“The Signor Gismondo relieved me of cruel anxieties,” she replied; “but I had suspected the truth from the first. Was I not the confidante of your hopes? Did I not know your projects? I had taken for granted that all this talk about a marriage was but a means to advance yourself in M. de Thaller’s intimacy without awaking his suspicions.” M. de Tregars was not the man to deny a true fact. “Perhaps, indeed, I have not been wholly foreign to M. Favoral’s disaster. At least I may have hastened it a few months, a few days only, perhaps; for it was inevitable, fatal. Nevertheless, had I suspected the real facts, I would have given up my designs --Gilberte, I swear it--rather than risk injuring your father. There is no undoing what is done; but the evil may, perhaps, be somewhat lessened.” Mlle. Gilberte started. “Great heavens!” she exclaimed, “do you, then, believe my father innocent?” Better than any one else, Mlle. Gilberte must have been convinced of her father’s guilt. Had she not seen him humiliated and trembling before M. de Thaller? Had she not heard him, as it were, acknowledge the truth of the charge that was brought against him? But at twenty hope never forsakes us, even in presence of facts. And when she understood by M. de Tregars’ silence that she was mistaken, “It’s madness,” she murmured, dropping her head: “I feel it but too well. But the heart speaks louder than reason. It is so cruel to be driven to despise one’s father!” She wiped the tears which filled her eyes, and, in a firmer voice, “What happened is so incomprehensible!” she went on. “How can I help imagining some one of those mysteries which time alone unravels. For twenty-four hours we have been losing ourselves in idle conjectures, and, always and fatally, we come to this conclusion, that my father must be the victim of some mysterious intrigue. “M. Chapelain, whom a loss of a hundred and sixty thousand francs has not made particularly indulgent, is of that opinion.” “And so am I,” exclaimed Marius. “You see, then--” But without allowing her to proceed and taking gently her hand, “Let me tell you all,” he interrupted, “and try with you to find an issue to this horrible situation. Strange rumors are afloat about M. Favoral. It is said that his austerity was but a mask, his sordid economy a means of gaining confidence. It is affirmed that in fact he abandoned himself to all sorts of disorders; that he had, somewhere in Paris, an establishment, where he lavished the money of which he was so sparing here. Is it so? The same thing is said of all those in whose hands large fortunes have melted.” The young girl had become quite red. “I believe that is true,” she replied. “The commissary of police stated so to us. He found among my father’s papers receipted bills for a number of costly articles, which could only have been intended for a woman.” M. de Tregars looked perplexed. “And does any one know who this woman is?” he asked.