"Your key, Mademoiselle Mariette?" said Madame Justin, "why, a gentleman has just gone up with it." "What gentleman?" queried the girl. "A decorated gentleman. And finely decorated, too, I assure you. A ribbon two good inches wide--and such a loop! Upon my word, I never saw a man more beautifully decorated." "But I don't know any decorated gentleman," exclaimed the girl in astonishment. "He must be mistaken." "No, indeed. He inquired for a woman named Lacombe, a cripple living with her goddaughter, who is a seamstress. There is no mistake, as you see." "Didn't you tell him that my god-mother was ill and could see no one?" "Yes, I did. But he said he must see her on very important and urgent business; so I gave him the key and let him go up alone, having no desire to be abused by your godmother." More and more astonished, Mariette ascended the rickety stairs to the fifth floor, pausing on the landing to recover her breath and find some excuse for her long absence. The door being ajar, she caught a glimpse of a stranger within the room, and the next moment distinctly heard these words: "I am delighted to find your god-daughter away, my good woman; I can explain myself more clearly without her presence." Mariette, who had been on the point of entering, yielded to an involuntary sentiment of curiosity instead, and remained where she stood. CHAPTER IV. The stranger was a man of forty-five years, or thereabouts, with worn but regular features, bearing deep traces of excessive dissipation and the most absolute profligacy. His physiognomy offered a strange mixture of deceit and impertinence; and these disagreeable traits were still more emphasized by a dark heavy moustache, which shone with a lustre equaled only by the false ebony of his artistically curled hair. His hands and feet were large; and, notwithstanding his visible pretentions, he at once betrayed the vulgar personage destined, not to imitate, but to parody veritable elegance. His dress was pompous, and in exceedingly bad taste; and even Mariette could not refrain from a smile at his affected military attitude and the ridiculously large red ribbon that adorned his button-hole. Madame Lacombe, who had once more returned to her gloomy and sardonic humor, was gazing at the stranger with as much astonishment as distrust, feeling an almost invincible aversion against this insolent and patronizing personage, who had unceremoniously taken a seat at some distance from the bed, and was nibbling at the gold head of his cane while pursuing the conversation with her. "Yes," repeated the visitor, "I am delighted to find you alone; as I was saying, I can explain myself more clearly." "Monsieur," said the invalid, in a crabbed tone, "you have asked me if my name was Lacombe and if I was Mariette Moreau's godmother. I have already told you _yes_. Now what do you want of me? Explain yourself." "To begin with, my good woman--" he began.