M. de Valorsay clapped his hands. “Bravo!” he exclaimed; “you have spoken the truth. Remember, now, that your dark forebodings are only chimeras! Yes, she will swear it, and I know she is the woman to keep her vow, even if she died of sorrow. And the very next day I will go to the examining magistrate and say to him: ‘Marguerite a thief! Ah, what a frightful mistake. A robbery has been committed, it’s true; but I know the real culprit--a scoundrel who fancied that by destroying a single letter he would annihilate all traces of the breach of fidelity he had committed. Fortunately, the Count de Chalusse distrusted this man, and proof of his breach of trust is in existence. I have this proof in my hands.’ And I will show a letter establishing the truth of my assertion.” No forebodings clouded the marquis’s joy; he saw no obstacles; it seemed to him as if he had already triumphed. “And the day following,” he resumed, “when Marguerite becomes my wife, I shall take from a certain drawer a certain document, given to me by M. de Chalusse when I was on the point of becoming his son-in-law, and in which he recognizes Marguerite as his daughter, and makes her his sole legatee. And this document is perfectly en regle, and unattackable. Maumejan, who has examined it, guarantees that the value of the count’s estate cannot be less than ten millions. Five will go to Madame d’Argeles, or her son Wilkie, as their share of the property. The remaining five will be mine. Come, confess that the plan is admirable!” “Admirable, undoubtedly; but terribly complicated. When there are so many wheels within wheels, one of them is always sure to get out of order.” “Nonsense!” “Besides, you have I don’t know how many accomplices--Maumejan, the doctor, Madame Leon, and Vantrasson, not counting myself. Will all these people perform their duties satisfactorily?” “Each of them is as much interested in my success as I am myself.” “But we have enemies--Madame d’Argeles, Fortunat----” “Madame d’Argeles is about to leave Paris. If Fortunat is troublesome I will purchase his silence; Maumejan has promised me money.” But M. de Coralth had kept his strongest argument until the last. “And Pascal Ferailleur?” said he. “You have forgotten him.” No; M. de Valorsay had not forgotten him. You do not forget the man you have ruined and dishonored. Still, it was in a careless tone that ill accorded with his state of mind that the marquis replied: “The poor devil must be en route for America by this time.” The viscount shook his head. “That’s what I’ve in vain been trying to convince myself of,” said he. “Do you know that Pascal was virtually expelled from the Palais de Justice, and that his name has been struck off the list of advocates? If he hasn’t blown his brains out, it is only because he hopes to prove his innocence. Ah! if you knew him as well as I do, you wouldn’t be so tranquil in mind!”