“You are looking at me, madame, and wondering how I have discovered all that. A single word will explain it all. The peace-officer who saved your daughter is precisely the same to whom it was once my good fortune to render a service. By comparing notes, we have gradually reached the truth,--reached you, madame. Will you acknowledge now that I have more proofs than are necessary to apply to the courts?” Whether she acknowledged it or not, she did not condescend to discuss. “What then?” she said coldly. But M. de Tregars was too much on his guard to expose himself, by continuing to speak thus, to reveal the secret of his designs. Besides, whilst he was thoroughly satisfied as to the manoeuvres used to defraud his father he had, as yet, but presumptions on what concerned Vincent Favoral. “Permit me not to say another word, madame,” he replied. “I have told you enough to enable you to judge of the value of my weapons.” She must have felt that she could not make him change his mind, for she rose to go. “That is sufficient,” she uttered. “I shall reflect; and to-morrow I shall give you an answer.” She started to go; but M. de Tregars threw himself quickly between her and the door. “Excuse me,” he said; “but it is not to-morrow that I want an answer: it is to-night, this instant!” Ah, if she could have annihilated him with a look. “Why, this is violence,” she said in a voice which betrayed the incredible effort she was making to control herself. “It is imposed upon me by circumstances, madame.” “You would be less exacting, if my husband were here.” He must have been within hearing; for suddenly the door opened, and he appeared upon the threshold. There are people for whom the unforeseen does not exist, and whom no event can disconcert. Having ventured every thing, they expect every thing. Such was the Baron de Thaller. With a sagacious glance he examined his wife and M. de Tregars; and in a cordial tone, “We are quarreling here?” he said. “I am glad you have come!” exclaimed the baroness. “What is the matter?” “The matter is, that M. de Tregars is endeavoring to take an odious advantage of some incidents of our past life.” “There’s woman’s exaggeration for you!” he said laughing. And, holding out his hand to Marius, “Let me make your peace--for you, my dear marquis,” he said: “that’s within the province of the husband.” But, instead of taking his extended hand, M. de Tregars stepped back. “There is no more peace possible, sir, I am an enemy.” “An enemy!” he repeated in a tone of surprise which was wonderfully well assumed, if it was not real. “Yes,” interrupted the baroness; “and I must speak to you at once, Frederic. Come: M. de Tregars will wait for you.” And she led her husband into the adjoining room, not without first casting upon Marius a look of burning and triumphant hatred.