on me, though I am not a business-man."Meantime M. Latterman, seeing no customer coming to take the placeof the one who had left, became impatient at last, and appearedupon the threshold of his private office.

He was a man still young, small, thick-set, and vulgar. At thefirst glance, nothing of him could be seen but his abdomen, - a big,great, and ponderous abdomen, seat of his thoughts, and tabernacleof his aspirations, over which dangled a double gold chain, loadedwith trinkets. Above an apoplectic neck, red as that of aturkey-cock, stood his little head, covered with coarse red hair,cut very short. He wore a heavy beard, trimmed in the form of a fan.

His large, full-moon face was divided in two by a nose as flat as aKalmuck's, and illuminated by two small eyes, in which could be readthe most thorough duplicity.

Seeing M. de Traggers and M. Costeclar engaged in conversation,"Why! you know each other?" he said.

M. de Traggers advanced a step,"We are even-intimate friends," he replied. "And it is very luckythat we should have met. I am brought here by the same matter asour dear Costeclar; and I was just explaining to him that he hasbeen too hasty, and that it would be best to wait three or four dayslonger.""That's just what I told him," echoed the honorable financier.

Maxence understood only one thing, - that M. de Tregars hadpenetrated M. Costeclar's designs; and he could not sufficientlyadmire his presence of mind, and his skill in grasping an unexpectedopportunity.

"Fortunately there is nothing done yet," added M. Latterman.

"And it is yet time to alter what has been agreed on," said M. deTraggers. And, addressing himself to Costeclar,"Come," he added, "we'll fix things with M. Latterman."But the other, who remembered the scene in the Rue St. Gilles, andwho had his own reasons to be alarmed, would sooner have jumped outof the window.

"I am expected,:' he stammered. "Arrange matters without me.""Then you give me carte blanche?"Ah, if the brilliant financier had dared! But he felt upon him suchthreatening eyes, that he dared even make a gesture of denial.

"Whatever you do will be satisfactory," he said in the tone of aman who sees himself lost.

And, as he was going out of the door, M. de Traggers stepped intoM. Latterman's private office. He remained only five minutes; andwhen he joined Maxence, whom he had begged to wait for him,"I think that we have got them," he said as they walked off.

Their next visit was to M. Saint Pavin, at the office of "TheFinancial Pilot." Every one must have seen at least one copy ofthat paper with, its ingenious vignette, representing a bold marinersteering a boat, filled with timid passengers, towards the harborof Million, over a stormy sea, bristling with the rocks of failureand the shoals of ruin. The office of "The Pilot" is, in fact,less a newspaper office than a sort of general business agency.

As at M. Latterman's, there are clerks scribbling behind wirescreens, small windows, a cashier, and an immense blackboard, onwhich the latest quotations of the Rente, and other French andforeign securities, are written in chalk.

As "The Pilot" spends some hundred thousand francs a year inadvertising, in order to obtain subscribers; as, on the other hand,it only costs three francs a year, - it is clear that it is not onits subscriptions that it realizes any profits. It has othersources of income: its brokerages first; for it buys, sells, andexecutes, as the prospectus says, all orders for stocks, bonds, orother securities, for the best interests of the client. And it hasplenty of business.

To the opulent brokerages, must be added advertising and puffing,- another mine. Six times out of ten, when a new enterprise is seton foot, the organizers send for Saint Pavin. Honest men, orknaves, they must all pass through his hands. They know it, andare resigned in advance.

"We rely upon you," they say to him.

"What advantages have you to offer?" he replies.

Then they discuss the operation, the expected profits of the newcompany, and M. Saint Pavin's demands. For a hundred thousandfrancs he promises bursts of lyrism; for fifty thousand he will beenthusiastic only. Twenty thousand francs will secure a moderatepraise of the affair; ten thousand, a friendly neutrality. And,if the said company refuses any advantages to "The Pilot""Ah, you must beware!" says Saint Pavin.

And from the very next number he commences his campaign. He ismoderate at first, and leaves a door open for his retreat. Heputs forth doubts only. He does not know much about it. "It maybe an excellent thing; it may be a wretched one: the safest is towait and see."That's the first hint. If it remains without result, he takes uphis pen again, and makes his doubts more pointed.

He knows how to steer clear of libel suits, how to handle figuresso as to demonstrate, according to the requirements of the case,that two and two make three, or make five. It is seldom, that,before the, third article, the company does not surrender atdiscretion.

All Paris knows him; and he has many friends. When M. de Traggersand Maxence arrived, they found the office full of people- speculators, brokers, go-be-tweens-come there to discussthe fluctuations of the day and the probabilities of the eveningmarket.

"M. Saint Pavin is engaged," one of the clerks told them.

Indeed, his coarse voice could be distinctly heard behind the screen.

Soon he appeared, showing out an old gentleman, who seemed utterlyconfused at the scene, and to whom he was screaming,"No, sir, no! 'The Financial Pilot' does not take that sort ofbusiness; and I find you very bold to come and propose to me atwopenny rascality." But, noticing Maxence,"M. Favoral!" he said. "By Jove! it is your good star that hasbrought you here. Come into the private office, my dear sir: come,we'll have some fun now."Many of the people who were in the office had a word to say to M.

Saint Pavin, some advice to ask him, an order to transmit, or somenews to communicate. They had all stepped forward, and were holdingout their hands with a friendly smile. He set them aside with hisusual rudeness.

"By and by. I am busy now: leave me alone."And pushing Maxence towards the office-door, which he had justopened," Come in, come in!" he said in a tone of extraordinary impatience.

But M. de Traggers was coming in too; and, as he did not know him,"What do you want, you?" he asked roughly.

"The gentleman is my best friend," said Maxence, turning to him;"and I have no secret from him.""Let him walk in, then; but, by Heaven, let us hurry!"Once very sumptuous, the private office of the editor of "TheFinancial Pilot" had fallen into a state of sordid dilapidation.

If the janitor had received orders never to use a broom or a dusterthere, he obeyed them strictly. Disorder and dirt reigned supreme.

Papers and manuscripts lay in all directions; and on the broadsofas the mud from the boots of all those who had lounged uponthem had been drying for months. On the mantel-piece, in themidst of some half-dozen dirty glasses, stood a bottle of Madeira,half empty. Finally, before the fireplace, on the carpet, andalong the furniture, cigar and cigarette stumps were heaped inprofusion.

As soon as he had bolted the door, coming straight to Maxence,"What has become of your father?" inquired M. Saint Pavin rudely.

Maxence started. That was the last question he expected to hear.

"I do not know," he replied.

The manager of "The Pilot" shrugged his shoulders. "That youshould say so to the commissary of police, to the judges, and toall Favoral's enemies, I understand: it is your duty. That theyshould believe you, I understand too; for, after all, what dothey care? But to me, a friend, though you may not think so, andwho has reasons not to be credulous""I swear to you that we have no idea where he has taken refuge."Maxence said this with such an accent of sincerity, that doubt wasno longer possible. M. Saint Pavin's features expressed the utmostsurprise.

"What!" he exclaimed, "your father has gone without securing themeans of hearing from his family?""Yes.""Without saying a word of his intentions to your mother, or yoursister, or yourself?""Without one word.

"Without leaving any money, perhaps?""We found only an insignificant sum after he left." The editor of"The Pilot" made a gesture of ironical admiration. "Well, thething is complete," he said; "and Vincent is a smarter fellow thanI gave him credit for; or else he must have cared more for thoseinfernal women of his than any one supposed."M. de Traggers, who had remained hitherto silent, now steppedforward.

"What women?" he asked.

"How do I know?" he replied roughly. "How could any one ever findout any thing about a man who was more hermetically shut up in hiscoat than a Jesuit in his gown?""M. Costeclar -""That's another nice bird! Still he may possibly have discoveredsomething of Vincent's life; for he led him a pretty dance.

Wasn't he about to marry Mlle. Favoral once?""Yes, in spite of herself even.""Then you are right: he had discovered something. But, if you relyon him to tell you anything whatever, you are reckoning withoutyour host.""Who knows?" murmured M. de Traggers.

But M. Saint Pavin heard him not. Prey to a violent agitation, hewas pacing up and down the room.

"Ah, those men of cold appearance," he growled, "those men withdiscreet countenance, those close-shaving calculators, thosemoralists! What fools they do make of themselves when oncestarted! Who can imagine to what insane extremities this onemay have been driven under the spur of some mad passion!"And stamping violently his foot upon the carpet, from which aroseclouds of dust,"And yet," he swore, "I must find him. And, by thunder! whereverhe may be hid, I shall find him."M. de Traggers was watching M. Saint Pavin with a scrutinizing eye.

"You have a great interest in finding him, then?" he said.

The other stopped short.

"I have the interest," he replied, "of a man who thought himselfshrewd, and who has been taken in like a child, - of a man to whomthey had promised wonders, and who finds his situation imperilled,- of a man who is tired of working for a band of brigands who heapmillions upon millions, and to whom, for all reward, they offerthe police-court and a retreat in the State Prison for his old age,-in a word, the interests of a man who will and shall have revenge,by all that is holy!""On whom?""On the Baron de Thaller, sir! How, in the world, has he beenable to compel Favoral to assume the responsibility of all, andto disappear? What enormous sum has he given to him?""Sir," interrupted Maxence, "my father went off without a sou."M. Saint Pavin burst out in a loud laugh.

"And the twelve millions?" he asked. "What has become of them?

Do you suppose they have been distributed in deeds of charity?"And without waiting for any further objections,"And yet," he went on, "it is not with money alone that a man canbe induced to disgrace himself, to confess himself a thief and aforger, to brave the galleys, to give up everything, - country,family, friends. Evidently the Baron de Thaller must have hadother means of action, some hold on Favoral"M. de Traggers interrupted him.

"You speak," he said, "as if you were absolutely certain of M. de Thaller'scomplicity."Of course.""Why don't you inform on him, then?"The editor of "The Pilot" started back. "What!" he exclaimed, "drawthe fingers of the law into my own business! You don't think of it!

Besides, what good would that do me? I have no proofs of myallegations. Do you suppose that Thaller has not taken hisprecautions, and tied my hands? No, no! without Favoral there isnothing to be done.""Do you suppose, then, that you could induce him to surrenderhimself?""No, but to furnish me the proofs I need, to send Thaller where theyhave already sent that poor Jottras."And, becoming more and more excited,"But it is not in a month that I should want those proofs," he wenton, "nor even in two weeks, but to-morrow, but at this very moment.

Before the end of the week, Thaller will have wound up the operation,realized, Heaven knows how many millions, and put every thing insuch nice order, that justice, who in financial matters is not ofthe first capacity, will discover nothing wrong. If he can do that,he is safe, he is beyond reach, and will be dubbed a first-classfinancier. Then to what may he not aspire! Already he talks ofhaving himself elected deputy; and he says everywhere that he hasfound, to marry his daughter, a gentleman who bears one of theoldest names in France, - the Marquis de Tegars.""Why, this is the Marquis de Tregars!" exclaimed Maxence, pointingto Marius.

For the first time; M. Saint Pavin took the trouble to examine hisvisitor; and he, who knew life too well not to be a judge of men,he seemed surprised.

"Please excuse me, sir," he uttered with a politeness very differentfrom his usual manner, "and permit me to ask you if you know thereasons why M. de Thaller is so prodigiously anxious to have youfor a son-in-law.""I think," replied M. de Traggers coldly, "that M. de Thaller wouldnot be sorry to deprive me of the right to seek the causes of myfather's ruin.

But he was interrupted by a great noise of voices in the adjoiningroom; and almost at once there was a loud knock at the door, and avoice called,"In the name of the law!"The editor of "The Pilot" had become whiter than his shirt.

"That's what I was afraid of," he said. "Thaller has got ahead ofme; and perhaps I may be lost."Meantime he did not lose his wits. Quick as thought he took out ofa drawer a package of letters, threw them into the fireplace, andset fire to them, saying, in a voice made hoarse by emotion andanger,"No one shall come in until they are burnt."But it required an incredibly long time to make them catch fire;and M. Saint Pavin, kneeling before the hearth; was stirring themup, and scattering them, to make them burn faster.

"And now," said M. de Traggers, "will you hesitate to deliver upthe Baron de Thaller into the hands of justice?"He turned around with flashing eyes.

"Now," he replied, "if I wish to save myself, I must save him too.

Don't you understand that he holds me?"And, seeing that the last sheets of his correspondence were consumed,"You may open now," he said to Maxence.

Maxence obeyed; and a commissary of police, wearing his scarf ofoffice, rushed into the room; whilst his men, not without difficulty,kept back the crowd in the outer office.

The commissary, who was an old hand, and had perhaps been on ahundred expeditions of this kind, had surveyed the scene at aglance. Noticing in the fireplace the carbonized debris, uponwhich still fluttered an expiring flame,"That's the reason, then," he said, "why you were so long openingthe door?"A sarcastic smile appeared upon the lips of the editor of "The Pilot.""Private matters," he replied; "women's letters.""This will be moral evidence against you, sir.""I prefer it to material evidence."Without condescending to notice the impertinence, the commissarywas casting a suspicious glance on Maxence and M. de Traggers.

"Who are these gentlemen who were closeted with you?" he asked.

"Visitors, sir. This is M. Favoral.""The son of the cashier of the Mutual Credit?""Exactly; and this gentleman is the Marquis de Tregars.""You should have opened the door when you heard a knocking in thename of the law," grumbled the commissary.

But he did not insist. Taking a paper from his pocket, he openedit, and, handing it to M. Saint Pavin,"I have orders to arrest you," he said. "Here is the warrant."With a careless gesture, the other pushed it back. "What's the useof reading?" he said. "When I heard of the arrest of that poorJottras, I guessed at once what was in store for me. It is aboutthe Mutual Credit swindle, I imagine.""Exactly.""I have no more to do with it than yourself, sir; and I shall havevery little trouble in proving it. But that is not your business.

And you are going, I suppose, to put the seals on my papers?""Except on those that you have burnt."M. Saint Pavin burst out laughing. He had recovered his coolnessand his impudence, and seemed as much at ease as if it were themost natural thing in theworld.

"Shall I be allowed to speak to my clerks," he asked, "and to givethem my instructions?""Yes," replied the commissary, "but in my presence."The clerks, being called, appeared, consternation depicted upontheir countenances, but joy sparkling in their eyes. In realitythey were delighted at the misfortune which befell their employer.

"You see what happens to me, my boys," he said. "But don't beuneasy. In less than forty-eight hours, the error of which I amthe victim will be recognized, and I shall be liberated on bail.

At any rate, I can rely upon you, can't I?"They all swore that they would be more attentive and more zealousthan ever.

And then addressing himself to his cashier, who was hisconfidential and right-hand man,"As to you, Bernard," he said, "you will run to M. de Thaller's,and advise him of what's going on. Let him have funds ready; forall our depositors will want to draw out their money at once. Youwill then call at the printing-office: have my article on theMutual Credit kept out, and insert in its place some financial newscut out from other papers. Above all, don't mention my arrest,unless M. de Thaller should demand it. Go ahead, and let 'ThePilot' appear as usual: that's important."He had, whilst speaking, lighted a cigar. The honest man, victimof human iniquity, has not a firmer and more tranquil countenance.

"Justice does not know," he said to the commissary, who was fumblingin all the drawers of the desk, "what irreparable damage she maycause by arresting so hastily a man who has charge of immenseinterests like me. It is the fortune of ten or twelve smallcapitalists that is put in jeopardy."Already the witnesses of the arrest had retired, one by one, to goand scatter the news along the Boulevard, and also to see whatcould be made out of it; for, at the bourse, news is money.

M. de Traggers and Maxence left also. As they passed the door,"Don't you say any thing about what I told you," M. Saint Pavinrecommended to them.

M. de Traggers made no answer. He had the contracted features andtightly-drawn lips of a man who is maturing a grave determination,which, once taken will be irrevocable.

Once in the street, and when Maxence had opened the carriage-door,"We are going to separate here," he told him in that brief tone ofvoice which reveals a settled plan. "I know enough now to ventureto call at M. de Thaller's. There only shall I be able to see howto strike the decisive blow. Return to the Rue St. Gilles, andrelieve your mother's and sisters anxiety. You shall see me duringthe evening, I promise you."And, without waiting for an answer, he jumped into the cab, whichstarted off.

But it was not to the Rue St. Gilles that Maxence went. He wasanxious, first, to see Mlle. Lucienne, to tell her the events ofthat day, the busiest of his existence; to tell her his discoveries,his surprises, his anxieties, and his hopes.

To his great surprise, he failed to find her at the Hotel desFolies. She had gone riding at three o'clock, M. Fortin told him,and had not yet returned; but she could not be much longer, as itwas already getting dark. Maxence went out again then, to see ifhe could not meet her. He had walked a little way along theBoulevard, when, at some distance off, on the Place du Chateaud'Eau, he thought he noticed an unusual bustle. Almostimmediately he heard shouts of terror. Frightened people wererunning in all directions; and right before him a carriage, goingat full gallop, passed like a flash.

But, quick as it had passed, he had time to recognize Mlle.

Lucienne, pale, and clinging desperately to the seat. Wild withfear, he started after it as fast as he could run. It was clearthat the driver had no control over his horses. A policeman whotried to stop them was knocked down. Ten steps farther, thehind-wheel of the carriage, catching the wheel of a heavy wagon,broke to splinters; and Mlle. Lucienne was thrown into the street,whilst the driver fell over on the sidewalk.