Andre paused, as if waiting for a reply, but his friend remained silent. “My plan is most simple,” resumed the young painter. “As soon as we know the fellow’s name we shall be able to act. He will never suspect us, and we can follow him like his very shadow. There are professional detectives who, for a comparatively small sum, will lay bare a man’s entire life. Are we not as clever as this fine fellow? We can work well together in our different circles; you, in the world of fashion, can pick up intelligence that I could not hope to gain; while I, from my lowly position, will study the hidden side of his life, for I can talk to the servants lounging at the front doors or the grooms at the public-houses without suspicion.” M. de Breulh was delighted at finding that he could have some occupation which would fill up the dreary monotony of his life. “I am yours!” cried he; “and will work with you heart and soul!” Before the artist could reply a loud blow was struck upon the library door, and a woman’s voice exclaimed,-- “Let me in, Gontran, at once.” “It is Madame de Bois Arden,” remarked De Breulh, drawing the bolt back; and the Viscountess rushed hastily into the room and threw herself into a low chair. Her beautiful face was bedewed with tears, and she was in a terrible state of excitement. “What is the matter, Clotilde?” asked De Breulh kindly, as he took her hand. “Something terrible,” answered she with a sob; “but you may be able to help me. Can you lend me twenty thousand francs?” De Breulh smiled; a heavy weight had been lifted from his heart. “If that is all you require, do not shed any more tears.” “But I want them at once.” “Can you give me half an hour?” “Yes; but lose no time.” De Breulh drew a check and despatched his valet for the money. “A thousand thanks!” said the Viscountess; “but money is not all that I require, I want your advice.” Andre was about to leave the cousins together, but the lady stopped him. “Pray remain, M. Andre,” said she; “you are not at all in the way; besides, I shall have to speak of some one in whom you take a very deep interest--of Mademoiselle de Mussidan, in short. “I never knew such a strange occurrence,” continued the Viscountess, recovering her spirits rapidly, “as that to which, my dear Gontran, you owe my visit. Well, I was just going up to dress, for I had been detained by visitor after visitor, when at two o’clock another came before I could give my order, ‘Not at home.’ This was the Marquis de Croisenois, the brother of the man who twenty years ago disappeared in so mysterious a manner. I hardly knew him at all, though of course we have met in society, and he bows to me in the Bois, but that is all.” “And yet he called on you to-day?” remarked De Breulh.