M. Dorval overwhelmed Madame Arnould with attention; he had literary tastes, and recognised in her a kindred soul. To Sophie he was also attentive, though not more so than good-breeding required. In a short time he had become quite a friend of the family, dining and supping with them, escorting the ladies to the Opera and home again at the conclusion of the performance, and spending the rest of the evening in their company. One night, after playing a couple of games of backgammon with M. Arnould, Dorval pleaded an insupportable headache and retired to his modest apartment. Soon afterwards a man in a lackey’s livery entered the house by means of a false key, knocked at his door, and informed him that all was ready. Dorval emerged from his room, and was joined by Sophie. The pair crept noiselessly down the stairs, across the courtyard and into the street, at the corner of which a coach was awaiting them. Dorval helped the girl in and took his seat beside her; the driver cracked his whip; the coach rolled away. Sophie was carried off! Terrible was the consternation at the Hôtel de Lisieux the following morning. Madame Arnould was like one distraught; M. Arnould, who had not yet fully recovered from his recent illness, had a serious relapse. As for the Chevalier de Malézieux, when the news was communicated to him he took to his bed and never left it again, dying of grief--or, perhaps, of wounded vanity. In Paris, nothing else was talked of but the elopement of the queen of the Opera, and many were the wagers made about the identity of the fortunate individual who had borne away the coveted prize. All uncertainty was soon at an end. Two days later a letter was brought to the Hôtel de Lisieux, signed Louis, Comte de Brancas-Lauraguais, in which the writer offered his apologies to M. and Madame Arnould for the deception he had been obliged to practise upon them, and concluded by a formal promise to espouse their daughter--if he should ever become a widower!