“No proof, Monsieur?” I stammered, for I had believed the way quite clear. “No proof whatever,” repeated d’Argenson. “Nothing but the suspicions of an old woman, which there is little chance of confirming. There are, of course, many things which point in the same direction--the pertinacity of Ribaut, his willingness to sacrifice ten thousand crowns in order that the marriage might take place, his terror when you threatened a police investigation, the apparent unfitness of Briquet, the hint that he was once a thief or worse--all these indicate that Mère Fouchon’s theory is the right one. Still there is no proof. Not a single suspicious circumstance has been unearthed by my agents.” “You will permit the wedding to take place, then?” I cried in despair. “You will do nothing to prevent it?” “Rest assured, Monsieur,” said d’Argenson, kindly, “that I will do everything in my power to prevent it. For I believe that a conspiracy does exist, even though I have no proof of it. The facts stated by Mère Fouchon had already been ascertained by my agents. Charles Ribaut left a very large fortune; his daughter Anne is the only heir, her uncle has had absolute control of the estate for fifteen years. But in all of this there is nothing which resembles a conspiracy, even in the least degree. It is quite possible that he intends turning the whole fortune over to Briquet.” “What then will you do, Monsieur?” I questioned anxiously. “There is only one thing to be done,” he answered. “We will assume a bold front. We will act as though we held great forces in reserve. We will endeavor to frighten them. It is an old trick, but one which is often successful with the guilty. Let us hope it will be so in this case.” We were crossing the Pont au Change, and I looked out upon the river with eyes that saw nothing. I had thought success so certain, and now, it seemed, I might yet lose! I raised my eyes to find d’Argenson looking at me with a smile whose meaning I did not understand. “M. le Moyne,” he said, “I am going to ask you a question which you need not answer if you do not choose.” “What is it, Monsieur?” I asked. “It is concerning Mlle. Ribaut. I have reason to believe that you love her. Is it not so, Monsieur?” “That is so, M. le Comte,” I replied, and my hands were trembling. “I am glad to hear it,” he said, and fell into a reverie, smiling to himself. It was not until we stopped before the church that he spoke again. “Here we are,” he cried, “and with still ten minutes to spare. Come with me,” and we left the carriage and entered the church. An old man met us at the door and cast an astonished glance at me. “Are you the sacristan?” asked d’Argenson. “Yes, Monsieur,” answered the fellow. “There is to be a wedding here at nine o’clock, is there not?” “I do not know, Monsieur. There has already been one wedding here at eight o’clock.” My heart fell within me. Could it be that the hour had been changed?