Linton walked on, and passing through the play-room, around which in every attitude of slumber the gamblers lay, entered the boudoir, before a table in which the Duke de Marsac was busy writing. “Fortune has still been obdurate, my Lord Duke, I hear,” said he, entering softly. The Duke looked up, and his pale features were totally devoid of all emotion as he said,-- “I have lost heavily, sir.” “I am sincerely grieved to hear it; as an old sufferer in the same field, I can feel for others.” A very slight movement of impatience on the Duke's part showed that he regarded the sympathy as obtrusive. Linton saw this, and went on: “I would not have invaded your privacy to say as much, my Lord Duke, but I thought it might be satisfactory to you to learn that your ancient dukedom--the château of your proud ancestors--is not destined to fall into plebeian hands, nor suffer the indignity of their profanation. I mean to purchase the property from Rica myself.” “Indeed!” said the Duke, carelessly, as though the announcement had no interest for him. “I had fancied, my Lord, this information would have given you pleasure,” said Linton, with evident irritation of manner. “No, sir,” said the other, languidly, “I am ashamed to say I cannot appreciate the value of these tidings.” “Can the contract and transfer be speedily made out?” said Linton, abruptly. “Of course; there shall be no delay in the matter. I will give orders to my 'notaire' at once.” “And where shall you be found to-morrow, my Lord Duke, in case we desire to confer with you?” The Duke grew lividly pale, and he arose slowly from his chair, and, taking Linton's arm, drew him towards a window in silence. Linton saw well that some new train of thought had suddenly sprung up, and wondered what could so instantaneously have wrought this change in his manner. “You ask me, sir,” said the Duke, with a slow emphasis on every word, “where am I to be found to-morrow? Is not Mr. Linton's knowledge of Paris sufficient to suggest the answer to that question?” There was a fierce boldness in the way these words were uttered Linton could not comprehend, any more than he understood what they might mean. “I must plead ignorance, my Lord Duke. I really discredit the eulogium you have pronounced upon my information.” “Then I will tell you, sir,” said the Duke, speaking in a low thick whisper, while his dark eyes glared with the fire of intense excitement. “You will find me in the Seine!” Linton staggered back as if he had been struck, and a pallor spread over his features, making the very lips bloodless. “How do you mean, sir? Why do you dare to say this to _me?_” said he, in a voice broken and guttural. “Since none should better know how to appreciate the news,” was the cold answer.