LITMIR.BIZ

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was silent and thoughtful for some moments, and then said, nervously:

      “I will tell you, Louis, why I wish to see her. I left our family jewels in her charge, and I wish to recover them.”

      “Do you intend, after a lapse of twenty-three years, to claim these jewels?”

      “Yes—or rather no. I only make the jewels an excuse for seeing her. I must see her because—because—she is the only woman I ever really loved!”

      “But how will you find her?”

      “Oh! that is easy enough. Anyone can tell me the name of her husband, and then I will go to see her. Perhaps the shortest way to find out, would be to write to Beaucaire. I will do so to-morrow.”

      Louis made no reply.

      Men of his character, when brought face to face with imminent danger, always weigh their words, and say as little as possible, for fear of committing themselves by some indiscreet remark.

      Above all things, Louis was careful to avoid raising any objections to his brother’s proposed trip to Paris. To oppose the wishes of a determined man has the effect of making him adhere more closely to them. Each argument is like striking a nail with a hammer. Knowing this, Louis changed the conversation, and nothing more during the day was said of Valentine or Paris.

      At night, alone in his room, he brought his cunning mind to bear upon the difficulties of his situation, and wondered by what means he could extricate himself.

      At first the case seemed hopeless, desperate. During twenty years, Louis had been at war with society, trusted by none, living upon his wits, and the credulity of foolish men enabling him to gain an income without labor; and, though he generally attained his ends, it was not without great danger and constant dread of detection.

      He had been caught at the gaming-table with his hands full of duplicate cards; he had been tracked all over Europe by the police, and obliged to fly from city to city under an assumed name; he had sold to cowards his skilful handling of the sword and pistol; he had been repeatedly thrown into prison, and always made his escape. He had braved everything, and feared nothing. He had often conceived and carried out the most criminal plans, without the slightest hesitation or remorse. And now here he sat, utterly bewildered, unable to think clearly; his usual impudence and ready cunning seemed to have deserted him.

      Thus driven to the wall, he saw no means of escape, and was almost tempted to confess all, and throw himself upon his brother’s clemency. Then he thought that it would be wiser to borrow a large sum from Gaston, and fly the country.

      Vainly did he think over the wicked experiences of the past: none of the former successful stratagems could be resorted to in the present case.

      Fatally, inevitably, he was about to be caught in a trap laid by himself.

      The future was fraught with danger, worse than danger—ruin and disgrace.

      He had to fear the wrath of M. Fauvel, his wife and niece. Gaston would have speedy vengeance the moment he discovered the truth; and Raoul, his accomplice, would certainly turn against him, and become his most implacable enemy.

      Was there no possible way of preventing a meeting between Valentine and Gaston?

      None that he could think of.

      Their meeting would be his destruction.

      Lost in reflection, he paid no attention to the flight of time. Daybreak still found him sitting at the window with his face buried in his hands, trying to come to some definite conclusion what he should say and do to keep Gaston away from Paris.

      “It is vain for me to think,” he muttered. “The more I rack my brain, the more confused it becomes. There is nothing to be done but gain time, and wait for an opportunity.”

      The fall of the horse at Clameran was what Louis called “an opportunity.”

      He closed the window, and, throwing himself upon the bed, was soon in a sound sleep; being accustomed to danger, it never kept him awake.

      At the breakfast-table, his calm, smiling face bore no traces of a wakeful, anxious night.

      He was in a gayer, more talkative mood than usual, and said he would like to ride over the country, and visit the neighboring towns. Before leaving the table, he had planned several excursions which were to take place during the week.

      He hoped to keep Gaston so amused and occupied, that he would forget all about going to Paris in search of Valentine.

      He thought that with time, and skilfully put objections, he could dissuade his brother from seeking out his former love. He relied upon being able to convince him that this absolutely unnecessary interview would be painful to both, embarrassing to him, and dangerous to her.

      As to the jewels, if Gaston persisted in claiming them, Louis could safely offer to go and get them for him, as he had only to redeem them from the pawnbroker.

      But his hopes and plans were soon scattered to the winds.

      “You know,” said Gaston, “I have written.”

      Louis knew well enough to what he alluded, but pretended to be very much surprised, and said:

      “Written? To whom? Where? For what?”

      “To Beaucaire, to ask Lafourcade the name of Valentine’s husband.”

      “You are still thinking of her?”

      “She is never absent from my thoughts.”

      “You have not given up your idea of going to see her?”

      “Of course not.”

      “Alas, Gaston! you forget that she whom you once loved is now the wife of another, and possibly the mother of a large family. How do you know that she will consent to see you? Why run the risk of destroying her domestic happiness, and planting seeds of remorse in your own bosom?”

      “I know I am a fool; but my folly is dear to me, and I would not cure it if I could.”

      The quiet determination of Gaston’s tone convinced Louis that all remonstrances would be unavailing.

      Yet he remained the same in his manner and behavior, apparently engrossed in pleasure parties; but, in reality, his only thought was the mail. He always managed to be at the door when the postman came, so that he was the first to receive his brother’s letters.

      When he and Gaston were out together at the time of the postman’s visit, he would hurry into the house first, so as to look over the letters which were always laid in a card-basket on the hall table.

      His watchfulness was at last rewarded.

      The following Sunday, among the letters handed to him by the postman, was one bearing the postmark of Beaucaire.

      He quickly slipped it into his pocket; and, although he was on the point of mounting his horse to ride with Gaston, he said that he must run up to his room to get something he had forgotten; this was to gratify his impatient desire to read the letter.

      He tore it open, and, seeing “Lafourcade” signed at the bottom of three closely written pages, hastily devoured the contents.

      After reading a detailed account of events entirely uninteresting to him, Louis came to the following passage relating to Valentine:

      “Mlle. de la Verberie’s husband is an eminent banker named Andre Fauvel. I have not the honor of his acquaintance, but I intend going to see him shortly. I am anxious to submit to him a project that I have conceived for the benefit of this part of the country. If he approves of it, I shall ask him to invest in it, as his name will be of great assistance to the scheme. I suppose you have no objections to my referring him to you, should he ask for my indorsers.”

      Louis trembled like a man who had just made a narrow escape from death. He well knew that he would have to fly the country if Gaston received this letter.

      But though the danger was warded off for the while,

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