In her letter to him, Mariette begged him not to seek her, as it might compromise her own and her god-mother's happiness. He well knew the wretched position of the two women, and Mariette had often confided to him the trials she was forced to endure through her god-mother's gloomy and harsh character. A horrible thought now flashed through his head. Had not Mariette, perhaps, been driven by misery and the threats of her god-mother to listen to the brilliant propositions of this man, whose card he now held in his hand? But, in that case, why should this stranger request an interview? The mystery seemed as impenetrable as ever. Once launched in the dizzy path of jealousy, lovers invariably give full sway to their imaginations and entertain the wildest ideas. Louis was no exception to the rule. In supposing himself supplanted by a rival, he found the key to what seemed inexplicable in Mariette's letter and in her conduct. He therefore tenaciously clung to the belief of her infidelity, longing for the moment when he might demand an explanation from this audacious commander. He now abandoned his first resolution of seeing Mariette, and retraced his steps homeward in a state of deep agitation and painful excitement. It was midnight when he again entered their dreary room. His father was anxiously waiting for him; but one glance at his son's gloomy countenance reassured the old man. Feeling certain that the lovers had not met and that his stratagem was still undiscovered, he again proposed a visit to Dreux on the following day; but Louis threw himself dejectedly on his bed, declaring he must have time for reflection before taking such a grave step. After a night of sleepless agony, the young man rose at dawn and quietly slipped out of the room, glad to escape his father's questioning for a few hours. With his mind tortured by anxiety and misgivings, he turned toward the boulevard to await the hour fixed for his interview with Commander de La Miraudière. CHAPTER VIII. Enveloped in a magnificent dressing gown, his feet encased in embroidered slippers, and a fragrant cigar between his lips, Commander de La Miraudière was quietly seated at his desk, with a stack of notes and papers before him, when a servant entered and announced: "M. Richard." "Usher M. Richard into the drawing-room, and beg him to wait a moment," he said, rising quickly. "You may bring him in when I ring." The servant withdrew, while his master opened a drawer in the safe near by, took out twenty-five notes of a thousand francs each, and, placing them beside a sheet of stamped paper used in making out deeds, rang the bell.