The poor woman’s face assumed an expression of horror not easily to be forgotten. “Know him!” she exclaimed, “know that terrible man! Oh, yes, Louis, I know him too well. He ruined as happy a family as ever lived, and destroyed as noble a gentleman as was in all the world.” Her words seemed to change my blood to fire; but I asked as coolly as I could, “Can you tell me how it was done, Jeanette?” “Oh no,” she answered. “I was but a poor, ignorant servant, and did not hear any of his ways and arts, at least to understand them. All I know is, what it came to. I can’t tell you any more; but he is a dreadful man. It makes me tremble even to think of him.” “Then I will go to him, and wring it from his heart,” I answered, fiercely; “for know the whole, and expose the whole, I will.” “Oh don’t go near him, Louis; don’t go near him,” she cried, almost in a scream; joining her hands together as if she were praying to a saint. “He is the destruction of every one who approaches him, and he will find means to destroy you, too.” “I have seen him once,” I answered, “since I have been in England, and I will most certainly go to him again, Jeanette, and force him to confess all he has done. I have no fear of him,” I added, almost with a scoff, remembering the miserable object I had seen in Swallow street. “He cannot harm me, Jeanette.” “Stay, stay, Louis,” she said, eagerly. “Good Father Noailles tells me he is sick, and that he must die—perhaps we could find a way without your going near him. He will be terribly afraid of death when it comes close to him. All the frightful things he has done will rise up before his eyes, when he feels that he is going to answer for them. He has sent for Father Noailles twice already, and the good man says that his mind is in a perilous state—let me try, Louis; let me try. Perhaps I can manage it.” “Whatever you do, you must do quickly, Jeanette,” I answered; “for I can and will bear this suspense no longer.” “Well, well, I will go this moment,” she said; “but where can I find you, Louis, to tell you what I have done?” “Here, for the next three days,” I replied, “and after that at Blackheath. I will give you the address.” I wrote it down for her, and then ordered a hackney coach to be called; but she did not direct it to drive to the house of the Earl of N——, which was in Berkeley Square, but to a small street in Soho. After she was gone, I paused again to think for a short time, and I resolved, notwithstanding the hopes she held out, to see the Marquis de Carcassonne myself. There was more than one piece of information to be obtained from him, and I fancied that I could wring out of him the whole of that history which I was so anxious to learn. It would be better in the first place, I thought, to see Westover; and I hurried away to his rooms, which were somewhat farther up the street.