LITMIR.BIZ

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journey. Hola!"

      And he rang a silver bell. A man, dressed in gray, like those we have seen on the route, appeared.

      "Ah! it is you, Tapin?"

      "Yes, monseigneur; the affair being important, I thought it better to come myself."

      "Have you questioned the men you placed on the road?"

      "Yes, monseigneur; but they know nothing but the places at which our conspirators stopped; in fact, that is all they were told to learn."

      "I will try to learn from the servant. What sort of man is he?"

      "Oh, a mischievous simpleton, half Norman, half Breton; a bad fellow."

      "What is he about now?"

      "Serving his master's supper."

      "Whom, I hope, they have placed as I desired?"

      "Yes, monseigneur."

      "In a room without curtains?"

      "Yes, monseigneur."

      "And you have made a hole in the shutter?"

      "Yes, monseigneur."

      "Well, then, send me the servant, and remain within call."

      The man in the red coat consulted his watch.

      "Half-past eight," said he; "at this hour Monseigneur the Regent returns to St. Germains and asks for Dubois; as Dubois is not there, he rubs his hands and prepares for some folly. Rub your hands, Philippe d'Orleans, and amuse yourself at your pleasure, for the danger is not at Paris, but here. We shall see if you will laugh at my secret police this time. Ah! here is our man."

      At this moment Tapin introduced Owen.

      "Here is the person you wished to see," said he.

      Owen remained standing, trembling, near the door, while Dubois wrapped himself in a large cloak, which left only the upper part of his face visible to him on whom he fixed his cat-like eyes.

      "Approach, my friend," said Dubois.

      In spite of the cordiality of this invitation, it was given in so harsh a voice that Owen would have preferred being at a greater distance from this man, who looked at him so strangely.

      "Well, fellow," said Dubois, seeing that he did not stir, "did you not hear me?"

      "Yes, monseigneur," said Owen.

      "Then why do you not obey?"

      "I did not know you spoke to me."

      And Owen then stepped forward.

      "You have received fifty louis to speak the truth to me," continued Dubois.

      "Pardon, monseigneur," said Owen, who began to recover his composure; "I have not received them; they were promised to me, but – "

      Dubois took a handful of gold from his pocket, counted fifty louis, and placed them in a pile on the table.

      Owen looked at the pile with an expression of which one would have supposed his dull countenance incapable.

      "Good," thought Dubois; "he is avaricious."

      In reality, the fifty louis had always appeared very doubtful to Owen. He had betrayed his master with scarcely a hope of obtaining his reward; and now the promised gold was before his eyes.

      "May I take them?" asked Owen, spreading his hand toward them.

      "Wait a moment," said Dubois, who amused himself by exciting that cupidity which any but a peasant would have concealed; "we will make a bargain."

      "What is it?" asked Owen.

      "Here are the fifty louis."

      "I see them," said Owen, passing his tongue over his lips, like a thirsty dog.

      "At every answer you make to a question of mine, I either add ten louis if it is important, or take them away if it is unimportant and stupid."

      Owen started; he did not like the terms.

      "Now," said Dubois, "let us talk. What place have you come from?"

      "Direct from Nantes."

      "With whom?"

      "With the Chevalier Gaston de Chanlay."

      These being preliminary questions, the pile remained undisturbed.

      "Listen!" said Dubois.

      "I am all attention."

      "Did your master travel under his own name?"

      "He set out in his own name, but changed it on the journey."

      "What name did he take?"

      "M. de Livry."

      Dubois added ten louis, but as they would not stand on the others, he commenced a second pile.

      Owen uttered a joyful cry.

      "Oh," said Dubois, "do not exult yet. We are not near the end. Is there a M. de Livry at Nantes?"

      "No, monseigneur; but there is a Demoiselle de Livry."

      "Who is she?"

      "The wife of M. de Montlouis, an intimate friend of my master."

      "Good," said Dubois, adding ten louis; "and what was your master doing at Nantes?"

      "What most young men do; he hunted, danced, and so on."

      Dubois took away ten louis. Owen shuddered.

      "Stop," said he, "he did something else."

      "Ah! what was that?"

      "I do not know," replied Owen.

      Dubois held the ten louis in his hand.

      "And since his departure, what has he done?"

      "He passed through Oudon, Ancenis, Le Mans, Nogent, and Chartres."

      Dubois stretched out his hand, and took up another ten louis.

      Owen uttered a dolorous cry.

      "And did he make no acquaintance on the route?"

      "Yes; with a young lady from the Augustine convent at Clisson, who was traveling with a sister of the convent, named Therese."

      "And what was the young lady called?"

      "Mademoiselle Helene de Chaverny."

      "Helene! A promising name. Doubtless, she is your master's mistress?"

      "I do not know," said Owen; "he would not have told me."

      "He is a shrewd fellow," said Dubois, taking ten louis from the fifty.

      Owen trembled: four such answers, and he would have betrayed his master for nothing.

      "And these ladies are going to Paris with him?"

      "No, monseigneur; they stop at Rambouillet."

      "Ah," said Dubois.

      The tone of this exclamation gave Owen some hope.

      "Come," said Dubois, "all this is not very important, but one must encourage beginners."

      And he added ten louis to the pile.

      "Sister Therese," continued Owen, "is already gone home."

      "So that the young lady remains alone?"

      "No," answered Owen.

      "How so?"

      "A lady from Paris awaited her."

      "From Paris?"

      "Yes."

      "Do you know her name?"

      "I heard Sister Therese call her Madame Desroches."

      "Madame Desroches!" cried Dubois, and he began another pile with ten louis.

      "Yes," replied Owen, delighted.

      "Are you sure?"

      "Of course I am; she is a tall, thin, yellow-looking woman."

      Dubois added ten louis. Owen thought that if he had made an interval between each adjective he might have had twenty louis.

      "Thin,

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