"No--I have not told you all. It seems likely that you, like myself, have been left a poor man." "Then we have one reason more for being good friends," said Giraud, in his quick French way. He rose and looked round the room. "All the same, I have had a famous time," he said. "Come, let us go to my father." We found the Hotel Clericy in that state of hushed expectation which follows the dread visit in palace and hut alike. The servants seemed to have withdrawn to their own quarters to discuss the event in whispers there. We found the Vicomte in my study, still much agitated and broken. He was sitting in my chair, the tears yet wet upon his wrinkled cheek. There was a quick look of alertness in his eyes, as if the scythe had hissed close by in reaping the mature grain. "Ah! my poor boy--my poor boy," he cried when he saw Alphonse, and they embraced after the manner of their race. "And it is all my fault," continued the broken old man, wringing his hands and sinking into his chair again. "No!" cried Alphonse, with characteristic energy. "We surely cannot say that, without questioning--well--a wiser judgment than ours." He paused, and perhaps remembered dimly some of the teaching of a good, simple bourgeoise who had died before her husband fingered gold. I sought to quiet the Vicomte also. Old men, like old clothes, need gentle handling. I sat down at my table and began to write. "What are you doing?" asked the Vicomte, sharply. "I am telegraphing to Madame de Clericy to return home." There was a silence in the room while I wrote out the message and despatched it by a servant. The Vicomte made no attempt to stop me. "Here," he said, when the door was closed--and he handed Giraud the key of his own study. "The doctors and--the others--have placed him in my room--that is the key. You must consider this house as your own until the funeral is over; your poor father's house, I know, is in disorder." Monsieur de Clericy would have it that the Baron should be buried from the Rue des Palmiers, which Alphonse Giraud recognised as in some sort an honour, for it proclaimed to the world the esteem in which the upstart nobleman was held in high quarters. "I am glad," said my patron, with that air of fatherliness which he wore towards me from the first, "that you have telegraphed for my wife--the house is different when she is in it. When can she be here?" "It is just possible that she may be with us to-morrow at this time--by driving rapidly to Toulon." "With promptitude," muttered the Vicomte, musingly. "Yes--such as one may expect from Madame." The Vicomte looked up at me with a smile. "Ah!--you have discovered that. One is never safe with you men who know horses. You find out so much from observation." But I think it is no great thing to have discovered that one may usually look for prompt action in men and women of a quiet tongue.